Chapter Five #2
Zia walked straight into that meeting without hesitation.
She was keen to learn the facts of her situation.
No, she had never seen a lawyer about her inheritance or received any official notice or papers or letters when she reached eighteen years of age.
No, she had not signed over anything to Sandrine Beccari.
She was then shown a couple of documents and the signatures purporting to be hers.
‘That’s not even a very good copy of my signature,’ she said with a frown.
Paper and a pen were advanced to her and she was asked to write her usual signature, which she did several times, her pin-neat writing style, taught by Alina, very different from the carelessly scrawled name on the documents.
She was asked if she was willing to go to court to have the matter cleared up. ‘If necessary, yes. I’ve nothing to lose and everything to gain,’ she pointed out. ‘If Sandrine forged my signature—and, clearly, she did—she deserves to be punished for it.’
After that interview, Zia felt free to change into jeans and a light top and take Sausage down to the gardens for what remained of the afternoon.
There she wandered below the trees, enjoying the relative coolness after the searing heat of Türkiye, while Sausage romped about chasing and fetching a tennis ball Zia found lying in a flower bed.
Orazio watched her from his office window, his dogs by his side, whining to go down and join the fun with the miniature terrorist, who was apparently quite a bully in dog terms.
‘I can’t believe you put her in the Queen’s Tower,’ Fiero exclaimed.
‘It’s only for one night. And with the wardrobe she’s got now, she needs a dressing area where a maid can do her hair for her.’
‘Stay away from her this evening. The household is already talking up a storm at what they see as preferential treatment.’
‘Well, then, they need to wise up. Treating Zia in any way as lesser than me would rouse fierce partisan sympathies in Upper Mandovia. The PM is now worried they’ll back away from the reunification and put a crown on her head.’
‘They’re broke. They can’t afford a crown or anything else.’
‘Didn’t think of that but it’s a fair point.’
The talk devolved to politics while Orazio watched Zia playing artlessly with her dog.
Silky black hair catching in the breeze, her slender shapely figure enhanced by the casual outfit.
Images from the night before assailed him and arousal shot through him again like a burning torch, tightening the fit of his tailored trousers.
He almost cursed out loud. He didn’t believe that he had ever wanted a woman the way he wanted her.
Was that because she was forbidden fruit?
That evening, Allie joined Zia in her bedroom when she was almost ready for the reception. ‘Wow…’ the blonde gasped. ‘That is some dress!’
Zia had been advised on what to wear for an official reception.
Her dress was a shimmering silver sheath that left her arms and shoulders bare but merely skimmed her curves and revealed nothing.
Her hair was up in a fancy curled design and studded with pearl pins, since she didn’t have any jewellery to wear.
‘I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon,’ Zia admitted.
‘I had to call into the office to catch up on the way home. Home for me is here in the castle, by the way. I share Fiero’s apartment.
In addition, my company organised tonight’s reception,’ she advanced with quiet pride.
‘They were in a hurry and we specialise at speed, so we were picked. It’s a buffet and drinks because there are too many guests for anything else. ’
‘I wish I could say I’m looking forward to it, but I’m not,’ Zia admitted with her trademark bluntness. ‘Everyone’s curiosity about me is intimidating.’
‘You’ll get used to it,’ Allie forecast as she accompanied her downstairs, where Zia was greeted by Matteo, the suave young PR guy chosen to stay by her side throughout the event.
Her attention swerved straight to Orazio the minute she entered the room.
She reasoned that that was natural when he was so much taller than the majority of people and his caramel-blond hair shone below the lights of the crowded room.
He was surrounded by a clique of women glittering with jewellery and sporting high-fashion gowns.
‘The centre of attention as always,’ Allie giggled, leaning close. ‘Sometimes I feel sorry for him. Some of those women are so desperate to catch his eye.’
‘I imagine he’s very much in demand.’
‘Young, single, gorgeous, a king and a billionaire.’ Allie counted off her fingers. ‘He’s got all the exciting attraction of an undiscovered goldmine.’
‘And he knows it,’ Zia chipped in very softly.
‘Sadly, yes. Couldn’t fail to. Girls were falling at his feet even when he was a teenager visiting for the summer.’
‘You have to be our princess,’ a voice interposed and a young dark-haired man with a ready smile stepped in front of her. ‘And you look suitably regal.’
