Page 66

“Good. Have our dinner sent to my room. She will be staying there during this visit.”

“In Mama and Papa’s room!” Catalina gasped.

“It is my room now.” He said firmly. He turned to walk out but stopped himself. He glanced back to see Catalina with a sad pout. He sighed. “In the morning we will sit down and discuss the wedding. I will listen to your concerns.”

The joy sparked in her blue eyes once more. “Yes! And since she’s here, can you ask her about my dress? Maybe she wants to design a better one for me?”

“I’ve bought you three dresses so far.” He frowned.

“None of them are close to a Mira Ellison original. None of them.”

Giovanni shook his head and left. He returned to his room to find the luggage had been brought up. Mira unpacked her suitcase. She glanced up when he returned.

“Little sister didn’t expect me?”

“She’s spoiled.”

Mira smiled. “Wonder who spoiled her?”

“You hungry?”

“Famished.”

“Lorenzo and Fabiana are eating out. How about we stay in? Talk. Have dinner together, privately.”

She sat on the edge of the bed. Her eyes did a sweep of the room. There was nothing to see. Catalina and Zia redecorated after his mother’s death. The shock of losing her so soon after his father sent him spiraling into a deep depression. Sleeping here gave him some peace. He felt close to his mother then. Most of it had been done by his mother. But this room was his, and he liked it simple. Besides the bed that had been in his family for half a century, there was a chaise chair, a tallboy, night table, and bookshelf. Mira rose and walked over to the bookshelf scanning those he read, over and over. She picked up one. “Charles Dickens? Mark Twain? Ernest Hemingway?”

“I love to read.” He confessed. “When Mama took sick with grief, I read to her nightly. Those are our favorite books.”

“Grief? She died from grief?”

“A broken heart. The doctors said it was her diabetes but losing my father, the way we lost him, it was too much for her.”

“So she loved him? Deeply?” Mira pressed.

“Deeply. Inconceivable I know, if you knew their history, but she loved my father.”

She put the books back. She turned and smiled his way. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Giovanni blinked away the sadness clouding his vision. “Me too. Enough of my loss. What about the treasure I’ve found?”

She gave him a sweet smile that made him ache to touch her. But he paced himself. He had all night to explore his desires. “Thank you for agreeing to come, for sharing your vacation with me. I know you hadn’t intended on things going this far.”

“We have a week. One week and my vacation is over.” She reminded him, wagging her finger.

“What relaxes you?” he approached. “Painting?”

“Huh? No. I don’t paint. Never have.”

“You sketched the lake. It was very good.”

“Okay.” She chuckled. “I draw, most designers do. We use that side of our brain.”

“You like the Morandi. I have some on the west wing I can show you.”

He lifted her chin. “Have you tried to paint? You have the heart of a painter.”

“And you know my heart after a few days?”