Chapter Three #2
But first he had to get Tonia’s sister to agree to what he was putting to her, insane or not.
‘And if you choose to marry me, then you will benefit too,’ he went on.
He raised a hand as if in reassurance. ‘I’m not expecting any permanent commitment.
Once the Palazzo is restored we can divorce, but I’ll guarantee, in a legally binding prenup, that we’ll always share ownership.
It will always,’ he said, his eyes never leaving hers, ‘be your home.’
He saw her expression change at that. The way he wanted it to change.
He pressed on to the finish. ‘Marrying makes sense—for both of us. A win-win all round.’ He looked straight at her. ‘So, what do you say?’
She met his eyes, but she was shaking her head.
‘I still say you’re insane,’ she said.
A sudden laugh broke from him. He’d pushed enough. Time to give her breathing space. Imperiously, he summoned a passing waiter, who stopped immediately as Sanzio asked for the dessert menu.
‘Let’s sweeten you up,’ he said, smiling at Tonia’s sister.
* * *
Eleanora lay staring sightlessly at the ceiling over her bed at the pensione.
She felt as if a train had run over her—a train that was Sanzio Bastoni and his unbelievable, outrageous proposition.
He hadn’t said any more about it as they’d consumed dessert—she’d gone for a cooling sorbet, he for a rich chocolate mousse—only made passing conversation with her.
He’d drawn out of her, she realised, that she was twenty-five, had studied art history at university and if the Palazzo were sold would look for a job in a gallery or museum, either in Italy or England, that she was on good, if geographically distant, terms with her mother in Argentina, and that she seldom saw her father and sister, living very quietly at the Palazzo, socialising little.
Only as she took her leave at the end of the meal did she brave the subject she had been sent to address.
‘What am I to tell my father, Signor Bastoni?’
His face had been unreadable, but for a dark glint in his eye which disturbed her.
‘That I will not be buying the Palazzo—it will come to me as your dowry.’
She had made no answer. How could she? His outrageous proposition had been ludicrous, insane—unthinkable.
It remained exactly that for the next fortnight.
Until, in complete panic, she phoned Sanzio Bastoni’s office.
He turned up at the Palazzo the next morning.
* * *
‘What’s happened?’
Sanzio’s question was neither hostile nor surprised. He was pretty sure he knew the answer.
‘My father’s found a buyer,’ Eleanora said bleakly, confirming his supposition.
They were sitting outside the wing of the Palazzo that she’d repaired as best she could with her inadequate resources.
‘Did you know?’ she asked.
‘I suspected,’ he conceded. ‘I endured a very blustering phone call from him the day after we dined at the Viscari—presumably you’d told him by then you’d had no joy in getting a good price from me. He attempted to convince me that he had rival buyers lining up down the street.’
‘Well, he has,’ Eleanora confirmed. ‘One, at least. It seems real.’
‘What’s the offer?’
Eleanora named it. Sanzio’s mouth twisted. ‘Lowball.’
‘It’s from someone called Oleg—I can’t spell or pronounce his surname. It’s a cash offer. Literally cash.’
Sanzio shrugged. ‘Could be dirty money he wants laundered. Your father’s a fool to touch it. But if it’s the only offer on the table—’
Eleanora’s face twisted. ‘I don’t want the Palazzo to belong to someone like that!’
Sanzio looked at her. ‘So, what do you want to do about it?’ His voice was neutral, deliberately so.
In the two weeks since she’d walked out of the Viscari he’d reflected on the proposal he’d put to her. He had not changed his mind. And seeing her again like this, it still had traction.
It would work—for both of us.
His eyes rested on her now. Still making absolutely nothing of herself—she was wearing a faded top, cotton pedal-pushers, scuffed trainers, hair pulled tightly back off her face, and not a trace of make-up.
Her nails had garden dirt under them and there was a long scratch on the back of one hand.
No one would ever take her for Tonia’s sister.
Not yet—
The same thought that had entered his head over dinner at the Viscari came again as he let his eyes rest on her. It was a pleasing thought—a very pleasing one.
Eleanora had started to speak. Sanzio’s attention was caught immediately. Any plans for her—and for her sister—rested on what she said now. What would she say? He felt himself tense.
Suddenly wanting the right answer. Wanting it badly.
He’d told Eleanora da Verano at the Viscari that the only way he’d get hold of the Palazzo would be by the method he’d put to her.
But that had only been a tactic to pressure her.
Of course he could buy it for himself if he felt like it—any offer he made would be higher and cleaner than shady Oleg’s.
But that would mean Eleanora would not come with it…
Which meant Tonia would not learn a lesson she badly needed to learn.
He made himself listen with total focus to what Tonia’s sister was saying to him now. Her voice was cautious—diffident, hesitant—unsure. But what she said was totally revealing.
‘Signor Bastoni,’ she began, her expression troubled, gaze searching, ‘what you said, that evening at the Viscari… Do you…do you still…?’
‘Yes,’ Sanzio said.