22. Chapter Twenty-Two #2
“Good thing you found this place then.” Her gaze sweeps around the conservatory. “It’s pretty amazing, huh?”
“That’s an understatement.” I glance upward again at the towering glass ceiling disappearing into greenery and warm light. “I honestly thought I was hallucinating this place at first.”
“It does feel a little unreal, especially at night.”
I look around once more, my eyes catching on the citrus trees near the fireplace.
“The plants are all new,” I observe aloud.
Rory nods. “Yeah. The whole conservatory is. It got built super fast. Pretty much right after Don Maximo got back from Sicily. He must have gotten the inspiration there.”
My heart skips a beat.
No. Surely not.
He couldn’t possibly have built something like this because I love flowers and hate the cold.
That would be absurd.
Completely insane.
Wouldn’t it?
Rory’s brows lift as she studies me. “You’re from there, aren’t you?”
I nod. Not wanting to touch that particular coincidence, I gesture toward the camera resting against her hip.
“You’re a photographer?”
“Trying to be,” she says. “I came out here to take photos tonight while Dad’s working.”
“But you said he manages the grounds. Why would he be working during a party?”
Rory snorts. “Because there are hundreds of cars tonight that need to go somewhere without destroying my father’s precious lawns.”
I chuckle.
“I never considered the logistics before.”
“That’s because you’re one of the pretty guests, not the people trying to stop drunk men from driving over imported landscaping.”
She gets up and disappears toward a small kitchen nook I somehow hadn’t noticed tucked among the greenery.
“Tea?” she calls over her shoulder. “You still look half-frozen.”
“Yes, please.”
“And use one of those blankets instead of the tablecloths. They look ridiculous.”
My eyes drift toward the knitted throws piled across the cream sofas.
“I’m already trespassing. I wouldn’t want to use someone else’s blankets.”
She throws me a look that says, Aren’t they yours already?
Thankfully, she doesn’t say it out loud. That allows me to continue living in denial.
I swap the tablecloths for one of the thick cream blankets before sinking deeper into the sofa near the fire.
“What kind of photography do you do?” I ask as Rory pours steaming water into a teapot.
Her mouth twitches. “The kind that scandalizes rich old men.”
I raise a brow. “That could mean several things.”
“It definitely can.”
Something tells me I’m going to like this girl very much.
“You’ve got me intrigued.”
Rory carries the teapot and two cups over to the sunken seating area before setting them onto the low coffee table between the sofas.
“It’s probably best to show you,” she says as she pours the tea and hands me a cup.
“I’d like that.”
I relish the warmth returning to my body as I take a sip.
“How long have you been in Chicago?” she asks.
“I arrived this afternoon.”
Rory’s brows rise.
“And you’re already attending a mafia birthday party? Ambitious.”
“Trust me, I would have happily skipped it.”
Rory smirks, leaning back. “You’re not a fan of mafia high society, then?”
“If I could, I’d avoid them for the rest of my life.”
Her mouth twitches, but she lets that answer sit for a moment.
“So you haven’t seen anything of Chicago yet?”
“Unless mafia mansions and bodyguards count as cultural landmarks, no.”
“Tragic.” She shakes her head. “Someone needs to rescue you from rich mafia people and show you the real city.”
“Are you volunteering?”
“Obviously.”
That answer alone makes me smile into my tea. She reaches for her phone resting beside the camera on the sofa.
“Give me your number.”
I hesitate for a second. Growing up, every girl I knew came with a family name and all the baggage attached to it.
Rory doesn’t. She seems… normal.
I take the phone from her and enter my number.
“There,” I say, handing it back. “Now you can corrupt me with your scandalous photography and dazzle me with your Chicago tour guide skills.”
Rory slides her phone into her jeans pocket. “Excellent. I need another rebellious person in my life.”
I’m still smiling when familiar heat prickles along the back of my neck. I don’t have to turn around to know who just walked in.
Rory notices too.
The casual ease slips from her expression as she rises to her feet, her attention shifting somewhere behind me.
Slowly, I turn.
Maximo stands near the entrance to the conservatory, dark coat dusted with snow from outside, broad shoulders filling the doorway. My pulse immediately loses all dignity.
His gaze lands on me.
He looks devastatingly handsome standing there among the flowers and golden light, all hard angles against the softness of the conservatory.
His eyes drag over me where I’m curled beneath the cream blankets beside the fireplace.
My cheeks flush.
Rory clears her throat, visibly uncomfortable now. Maximo barely glances her way before giving a small nod toward the door.
Leave.
How rude.
I send her a pleading look not to go, but, honestly, what can she do other than obey?
Then she disappears through the conservatory doors, leaving me alone with Maximo.
He says nothing at first, but simply watches me.
My heart is beating so hard I’m half convinced he can hear it from across the room.
I search his face for some indication of what he’s thinking, but he gives nothing away.
I can’t tell if he’s pleased, irritated, or dangerously determined.
Which probably means I should be concerned.