“Normal?” Her lovely face was shocked.
But as he enjoyed the house specialty, spaghetti alla carbonara, Alex looked again at the crowd outside the window, on the edge of the square. The number of people had grown exponentially since they’d arrived. This size of crowd was not so normal.
Suddenly, his bodyguard crossed the restaurant, whispering urgently in his ear. Tossing money on the table, Alex rose to his feet.
“I’m not done yet,” Rosalie protested, holding up a fork thick with linguine alle vongole.
“We must go.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” she asked, bewildered as the bodyguard led them out the back exit.
“Someone posted a photo of us on social media,” he said grimly. “And it’s already gotten picked up on television and online. There’s interest.”
“In what?”
“In you. In us. In our apparent juicy affair during my marriage that led to your pregnancy.”
She looked back at their half-eaten lunch. “But—it’s not fair!”
Alex snorted incredulously. “Fair?”
He spoke the word mockingly, as if expecting fairness in the world was a fantasy believed only by children and fools. Her cheeks went red.
In the alley behind the restaurant, another waiting bodyguard whisked them into the docked speedboat. His driver Lorenzo sped them away down the canals, turning quickly from one to another. Once they were out of the sun, away from prying eyes in the cool shadows of the deep, they reached the palazzo’s private gate. Behind them, in the distance, boats were desperately trying to catch up with them, but they would be too late. Alex helped her climb out of the speedboat, where Collins was waiting inside the open gateway. He locked it behind them.
Once they were in the quiet privacy of the courtyard, Rosalie exhaled with relief. “I can’t believe you deal with that all the time.”
He glanced back at her as they entered the grand hallway of the palazzo. “I don’t. It’s why I spend most of my time in the countryside.”
“You? In the country?” Her expression was doubtful. He smiled.
“I’m a farmer. I grow grapes. I make wine.”
“But—aren’t you this billionaire aristocrat?”
He snorted. “Have you ever heard the joke about the best way to make a small fortune in winemaking? You start with a large fortune.” Tilting his head, he sighed. “Luckily I don’t need to make a living.” He didn’t like to remember how he’d gotten the huge fortune now sitting in worldwide investments—by losing control of his mother’s company. And losing his sister. His throat grew tight. “I don’t chase money. That’s what I like about farming. The sun and rain and earth don’t give a damn about my title. They’re real.”
She looked up at the frescoes, at the grand chandelier. “But—you live in this palazzo...”
Alex motioned toward the gilded salon. “Chiara lived here. She liked the grandeur, and being close to her boyfriend and the Venice music scene. But I haven’t really lived here since I was a boy. The only reason I’m here now is to tie things up.”
“What things? You mean me?” Rosalie’s voice quivered a little.
“I mean all the things that need to be done after someone is dead,” he said flatly. “Chiara didn’t leave a will. All her remaining fortune was left to me as her husband. She must be turning in her grave. And there were other legal complications to be dealt with.” He paused. “Her lover left behind a wife and children.”
“Wait—the man was married?”
He shrugged. “That’s why Chiara didn’t just want a divorce—she wanted my fortune to go with it. Carraro hinted that nothing less could induce him to leave his wife. My guess is he enjoyed having them both. He seemed to have no morals, but then—” he gave a grim smile “—I think that’s what Chiara liked about him.”
Rosalie’s eyes were huge with shock. Her mouth was open, as if she could not find any words.
“I have a few things to finish sorting out with the lawyer over the next few weeks. I’ll attend Giulia’s charity ball, so no one can say I did not pay my respects to Chiara’s memory. But after that, I’m going home.” He looked at her, then added gently, “But if the city feels like home to you, we can stay.”
“Home.” Rosalie’s voice was unexpectedly bitter. “Venice is beautiful, but it’s not my home.” She looked away. “I called my boss in San Francisco from the train. Told him he’ll need to find a new receptionist. I left a message for my roommates too. My rent is paid till the end of the month, but I’ll need to go get my stuff.”
“My people can arrange it. Just give me the address.”
“Thank you.” She sighed. “I just wish I knew where I’ll be living in the future.”