At least he remembered them. Her heart was wild with anticipation as she asked, “Why not?”
He continued his monotone recitation she could never manage when telling her own story and said, “Turns out my father murdered my mother and went looking for me. He killed a groomsman riding one of my horses, thinking that I'd ridden home from the party. The groomsman was wearing my jacket. My little sister was smart enough at ten to run and hide or I wouldn't have her either. At the end, after hunting for her for a while, my father killed himself.”
She winced and imagined every second. That had to be hard. He was old enough to remember faces. She just had pockets of her life that she remembered. She took his hand. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged like it didn’t matter that he’d lived through such horror and gave her a haunting smile. “You’re not from Avce, and so you didn’t look at me with pity in your gaze the first time we'd met.”
She’d inherited nothing from her painful past. Though tainted, Astorre had the world and he was about to throw it away. She was very familiar with looks of sympathy and patted his arm. “I know the feeling entirely. So you want to get rid of your home to get back at your father?”
“I technically live there, but I've actively avoided inhabiting the same place of an incomplete murder investigation. Once I’m thirty, I'll be penniless but also free.”
Hard to argue with that, except that he’d never once struggled with making his way--food, or shelter, or any luxury he wanted. She raised her eyebrows though she doubted she could mimic his impenetrable expression. “Being poor isn’t a blessing and you’ll realize giving up every dime is a mistake.”
He shrugged like her comments weren’t warranted and said, “Clara, your turn to answer.”
Maybe she’d been out of line. They’d just met. She’d come to help ease him into a penniless existence as the law was that he only got to keep the clothes on his back. He closed up, and she just couldn't press for more details of his future. But the clock was ticking toward the end of this vacation.
She’d promised to answer his question. “Oh… First when I was a baby, my natural parents died. Then when I was four, my adoptive parents died in a car accident. It wasn’t as dramatic as what happened with your parents clearly, but I was devastated. Grandmother May told me every day I wasn’t really a Fortuna and she was no blood relation of mine. I moved out at eighteen and only returned at twenty-two to ensure she was properly buried.”
His eyes widened, but he didn’t give the usual sympathetic glance and pull away. Instead he took her glass and said, “That calls for another round.”
It was practically full from the last round. Astorre poured to the rim and she said, “Wait! That’s a lot.”
He shrugged and filled his own. “You’re on vacation. Don't worry. I’ll get you to your hotel room before I lose everything.”
Alcohol wasn’t a good way to seal the friend-zone. She ignored the pulse in her veins that whispered he understood her in a way most people didn't. “Alone?”
He placed his hand on his heart. “If my word means anything, then yes.”
She pointed toward his purchases. “Then let’s open a second bottle.”
He sipped from his full glass and relaxed into his seat as the rain grew more intense outside the stone window overlooking the rocks she’d climbed and supposedly Hercules had split. Reading had always been her only escape as she’d never had a vacation until now. He said, “Finish this and I’ll get us to the hotel where we can both enjoy the second bottle.”
Right. She was full of energy inside as every cell in her body was aware of him, sitting calmly across the table. “I’m trusting you, Astorre. Don’t let me down.”
“Trust? Clara, you’re probably the only woman in the world to ever say that to me.” He placed his hands on the table. "You're safe."
Maybe in another life, she’d be his type. But for tonight and tomorrow she would learn all she could about him, and stay at his side. She’d enjoy the moment for once and live.
Chapter 2
Astorre had the driver bring them to the five-star yacht hotel, Sunborn Gibraltar. He'd only been here once before but Clara’s face reddened and she’d say she’d taken advantage of his hospitality again though enjoy the luxury as they stopped in front of it. She pressed her hand, so tiny in comparison to his, on his forearm. “Is this a cruise?”
“We’re not going anywhere. The ship is stationary and the best five-star hotel I’ve ever stayed at.” The idea of sailing off into the sunset like the end of a movie played in his head.
Perhaps he should have chosen a long ocean cruise for the end of the road with his wealth, but he figured the Strait of Gibraltar was pretty nice too. For millennia, this had been thought of as the end of the known world, so he'd thought it a perfect place to get himself drunk enough to go through with giving up his title, his fortune, and the only life he’d ever known.
He’d only ever had whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, at any time.
His life had both tragedy and blessings, but luxury was all he knew.
Over the past few days Clara had somehow managed to make him seeher lifeand how she'd suffered from her lack.
He'd avoided women for years. Avoided might be a bit of a stretch. He'd enjoyed women for years but kept anything personal off the table other than sex.
He hadn't so much as hugged Clara and somehow she'd coaxed a laugh out of him when they’d met in Paris.
So he'd invited her along on his last hurrah and she’d accepted to be beside him in the end. He’d even downgraded his penthouse to ensure they had two connecting superyacht ocean suites rather than share his one room.