Zia laughed because there was something endearingly boyish about his twinkling eyes and dimples. ‘I’m not at all regal.’
‘May I introduce myself?’ he asked, extending a hand for hers. ‘I am Giancarlo Marone. Are you really called Annunziata or is there a catchier tag to be had?’
‘Zia,’ she provided, amused against her will as he carried her hand to his lips and kissed it like some old-fashioned smoothie.
‘But addressing the Princess as Your Highness would be the correct approach,’ Allie slotted in from the side.
‘Your Highness,’ Giancarlo quipped with the same dancing grin, dark eyes holding hers with a warmth that telegraphed just how attractive he found her. ‘May I introduce you to my family?’
‘There’s an official receiving line in ten minutes,’ Allie interposed.
‘But I don’t want to wait,’ Giancarlo mocked.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to.’ Zia retrieved her hand calmly. ‘The reception has a very strict time schedule.’
‘Biggest womaniser in Mandovia but he’s from your part of the country,’ Allie hissed in her ear warningly as she carried her deeper into the room. ‘Son of our richest resident and destined to be a count when his father goes.’
‘Told you the sharks would be out in force,’ Fiero quipped from the far side of the room, following Orazio’s gaze to that same revealing encounter. ‘Giancarlo is not letting the grass grow under his feet. If this were a race, he would already have won. Did you see her smile?’
Rage coiled like a black mamba in Orazio’s chest and he wanted to hit something.
How dared Giancarlo Marone approach Zia so boldly, all smiles, not to mention that smarmy kissing of her hand?
His even white teeth gritted. He wondered why he was so annoyed.
After all, Giancarlo would be a very suitable match for her.
He should be wishing her well. Why wasn’t he?
Giancarlo continued to hover in Zia’s vicinity and was right there by her side when his parents appeared in the line—separately because Giancarlo’s mother was now an ex-wife, and the new wife was the lady who had accused Zia of stealing her diamond brooch.
She curtsied and greeted Zia without the smallest sign of recognition and Zia didn’t even have time to panic before she was being guided on down the line of introductions.
Relief spread through her that that potential hazard had been faced down and was no longer a concern.
Giancarlo squired her to the buffet. It was time to sit down and eat and he introduced her to his younger sister, Claudia, a vapid beauty, who could barely stay in her seat when Orazio was anywhere within hailing distance, so keen was she to attract his attention.
Courtesy forced Orazio to come over and speak.
He was clearly well acquainted with the siblings and Zia was insanely conscious of his gaze resting on her as she chattered to Giancarlo, whom she found entertaining, if indiscreet, company with his little gossipy insider stories about certain VIPs present.
She ate little and listened while Giancarlo ambitiously outlined his plan to take her on a picnic on horseback in Upper Mandovia.
Since she had never been on a horse in her life, she was parting her lips to admit as much when Orazio intervened without warning.
‘Zia is only now learning to ride horses. She won’t be ready any time soon for a mountain trek. ’
Zia seized the excuse gratefully and smiled. ‘Yes, but when I am ready I will let you know.’
There was a smoulder in Orazio’s lingering scrutiny that made her recall the exhilarating burn of his mouth on hers and she got a little short of breath, that buzz at the heart of her igniting without warning, leaving a dull, nagging ache in its wake.
She felt uncomfortable and excused herself.
In the cloakroom she ran her wrists under cold water and breathed in and breathed out slowly.
Orazio had stayed away from her all evening and she had been prepared for that, hadn’t she?
She knew that he didn’t want to link their names together and risk creating more rumours about their relationship.
So why did his distance now hurt and make her feel small and dismissed?
Pondering that conundrum and annoyed with herself for even having such thoughts, she was startled when her hand was grasped and she was tugged into one of the rooms she was walking past. She only just swallowed a frightened shriek and exclaimed, ‘What—?’
Her dazed violet eyes focused in consternation on Orazio. She felt reassured then that she was safe and her bemused gaze skittered over their surroundings. Shelves packed with crockery and glasses lined the walls of what was obviously some sort of storage closet. ‘What the heck—?’
‘Giancarlo is a friend of mine,’ Orazio volunteered. ‘But he’s also a notorious playboy.’
‘Oh, is that all?’ Zia retorted with wry amusement. ‘I’m way past the age and experience to be seduced. I haven’t spent the last almost twenty-three years living down a burrow, protected from all predatory men.’