“That’s something to still be sorted out.”
“I couldn’t give you an answer then, not without knowing who’d raise him. Financial support is important but his care...the affection he receives...is everything and will determine not just his health but his happiness.”
“I wasn’t raised in the Dark Ages. I know children need affection.”
“Would you be able to give him a mother, or would you hire a nanny?”
“I am not about to find a wife just to give him a mother. I’d hire a nanny.”
“Would you be able to spend significant time with him?”
“I am a bachelor. I work long hours. But I would ensure that my nephew had the best care money could buy.”
That sounded awful. She suppressed a shiver.
One of his black brows lifted. “What’s wrong? You don’t look happy.”
“He deserves more than an expensive nanny.”
“She’d be well-trained and dedicated—”
“I think I’ve heard enough. You’ve painted a dreadful picture. There is no way I could leave Michael to your care.”
“But you were so insistent that Michael be raised as a Marcello!”
“Is that how you were raised? With the best nanny money could buy?”
“Yes, and the best boarding schools, before attending the best universities.”
“You didn’t grow up here at home?”
“No. And I turned out well, wouldn’t you say?”
“You turned out heartless.”
“I’m practical, not heartless. There is a difference.”
“Well, I want him loved, and protected, so no, you can’t buy me off. I’m not going to abandon him.”
“But isn’t that what you did earlier? You handed him to my steward and walked away without a backward glance.”
“It was a desperate ploy to get your attention, and it worked.”
“Desperate people have a price. I know you have yours.”
“I’m not that desperate.”
“Then go back to Seattle, Rachel, and stop wasting my time.” He turned around and walked away from her, entering the room with the open door.
The sharpness in his voice made her chest tighten and her stomach fall. Was he really so cold and callous or was he testing her? Either way, she was here, and she was not about to be scared off.
She followed him into the room. “Life is not black or white, Gio, and I don’t believe in all or nothing. I believe in discussion and compromise—even when it’s uncomfortable. We need to find a middle ground—” She stopped as she noticed the soaring stone arches that divided the large room into two. On one side of the beige arches was a massive desk and chair, and on the other was a wall of windows framed in stained wood, topped by clear leaded glass and Palladian style arches. The high ceiling was paneled in dark wood and beams. The marble floor was the color of vanilla and matched the warm plaster walls, while the white slipcovered furniture in the sitting area looked effortlessly chic. This, she thought, was what people meant when they said Italians had style.
She worked with designers on a daily basis, creating custom plane interiors, but this took her breath away. It was visually stunning. History reimagined. Luxury reinvented. “Incredible,” she murmured. She didn’t know what she loved more—the soaring stone arches that looked as if they’d been lifted from ancient ruins, or the magnificent leaded glass windows that allowed the light to deeply penetrate the room.
“Your office?” she asked, still marveling over the elegant simplicity. No mirrors or gilded surfaces here. No Murano glass. No shimmering sconces. Just dark wood, stone pediments over tall doorways, marble slab floors and windows that allowed light to spill everywhere, brightening surfaces and reflecting off the white furniture.
“Yes.” He’d taken a seat on the edge of his dark desk and watched her do a slow turn in the middle of the room.