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* * *

Gabe didn’t see anyone—he was too deep in thought.

He’d chatted briefly with Luigi, the barman, but really, he didn’t want company. He was just here to dine and get away from the sombre feeling in the palazzo. His grandfather had taken to his bed and was being more than his usual cantankerous self. Or rather, Geo was desperate for answers as to what would happen when he was gone—to the title, the estate, the Rinaldi legacy.

Gabe was generally direct and didn’t tend to spare feelings, but he could not crush his grandfather with the truth.

Sold.

Gone.

* * *

‘Excuse me.’

He turned to the English and familiar voice. He took in the woman’s freshly washed curls, her hair soft and worn loose. There were a few freckles on her nose, that he swore hadn’t been there this morning. Wherever she had been, she had caught the sun and was going to be sore tonight—her shoulders were pink, clashing with a rather awful orange dress.

Still pretty, though.

‘Ah, the trespasser,’ he said, but seeing her flush he realised she couldn’t tell he was joking. The odd thing was, he rarely joked.

‘Yes, the trespasser. And for that I’d like to apologise,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to cause the Rinaldi family distress. I’m not the press, but even so…’ She took a breath. ‘I had no right to be up on the cliff. I just wanted to find out more about the palazzo and get some photos. I realise you were just doing your job.’

‘My job?’ Gabe frowned. His English was excellent, in fact he spoke several languages fluently, but now and then he tripped on a word choice. She must mean duty he decided and therefore nodded. Yet he did have a question. ‘Why did you run?’

‘Guilty conscience.’ She rolled her eyes and smiled. ‘Perpetually so.’

He found he smiled back.

‘Anyway, I just tried to book a tour, but I was informed it wasn’t running because il Conte is unwell. I see now why security is so tight.’

He frowned a touch and then it dawned what she’d meant about doing his job.

She thought he was a security guard, Gabe realised, and for some reason that brought a slow and exceedingly rare smile to his stern features.

Or rather, she brought a slight smile to his features, a little lightness in a difficult time.

‘May I know your name?’

‘Stella,’ she answered. ‘Stella Harper.’

‘Gabe,’ he responded with his own preferred name, the one they refused to use here, though omitted to mention his surname was Rinaldi. He was about to accept her apology, turn his back and get on with his drink, but then he met those vivid eyes and on a night when he hadn’t known quite where to be, now he did.

‘Would you like to join me for dinner?’

She frowned at the very unexpected invitation.

‘You said you wanted to know more about the palazzo.’

‘I do.’

‘Then I can help you with that.’

‘Oh.’

‘And it is perhaps my way of making things right,’ Gabe conceded. ‘I came on too strong this morning. Clearly, I scared you.’

‘You didn’t. I…’