Page 24

“So, this is an apartment?”

“I guess.”

“You guess?”

We arrive at a set of huge, black double doors. The round, brass door knocker is about the size of my head.

“In Italy, we call it a penthouse.” He pushes the door open and a large, sweeping staircase comes into view. There’s an elevator to the side of the foyer. “I live on the second floor.”

I stare at him, confused. “So, other people live here too?”

“No, the other two apartments are empty.” He leads me into the elevator by the hand. “My grandfather owns this building. The other penthouses are for when he and my father are in town.”

I look around at the marble floors and smoke-mirrored walls. Jeez, he must come from money. “They don’t live here in Rome?” I ask.

“They live on country estates.”

“Together?” I ask as we walk up the stairs.

“No, they have separate properties that they live in with their wives, my mother, and my grandmother.”

“That’s nice.” I smile as we continue up the steps. “Your family are all still together?”

He turns, surprised by my statement. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, your parents and grandparents are all still married?”

“Of course,” he scoffs. “Ferraras marry for life. Family is everything to us.”

I shake my head, embarrassed that I just sounded so blasé about divorce. My parents divorced when I was a small child, and both have since divorced again. That’s my normality. We get to the first floor and he takes his keys out. “My parents are divorced,” I announce.

He frowns as he stares at me. “And you think this is a good thing?”

“No, but it is what it is.” I shrug. “I can’t change it.”

He raises his eyebrows as he stares at me, and I have no idea what he’s thinking. He opens the door and my eyes widen at what I see. Holy shit.

“Are you serious?” I whisper as my eyes fly around the space.

This isn’t money. This is over-the-fucking-top luxury. It’s like a palace, only way better. Above us are gilded gold and hand-painted ceilings. The floors are covered in huge Persian rugs, contrasting with gorgeous, dark wood antique furniture. The colors are rich—almost historical.

It looks like the Vatican or some shit. “You live here?” I squeak.

He smiles at my reaction and walks in. He carelessly chucks his keys onto the counter, as if it’s just a normal side table and not some two-thousand-year-old artefact.

“Yes.” He puts his hands onto his hips as he looks around, unimpressed.

“Jeez.” I feel the blood drain from my face.

“I don’t notice it. I’ve grown up in homes like this, so it has no…” He pauses for a moment. “It’s my normal. It’s just a house. I would prefer modern furnishings, but this is a family property, so I make do.”

“Make do?” I scoff. “Enrico, this is not making do. This is—”

“What?”

I stop myself before I say something insulting. Spoiled brat comes to mind. “Your grandfather owns this?”

He takes my hand and leads me through the apartment. “Yes.”