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He laughed, a gruff sound that matched the teasing tone of her question, but inside him, something shifted uncomfortably. Something sharp and unpleasant. “I suppose I’m being considerate.”
Except, he wasn’t particularly considerate when it came to the women he was sleeping with. Oh, he was always focused on their pleasure, but beyond that, he didn’t make a habit of being overly concerned about aspects of their personal lives.
But with Maddie, there was so much crossover. Between Jack’s house, sleeping together, and now the wedding, their lives were entwined in ways that were new and novel. Not to mention, he’d jettisoned her into this situation without proper preparation—of course, she was exhausted. Marcia was leaving no stone unturned in her quest for ‘the perfect wedding’. Naturally, he was concerned.
He ignored the lingering feeling of discomfort, a sense that he was stepping into a space he’d never been before, a space he didn’t want to occupy, and simply gestured towards the corridor. “Shall we?”
There was a question in her eyes. A hesitation. As though she was feeling exactly as he was—on the edge of a precipice, not sure which step would take her over and which steps would keep her safe. He held his breath without meaning to, until she nodded, and said in a slightly breathless tone, “I’ll just get my bag.”
The fact that Rocco had a home at all caught Maddie somewhat by surprise, but the fact he had brought her to it was even more surprising. And the fact it was a home like this? Everywhere she looked was breathtaking.
“Not what you expected?” he asked, pouring two glasses of wine, evidently reading the emotions on her face.
Maddie glanced at him, searching for words. “I mean…it’s just so beautiful.”
His laugh was a low, gruff sound. “And you expected what?”
“Honestly? I kind of see you moving from one impersonal hotel room to the next.”
“I told you, I have a place in New York.”
She lifted one shoulder. “I know. But I’ll bet it’s modern and sort of like your hotel room.”
He furrowed a brow, but Maddie didn’t notice. She was too busy gawking at the room. “Whereas this place,” she said, trying to work out why she was so surprised. “It’s wonderful.”
“It was a palace,” he said, unnecessarily, because the grandeur of the place made it obvious. “Built in the sixteenth century.”
“And here I thought you were disparaging of history,” she said, reflecting on one of their first conversations, in which he’d soundly denounced her claim that Jack’s home had historical merit.
“I didn’t buy it because it’s old,” he said as if needing to dispel any idea of sentimentality.
“So, why did you?”
“The location, for one thing. It’s hard to get a full-sized home in the center of the city. Plus, it’s a good investment.”
“Ah. So, it was just your business brain? There wasn’t a small part of you that delighted in owning a piece of this rich history and culture?”
Because he hadn’t just bought the palace, but also had it meticulously restored. The floors, the walls, the ancient paintings and tapestries, it was all exquisitely done. The furnishings were a mix—clearly new, but in a style that was sympathetic to the history of the villa, the pieces either complemented the period of the building or were cleverly unobtrusive, fading into the background and allowing the rooms to shine.
She turned back to Rocco, giving him the full force of her attention. “Why did you bring me here?”
“I thought it would make a nice change to your hotel room. It’s a little cramped,” he said with a tight smile that seemed a little forced.
“We don’t all have your budget.” She took the proffered glass of wine and sipped it.
“I wasn’t complaining,” he sipped his own wine, his eyes holding hers in a way that made her blood simmer. In a way that made her crave and ache and yearn—and hurt, too, because reality was closing in on Maddie. It had been already, but seeing this place, it hit her so much more forcibly how ‘worlds apart’ they were. Rocco lived like a prince. No, he lived like a billionaire, a titan of industry, a man who could click his fingers and buy a whole street of houses in one of the most expensive hamlets of the country.
“Is this—I must be different. To the woman you usually see, I mean.”
His frown was contemplative. “Why do you say that?”
She tilted her head to the side. “Am I wrong?”
His smile showed appreciation for the way she’d flitted past his question and volleyed back with one of her own. “No. You are different.”
She nodded slowly. “Because I’m not rich?”
His brows knit together. “You think I care about money?”
