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“Dante doesn’t talk about his family with anyone.”
“I know.”
“I’m glad we didn’t jeopardise that. He needs you.”
More than you do? She was glad she managed to bite back the question at the last minute. It reeked of desperation, and she wouldn’t be that. Not in front of Marco.
But the truth was, where Marco had self-confidence in spades, Portia’s was almost non-existent after Jack. True, Marco was helping, but she knew true confidence came from within, and that would take time to work on and rebuild.
“So why don’t you come into the office more?” She prompted, then shook her head, quickly clarifying, “I don’t mean to see me. I mean to work.”
“I don’t need to.”
She furrowed her brow. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Sure it does. I’m not needed. Except when I am, and then, I can do the work from home. It’s not enough to warrant a full-time position.”
“But if you wanted to—,”
“I don’t.”
“Everyone else in your family works for the company?”
He nodded once.
“We were raised to know it would be our life. That it was our privilege to get to add to the legacy. And in many ways it is, but it’s not everything to me, not like it is them.”
Portia’s head tilted to the side, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.
“There are many other things I want to achieve, beyond further enriching our family.”
Something moved in Portia, something that felt dangerously like admiration.
“I think for Dante it’s about more than money too,” she felt prompted to defend. “He works hard because he’s driven to succeed.”
“He works hard because he needs to forget,” Marco contradicted. “He needs his life to have meaning now that they’re gone.”
Portia was surprised by his statement, but of course he was right. “And your life has enough meaning?”
“I give it meaning in other ways.”
“Like sleeping with anything in a skirt?” She asked, aiming for teasing, or flirtatious, and sounding waspish. She sipped her wine quickly, wishing to wash away the words.
“There are projects I work on, other businesses that I care about.”
Portia leaned forward. “I didn’t know that.”
“Why would you?”
“I suppose because I work for Dante and it’s something he might have mentioned, at some point.”
“He doesn’t know.”
“It’s a secret?”
Marco shook his head once. “It’s just not necessary to discuss it.”
Portia was quiet, ruminating. “Dante told me once that you’re a genius. As in, an actual Mensa grade genius?”
