The Last Di Sione Claims His Prize

by Maisey Yates

  “From your lips to God’s ears,” Giovanni said. “But in the event the Man upstairs is busy, too busy to hear such a pronouncement, I suppose I should speak my piece now. You may have begun to suspect that Giovanni Di Sione is not my given name. I was born Bartolo Agosti.”

  “The letters BALDO on the jewelry…” Dario said.

  Giovanni smiled.

  “The inscription on the pieces I gave to Lucia… Bartolo Agosti, Lucia D’Oro. When I came to America I reinvented more than simply my fortune. I did not just recreate my wealth, I recreated my legend. I was born on Isolo D’Oro. The son of a wealthy family. My brother and I often played with a little girl in the gardens of the palace. It was a simple time on the island. The royal family was in no danger and they moved about freely, mixing with those who were beneath them, playing in the sunshine. I was one such child who was far beneath the princess, though I was titled. I still wasn’t a prince—never destined to be a king.

  “My friendship with that little girl became much more. As we grew, so did our feelings. But sadly for Lucia and myself, while spending a few amusing hours in the garden together was acceptable, it would not make for an acceptable marriage. I knew that things between the two of us had to come to an end. I knew that she had to take up the mantle of her destiny, not take up a life with a man such as myself. But before we parted, I wanted to paint her. I wanted to paint her with the gifts that I had given to her—tokens of our affection. I wanted to show her that no matter what I said, no matter how things ended, I wanted her to be able to look at this painting and see how I loved her.

  “But in the end, when I told her we could not be, when I told her she had to marry the man her parents had selected for her, she was angry. She gave everything back. All of the gifts. Including the painting. I kept them, the only pieces of my Lucia that I retained. I kept them until I was forced to part with them. Part with them or starve. But the painting…I sent it back to her. I never knew what she did with it. I never heard from her. Never found out if her husband intercepted it, if her family kept it from her. But I wanted her to look at it again. With distance between us, with years between that heartbreak, I wanted her to look at it and understand that what I did was not because I cared so little for her. But because I cared so very much.”

  He turned his focus to Gabriella.

  “Tell me, my dear. Did your grandmother have the painting?”

  Gabriella’s expression was so soft, so caring, her dark eyes nearly liquid. “She did. When the family was banished from Isolo D’Oro she had to leave it. But she hid it. She held on to it. She knew just where it was, and when she saw it…”

  “She saw it again?”

  “Yes. Before we came here to New York. We returned to Aceena and showed it to her. It was her one request. She wanted you to have it back, but she wanted to see it first. She cares, Bartolo,” Gabriella said, using Alex’s grandfather’s real name, a name he had doubtless not heard for years. “She cares so very much.”

  “And that, right there, is a gift that supersedes all of this.”

  “That’s nice, Grandfather. So you send us on a field trip around the world to find your trinkets and all you needed was emotional reassurance the whole time,” Dario said, his tone dry. “If I had known that, I might have simply purchased you a nice card.”

  “God knows you needed a diversion, Dario. I also reunited you with the mother of your child and the love of your life.” His grandfather snorted. “You could perhaps say thank you.”

  “I could.” But he didn’t.

  He did, however, step back and take hold of Anais’s hand, stroking his thumb over her knuckles.

  That was, for Dario, as much of a sincere gesture as would likely be demonstrated.

  “It’s strange,” Giovanni said, “but I expected a greater sense of completion. Upon seeing everything together I thought perhaps I would feel a sense of resolution. But they are simply things.”

  “Perhaps you were waiting for a person. Not an object.”

  Everyone turned toward the sound of the thin, elderly voice coming from the doorway of the sitting area. It was Gabriella’s grandmother, Lucia. The older woman was slightly stooped, but still, her bearing was regal. She was dressed in a deep purple that complemented her olive skin and dark eyes. And though her hair was white, though her skin was aged, it was undeniable that she was the woman in the picture. Not so much because of the resemblance she bore, but because the love that shone from Giovanni’s eyes matched the passion in the artist’s brushstrokes.

  Giovanni stood, the move slow, labored. It was clear that he stood on unsteady legs, but in spite of the difficulty, he began to cross the room, closing the distance between himself and his long-lost love.

  “I have a feeling we could have saved ourselves a lot of work if we had simply gone and fetched her in the first place,” Dario said.

  But they regarded each other cautiously, and then Lucia stretched out her hand and curled her fingers around Giovanni’s, squeezing them gently. “Bartolo,” she said, her voice thick with tears.

  “It has been too long.”

  To everyone’s surprise, Lucia laughed. “I would say an excess of fifty years is most definitely too long to be parted from the love of your life.”

  “I hope very much that there was love in your last fifty years regardless,” Giovanni said.

  Lucia nodded slowly. “There was. There is. But that doesn’t mean yours wasn’t greatly missed.” She looked around the room, at all of Giovanni’s grandchildren. “And I see there has been a great deal in yours.”

  “Yes, there has been. But I never released the love I have for you. I simply made room for more.”

  “I think we have a great deal to discuss, Bartolo,” Lucia said. “Don’t you?”

  “Yes. I think we do.”

