‘Sounds like you need another job. What’s so important that you have to work after midnight?’
‘A special project.’
His eyes glittered like obsidian in the golden light of the room, boring into her. She shifted under the intense appraisal. Everything about him seemed to still, like a predator watching its prey.
‘I’m trying to find some of the country’s lost treasures.’
She swallowed past the sick knot in her throat and placed a hand on the violin case under the blankets, drawing it closer towards her. She could mention the Stradivarius now—it was almost the perfect opening. Except she didn’t know the man, or how he’d react...
‘What kind of treasures?’ Lucy held her breath, waiting for his answer.
His hand gripped the arm of the chair, his fingers denting the fabric. ‘Some gems from the royal collection.’
Her shoulders dropped. Jewels—not a lost Stradivarius. ‘I’d have thought you’d go to the police about that.’
He dragged his hand over his face and she realised that once she got past how supernaturally handsome he was, Stefano also looked tired. Underneath his eyes his skin had a slightly greyish quality, in contrast to the healthy bronze elsewhere.
‘Some responsibilities are mine alone,’ he said.
Those words sounded as if they carried the expectations of a nation. He gazed into some unseen distance, as though imagining a future that might be there.
‘How’s your search been going?’
His focus returned to her and she didn’t like it. It was a strange kind of appraisal, as though he was cataloguing her worth. She was well aware of how she must look, her hair likely a bird’s nest, wearing her coat and her pyjamas. A mess—kind of like her unravelling life.
‘I’m hoping for an unexpected improvement,’ he said.
There was something about him that seemed so bleak as he downed the remaining drink in his glass. He uncapped the bottle, poured another shot, seemingly intent on drowning unspoken sorrows. Her heartbeat bounded, sickening and thready in the ominous silence that descended between them.
She wrapped her arms round her knees. ‘What are you drinking?’
‘Bruno’s version of grappa.’ He held up the glass of clear, gleaming liquid. ‘Do you want some?’
‘Is it strong?’
He snorted, his expression brooding and dark. ‘It can help a person forget all manner of sins.’
‘What sins do you have to forget?’
The corner of his mouth kicked up in the barest of smiles, but there was nothing happy about the way he looked in this moment. ‘Too many to count,’ he said, taking another hefty sip.
Her stomach turned over in uncomfortable knots, the way it always had when her mum was away, performing, and she had to stay alone with her father. He’d used to like a drink with dinner. Then it had turned into drinks after dinner, then with lunch, and then in the mornings before breakfast...
‘Could you...not?’ Her voice came out in a whisper, as those memories crept back through the cracks in her consciousness. Memories of staying in her bedroom whilst her dad ranted about needing to ‘babysit’. As if he wasn’t her father, who should be happy to look after his only child.
‘Not what?’
‘Drink so much.’
‘I have no problem here.’ He looked at the glass cradled almost negligently in his long and perfect fingers, then back at her, raising his eyebrow. ‘Are you judging me, Lucy? Because if you are, I suggest that you...how do you say it? Take a number.’
There was something simmering underneath here, like magma boiling in the rocks below. You might not be able to see it, but it roiled away nonetheless, waiting to burst through a fissure when you least expected.
‘I’m a woman alone in your house and you look like you want to get very drunk.’
She chewed on her bottom lip, almost wishing she’d said nothing. But surely he could see why the situation might worry her? Of course, he’d probably never been worried by anything in his life...
He hesitated, then put the glass down on a side table and cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. ‘You’ve had experience of this.’