‘Yes.’ She offered a small smile, trying to defuse the tension that was pulling between them, and failing miserably. ‘Of course, it’s not a secret.’
He didn’t say anything in response, and his silence seemed to stretch between them.
‘You want to buy a bank, one of the oldest in Europe, and the board won’t sell because of your playboy reputation. They’re conservative and you’re...not.’
His features—briefly—glowered before he resumed an expression of non-concern. His control was impressive.
‘In addition, your father—’
‘My father is none of your business,’ he bit out crisply, surprising her with his vehemence. So those wounds still smarted, then? Despite the passage of twelve years, it seemed Luca hadn’t recovered from the scandal that befell his father—his whole family—and the part he’d played in it.
‘Actually, that’s not exactly true.’
Luca’s eyes narrowed. ‘Ah. I see. Is this another debt of his? Money owed from him to you?’ He frowned. ‘But you are too young, so perhaps it is a debt to someone else, someone you love?’
Olivia’s heart thumped. Someone she loved? Was there any such person? Sienna, of course, she thought of her younger sister with an ache in the region of her heart. But beyond Sienna, Olivia was alone in the world. There was no one else she loved. Her mother, she pitied, and felt a great deal of duty to care for, but loved? It was far too complicated to be described in that way, and impossible to express in such simplistic terms.
‘It’s not like that.’
Luca’s nostrils flared. ‘Then why do you not get to the point and tell me what it is,rather than what it is not?’
‘I’m trying,’ she promised from between clenched lips. ‘But you’re kind of intimidating, you know?’
Her honesty had surprised him. He took a step backwards, tilted his face away, drew in a deep enough breath to make his chest shift visibly, then expelled it slowly, before turning back to face her.
‘I cannot help being who I am.’
‘I know. But, just—bear with me. This isn’t easy.’
He crossed his arms over his chest—hardly painting a picture of calm acceptance. She bit down on her lower lip then stopped when his eyes dropped to the gesture.
‘Perhaps we should start with my father, not yours. I imagine you’ve heard of him. Thomas Thornton-Rose?’
Luca’s demeanour shifted, his features changing, as he disappeared back in time. ‘He was a friend to my father. During the trial, he supported him. There were not many who did.’
‘They were very close friends,’ Olivia agreed with a murmur, wondering then if he knew about the will. There was no recognition in his features beyond that which was perfectly appropriate to an acquaintance of his father.
‘He passed away shortly after my father went to prison. I remember reading a headline.’
‘Yes.’ Olivia blinked quickly, focusing on the Castel Sant’Angelo, a short distance away, glowing gold against the inky sky. ‘It was very sudden.’ Her brows knitted together. ‘He hadn’t been ill or anything. None of us expected—’ She swallowed, ignoring the lump in her throat.
‘I’m sorry.’
She brushed aside his condolences. ‘That’s not necessary.’
Her cool response had him arching a thick, dark brow. Olivia didn’t notice.
‘Shortly after he died, the terms of his will came to light. You would know that we’re part of the British aristocracy, with much land and money held up in various investments?’
He lifted his shoulders in an indolent shrug. ‘I do not know much more than we have already discussed. Should I?’
Another maniacal laugh erupted from her chest. He didn’t know anything about this, and he didn’t know anything about her? Panic was swallowing her whole. She’d counted on a degree of insight, but that had been foolish. After all, his father had been in prison a long time. She doubted they had regular tête-à-tête regarding their lives.
She would need to start from scratch. Careful to keep the anxiety from her voice, she began slowly. ‘When my father died, it was discovered that his estate was carved up in a particularly unusual—’ cruel, she mentally substituted ‘—way. My mother was to inherit nothing, and my sister and I would only inherit if we met very specific circumstances, by the time we turn twenty-five.’
His features gave nothing away. ‘And what circumstances are these?’
Do it. Stop freaking out. He’ll say no, and you can go home again. And do what? Kick your mother out of the family home? Hand the keys over to horrid second cousin, Timothy?