  He looped his arm around hers, and the two of them made their way slowly out of the room. The siblings looked at one another and, for once, no one seemed to know what to say.

  But it was a strange thing, the realization that they were all in the same room. Nate included. They were all here together, united by their grandfather’s quest to bring closure to the long-ago love affair.

  If Alex were a sentimental man at all, he might even say that love had brought them together.

  Gabriella would say that. Probably the moment they were alone.

  It was a strange thing to him that he felt he could anticipate the sort of thing she might say. He couldn’t recall ever feeling like that about anyone before. Couldn’t recall ever thinking he was certain about the feelings of the person standing beside him. Though something about Gabriella felt ingrained in him, intrinsic to his system. He could guess at her thoughts, emotions and opinions as easily as he could guess at his own. Potentially easier.

  “Alex,” Gabriella said, “can we talk?”

  It wasn’t exactly what he had anticipated her saying, but she wanted to talk because she was having some kind of reaction to the scene between their grandparents. And that he had figured out. For some reason, he drew comfort in his ability to recognize and anticipate Gabriella’s moods. Which wouldn’t matter at all when she went back to Aceena. Not at all. It wasn’t as though they would keep in touch. Wasn’t as though they would exchange fluffy texts with emoticons like modern-day star-crossed lovers.

  “Of course,” he said, placing his hand on the small of her back and leading her from the room, ignoring the questioning gazes of his siblings as they followed their progress.

  “Gardens?” she asked.

  “Not a gallery?”

  “I like gardens. And galleries. And libraries. I contain multitudes.”

  He laughed. “Yes, you do. You are large indeed. In a very small way.”

  She inclined her head, smiling at him. Her expression was impish, but there was something serious behind her dark eyes, and it filled him with a sense of foreboding. Yet another ridiculous thing, because there was nothing that Gabriella could possibly say to him that was wort
h feeling a sense of foreboding over. He had never felt foreboding in his life.

  “This way,” he said, leading her down the long corridor that would take them to the back doors and out to the garden. “I’m not sure it’s as spectacular as the grounds in Aceena. But they’ll have to do.” He pushed the French doors open, then stood like a footman, his hand outstretched, indicating that Gabriella should go ahead of him. She did. And he took great joy in watching her walk out into the sunshine, the rays of the sun shining over the glossy dark waves of her hair. She was a bright, shiny, beautiful thing, a thing that he could not hope to possess. Not with all of the money that he had in his bank account. Not with all the power and influence he wielded. Because it would take something else to hold on to a woman like Gabriella, something he simply didn’t have. Something he couldn’t even identify. And if he couldn’t identify it, how could he hope to obtain it?

  This was a foolish line of thinking. He was fine. He had been fine until his grandfather had sent him on the fool’s errand to collect the painting. This was Giovanni’s happy ending, at ninety-eight, and it had nothing at all to do with Alex. Alex would go back to the way things were. Alex would go back to life without Gabby. That was as it should be. And he should want nothing else.

  She walked over to a stone bench that was positioned just in front of a manicured hedge and took a seat, drawing one delicate, manicured finger over the hard, cold surface. Then she looked up at him. “It’s a very sad thing that our grandparents had to wait half a century to find each other again.”

  “But a very happy thing that they have each other again, yes?”

  “Yes. It is very happy.”

  “And as they both said, they did not lack for love in their lives.”

  “Yes. You’re right. But don’t you think…considering what they said, considering the evidence…that they never forgot each other? That their feelings for each other never lessened? That what they shared was different? They reserved a special place inside of them that was never replaced by anyone else. Not by the people they married, not by their children, not by their grandchildren. I believe that they both had happy lives. But I also believe that what they shared between each other was unique. I believe that it was special in a way that nothing else was. And I believe—”

  She swallowed hard, looking up at the sky, curling her fingers around the edge of the bench and planting her feet firmly on the ground.

  “I believe that there is such a thing as true love. Real love. The kind that people write sonnets about, the kind that makes people paint. That makes them sing. Like a real ‘I have one half of the magic amulet, and you have the other half and they can only be complete when they’re together’ kind of love. I just saw it in there.”

  He felt cold inside. And it had nothing to do with the clear, frostbitten December day, and everything to do with the words that were spilling out of Gabriella’s mouth.

  “What is the point to all of this, Gabriella?”

  “I think…I think that we might have that. Because it doesn’t make sense, Alex. None of this makes sense. We don’t. We should have nothing in common. Nothing to talk about. Attraction might be one thing, sexual compatibility another. But there’s more than that. I have never felt more like myself than when I’m with you. I thought, all this time, that I needed to find someone who is like me. That I needed to find someone who would keep me safe, the way I had kept myself safe. But that isn’t it at all. I don’t want to be safe. I want to be with you.” She laughed. “I guess it doesn’t really sound right. It isn’t like I think you’re going to put me in danger…”

  “No,” he said, the word coming out of his mouth, heart tortured. “You are exactly right. I am going to put you in danger. I already have. It’s evidenced by the fact that we’re having this conversation. You should not feel these things for me, Gabby. I made it very clear that what we had was physical, and only physical.”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice sounding hollow, as though he had already eviscerated something essential inside of her. “I know you did. Then things changed for me. I thought it wasn’t entirely impossible that they had changed for you.”

