Page 97 of Corrado

Did someone else live here?

“Is this yours?” Ginevra called after Corrado. “This penthouse, I mean?”

He didn’t answer her back.

She tried not to be annoyed.

Not knowing where he went after he disappeared past the large entrance, decorated in black and white marble, Ginevra headed down the hall. That same sleek and stylish décor followed her deeper into the penthouse. She passed by a sitting room with an entire wall covered by windows overlooking a busy part of Toronto’s center, and another that held a television large enough to be a projection screen. The black leather sectional sitting atop a similarly colored rug looked inviting, and God knew she needed to relax, but she had questions.

Only one man could currently answer them.

Overtop the couch hung a chandelier made up of metal fragments that mirrored the light from the inverted lights in the ceiling. Hardwood floors gleamed under her feet. Artwork covered the walls, and fresh flowers rested in a vase that she passed as she moved toward the noise coming from a room over.

Did someone change them regularly?

A maid?

The place screamed excess.

Money.

From the sturdy, huge bookcases she found in what looked to be a library-slash-office, to the black marble standing shower and matching clawfoot tub in a bathroom directly across from a state-of-the-art kitchen.

The kitchen was where Ginevra found Corrado nursing a glass of amber liquid. Whiskey, given the bottle sat in front of him on the gray, granite countertops. Stainless steel appliances and white cupboards surrounded him in the large space, and yet, somehow, he still dominated it. Her attention was only on him, and that haunted look in his eyes.

What was that from?

“There were keys in the bowl near the door,” she said.

Corrado looked her way. “And?”

“I just … thought it looked like someone had recently left and planned to be back or something.”

“Or something,” he replied.

“Do you have a roommate here?”

Corrado laughed. “I own this penthouse, and we use it when we’re in the city to visit my family.”

“We?”

He cleared his throat, setting the glass to the counter a little harder than was necessary. She could tell just by the look in his eyes that moody Corrado was back—oh, he still looked the same, sure, still devastatingly handsome, but that attitude screamed back off without him even needing to say a word.

Was it because of this place?

Or her asking questions?

“Don’t you have something else to do?” Corrado asked. “It was a sixteen-hour drive, find a place to sleep.”

“So, no one else lives here, then? I don’t want to wake up to someone—”

“I have to make some calls.”

With that said, Corrado moved around the kitchen island, and crossed the space. He passed her by in the doorway without as much as a look in her direction, and that only left Ginevra more confused than ever.

He’d said we.

She heard it.