Page 57

The gate creaks as it begins to open, and I inch my car through as I pull into the well-manicured drive that circles in front of the large, stately house perched on the hill.

“Damn,” I say to no one, eyeing the perfectly trimmed hedges and the ornate front door that looks like it was some kind of custom job. Clearly, I’m in the wrong line of work.

I step out of my car and smooth my pantsuit, grabbing my briefcase from the passenger seat before making my way up the stone steps to knock on the massive oak door with the frosted glass windows. It opens only a moment later, and at this point part of me was expecting to see some menacing butler with a scar running down his face glaring at me from the other side, so I’m relieved to be met with Bianca’s staple red lips and sharp eyes instead.

“Danica,” she greets, gesturing that I come. “So glad you could make it.”

“Right,” I say. “Sorry. You really didn’t need to feed me. I would have been happy to do this at my office.”

She waves a hand in front of her face. “I sit in this house all day by myself. It is good to have company now and then.”

“Sure,” I agree, letting my eyes take in the massive entryway with the sparkly chandelier overhead. “Your house is beautiful.”

“Yes, well,” she scoffs, closing the door behind me. “Thankfully, Lorenzo’s taste in decor is as bad as his taste in women, so I picked everything out.”

“Current company excluded, of course,” I say with a grin.

She nods, her lips curling. “Of course.” She wraps her hand around my forearm. “Come in, come in. We’re going to have lunch on the veranda. It is such a nice day, after all.”

Sure, if you’re not carrying around your own personal rain cloud because you went down on a guy and fell asleep with him just for him to ghost you.

“It is,” I say instead. “That sounds great.”

“Let me just check on the food, yes? Look around. Enjoy my good taste.”

I laugh softly as she disappears into another room, doing as she says and wandering around the wide sitting room. There is a chaise longue that looks too nice to sit on, and a wall of shelves just behind it that boasts books and pictures and little trinkets that sparkle in a way that makes me suspicious of their carat count. I step closer to browse, noticing several books on real estate law that make me feel sleepy just reading the spines.

There are several framed photos here though, and I feel a twinge of sadness for Bianca to notice so many of a younger version of her and Lorenzo looking very happy in most of them. I imagine she hasn’t gotten around to putting them away, or maybe, deep down, it’s still too hard for her to do so even with all her bluster.

It just proves the real deal isn’t so real.

One frame at the end of the shelf catches my eye, tucked beside a dusty old book and a heavy bookend. I pick it up, frowning, studying the two men smiling back when I hear Bianca’s footsteps reentering the room.

I hold up the photo for her perusal. “How long has Lorenzo known Alexander Hart?”

“Eh?” She steps closer, plucking the frame from me. “Ah. Terrible man, Alexander. I never liked him much.”

“So they’ve known each other for a long time?”

“Many years, yes,” she says with a nod. “I don’t know what it is about him that I do not like, but there was always something…” She frowns as her gaze lingers on the photo, finally shaking the thought away before placing the frame back on the shelf. “Perhaps some part of me knew he would be helping Lorenzo hide his wrongdoings.”

“I’m sorry,” I offer. “I wasn’t trying to dredge up bad feelings.”

Bianca laughs. “I am old, and my husband is giving his cock to some puttana under my nose. I live in bad feelings.”

“Sorry,” I say again.

She shakes her head. “Do not apologize. Bad feelings make us strong. If there are no bad feelings, we would not appreciate the good ones. Understand?”

I nod dumbly. Bianca doesn’t even look upset as she says it, and I think idly that I’d definitely like to be her when I grow up. Maybe sans the whole cheating-husband thing.

“Anyway,” she says. “The food is not quite done. We will have tea while we wait.”

She turns on her heel, not leaving room for argument, and I take one last look at the photo of a young Lorenzo and Alexander, frowning.

There’s nothing dear about Alexander Hart.

I immediately brush off the thought.We arenotthinking about Ezra right now,I tell myself for the dozenth time. I follow Bianca instead, putting all the Hart men far from my mind.