  “And that is where our differences are a problem. You are innocent. And for you, all of this is new. So of course things have changed. And I can understand why you might have thought they would change for me. But you have to understand that nothing about this is original to me,” he said, directly combating his earlier thoughts. Because he needed to. For himself, not just for her. “I have conducted more of these relationships than I can count. And there is absolutely nothing unique about you.”

  She blinked furiously, tears glittering in her beautiful eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to wipe them away. But he had put them there, so he forfeited the right. “But you didn’t… If I wasn’t different, then you would have had me the moment you wanted me. I don’t think you would have held me on the floor of the library and used your words to—”

  “That’s the thing, Gabby, you don’t think, because you don’t have any idea how this works. When a man wants to seduce a woman he appeals to her in any way he can. I’m not above pretending to be a much nicer man than I am. I was seemingly honest with you,” he said, the words cutting his throat on their way out. “I told you about my fearsome reputation, but then I treated you gently. I made you feel like you were different. What better way to seduce a virgin? But I never wanted your love, darling girl. I only wanted your body.”

  “Why are you saying this?”

  “Because it is time I told the truth. The moment you started spouting poetry I knew this had to be over. It was one thing when I thought you were going to quietly return to your home country the moment the painting was delivered. Clearly, you had other designs. And I don’t have any interest in prolonging this farce.”

  She closed her eyes, a single tear trailing down her cheek. “That wasn’t the farce. This is.”

  “Gabriella,” he said, his voice hardened, harsh. “I told you the sort of man I am. I deal in business. In exchanges. We exchanged pleasure. That’s all there is for me. Beyond that? I kept my own brother a secret to try and protect the reputation of my father. A man who was debauched beyond reason. That’s the sort of thing I stand in defense of.”

  “No. You say that. You’re determined to make sure that I and everyone else think you’re a monster. Why? What are you hiding?” She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze directly, and anger was replacing the sadness that had been there only a moment ago.

  “That,” he said, “is my deepest, darkest secret, cara mia. I am hiding nothing. The water is just as shallow as it appears from the surface. Nothing is running deep here.”

  “I understand that you need to believe that, Alex. I understand that it’s what you need everyone else to believe. What I don’t understand is why.”

  He spread his hands. “There is nothing to understand. That is the simple, tragic truth of me. My legend is far more interesting than I will ever be. Stories of me being a monster. Of being heartless, and cruel. The simple fact is I’m self-serving. There is nothing intricate to figure out. I do what makes me money. I do what brings me pleasure. Those are my motivations. Those are my actions. Women, the media, they like to pretend that there is something else beneath all of that. I am no more interesting than my father and mother ever were.”

  “No,” she said, her voice a whisper. “You said you didn’t want to be like him.”

  “I said a lot of things. Don’t believe them. I believe this. It’s over, Gabriella. The painting is delivered, our grandparents are reunited. They can keep their true love. I will keep my money, my varied sex life and my freedom. You can go back to your books.”

  “Alex,” she said, her voice broken, a plea.

  It stabbed him, made him feel like he was being scraped raw from the inside out. This was for the best. He had to end it. He had to end it with the kind of finality his grandfather had ended things with Lucia. But he would leave no painting behind. He would le
ave no trail of bread crumbs for Gabriella to find her way back to him eventually.

  What he did, he did for her best interests. For her future. She really would find a man who was better than him. She thought, right now, that he was more exciting than the intellectual, nice man that she would ultimately end up with, but in the future she would see that she was wrong. She would understand that she needed someone companionable, someone stable, someone who would give her everything that she deserved and more.

  She was emotionally scarred by parents who had been so much like his own. And he would do nothing to continue that scarring. To continue that pain. Removing himself now was the kindest thing, even though it didn’t seem like it now.

  “You were right,” he said, knowing that the death knell to all of this was on his lips even now. “The rake never ends up with the wallflower. He crosses the room for her, Gabby, every time. Because she’s needy. Because she’s vulnerable. Because she’s a challenge, a change in flavor to a jaded palate. But he doesn’t end up with her. He doesn’t end up with anyone.”

  And then he turned, leaving her standing in the garden, leaving her breaking to pieces behind him, while his own chest did the same.

  It was so very like Giovanni and Lucia. But with one major difference. There would never be a time in Alex’s life when he stood in a roomful of his grandchildren and told this story. Because there would be no grandchildren for him. There would be no other woman, no wife.

  It would be up to his brothers and sisters to carry on the bloodline, because he would not.

  He would leave nothing behind. Not his tainted blood, not any Lost Mistresses.

  Without him, Gabriella would be free to have love in her life. She would not hold on to him.

  He wasn’t worth it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  GABRIELLA WAS IN a daze. She had been ever since Alex had left her sitting out in the garden at his grandfather’s estate. Now, she was staying at the estate. She had stumbled into the house some two hours later and found her grandmother, who was of course planning on staying and reacquainting herself with Giovanni, and spending as much time with him as possible with the remaining time he had.