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‘Better?’ he questioned, his tone deliberately nonchalant.
‘Mmm?’ Unwillingly disturbed from a sensation of complete bliss, Grace opened her eyes and gave a lazy yawn as she met the sapphire glitter of his gaze. ‘Better than what?’
‘Than when you arrived. Despite sending me a text from Venice, telling me how excited you were about the trip, you looked as I imagine Marie Antoinette might have done on the morning of her execution,’ he murmured. ‘Which wasn’t so very far from here.’
‘Yes, I know. I read it in the travel guide on the way over. And Iwasvery excited about coming on this trip,’ she added truthfully. ‘But the reality was a bit of a life shock. I’ve never travelled by private jet before, or been picked up by a chauffeur in a flashy car and then brought to an amazing suite in an equally amazing hotel. It all felt a bit overwhelming and…I don’t know, almost…’ she wriggled her shoulders ‘…cold-blooded.’
‘But it doesn’t now?’
‘No,’ she answered softly and all she wanted was for him to kiss her again.
But he didn’t. It was disappointing. It was frustrating. Worse than that, it felt a bitcontrolling.
‘So tell me, because I’m curious.’ He turned onto his side so that his gaze was icing over her, cool and blue and forensic, and Grace found herself instinctively tensing as she waited for his next words.
‘What the hell are you doing, working for a man like Vincenzo Contarini?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Acknowledgingthebitternessof Odysseus’s words, Grace wondered if she should deflect them—perhaps by asking for another glass of champagne, or remarking on how pretty the view of the Parisian street outside was. The last thing she wanted was to discuss her often horrible boss—especially not with the man who was lying naked next to her. This weekend was supposed to be about fantasy and escape. She’d wanted to keep the difficult areas of her life on the back burner. To pretend they weren’t happening so she could forget what she was going back to—a life of grim service. But Odysseus was studying her with such cold intensity—and surely it would be naïve to suppose that her boss’s estranged grandsonwouldn’twant to quiz her, given the circumstances?
‘Why do I work for Vincenzo?’ Wriggling up the bed a little, she raked her fingers through her messy hair and wondered when it would be diplomatic to go in search of a hairbrush. ‘Well, for a start, he pays well.’
‘Of course he does,’ he said softly. ‘And money means everything, right?’
‘It’s all very well for you to be so dismissive when you’re obviously loaded, but I happen to need the money,’ she retorted, because suddenly she felt as if he was judging her.
‘For what?’ He glanced across the room to where she’d left her not-so-white trainers and the rather faded denim jacket she’d bought from a stall near the Rialto Bridge. ‘Forgive my bluntness, but you obviously aren’t feeding a fashion addiction.’
Grace didn’t have the heart to be offended by his rather brutal assessment of her clothes because wasn’t he only speaking the truth? She’d never been into fashion—never really had the opportunity. Because first she’d been a broke student and then a housekeeper. Sometimes she felt old before her time. She dressed simply and cheaply and always had an eye for a bargain, yet she made light of her thrift because she didn’t want people feeling sorry for her. And though she wished she could tell Odysseus Diamides that none of this was his business, she could see from that intense expression in his blue eyes that he was determined to find out.
‘If you must know, I’m paying for my grandmother’s care,’ she told him, mollified yet indignant when she saw the condemnation on his face replaced by a look of surprise. So hehadbeen judging her!
‘Tell me about her,’ he said.
‘Honestly.’ She shook her head, a stupid lump rising in her throat. ‘It’s a long story and I’m not going to bore you with it.’
‘Tell me,’ he insisted softly.
Grace met his commanding stare, recognising that he had enough quiet authority about him to coax blood from a stone and something was tempting her to confide in him. She told herself he wouldn’t understand about the hardships in her life—this man who owned an aeroplane, whose shoes probably cost more than she earned in a month. Yet some kernel of pride was making her want to justify her servile position in the house of a man with more enemies than friends—a man he clearly hated. Odysseus Diamides knew her body better than anyone, she realised suddenly—but he knew nothing about her as a person, and suddenly it became important that he did. She didn’t just want to be some dim blur in his back catalogue of lovers. If ever he remembered her in the future, she wanted it to be as a real person.
‘So my mum took me to Venice when I was seven, after my father died,’ she began, meeting the question in his eyes. ‘It was her dream city and she hated Devon, where I was born. But it’s also one of the most expensive cities in the world and having a child hampered her opportunities, so she got a job working as housekeeper for Signor Contarini. It was only supposed to be temporary but it turned out to be permanent. You know how life just happens and you just chug along with it?’ She shrugged. ‘I think she thought she’d meet someone else and fall in love, but she never did.’
‘So you grew up in Vincenzo’s house?’
‘Well. Sort of.’ She took the opportunity to grab a silken throw from the bottom of the bed and slid it over her body, because her nakedness was only adding to her feeling of vulnerability. ‘We had our own section of it, where the rest of the servants lived—so I never had much to do with him on a day-to-day basis. He didn’t really like children, to be honest, so I kept out of his way as much as possible.’
‘And did he…?’ She could see a pulse flicker at his temple. ‘Did he ever mention my mother?’
She saw the flash of something indefinable in the depths of his eyes and she wanted to tell him what she suspected he wanted to hear, but Grace knew she couldn’t tell a lie just to make him feel better. Something told her he would see right through her efforts and then despise her for even attempting to try. ‘Never, I’m afraid. Some of the older staff mentioned that he’d had a daughter but that was years before our time and…well, there was no evidence of any family. No photos, or anything like that.’ She looked up into a face that might have been carved from granite and prayed she hadn’t been too brutal. ‘What…what happened to her?’
‘That’s irrelevant,’ he said, in a cold voice which was unequivocal. ‘We’re supposed to be talking about you.’
She nodded. ‘We used to visit my nana whenever we could and though she used to try and persuade us to move back to England, my mum never wanted to.’
‘Did you?’
‘Not really. Venice is an amazing city and it’s all I really know. Devon had too many cows for my liking,’ she joked, but didn’t manage to raise a smile from those carved and implacable features. ‘I went to school there like any normal child and then enrolled in the local university.’