Deception of the Heart by Ellen Wolf Page B

asked her. All this trouble for four people seemed a bit farfetched. She eyed the large table laden with wafer thin china and silver cutlery that shone in the light of the huge, crystal chandelier. The flower arrangement in the center of the table was created out of at least fifty roses in various shades of pink from blooms that were almost white save for the faintest of pinkish hues to deep magenta, bold and fiery in its obtrusive beauty.
    Her gaze traveled from the flowers to the carved chairs. They matched the massive sideboard filling the space between the two tall windows, framed by old gold colored silk curtains. Everything looked absolutely perfect, the Italian flair of combining opulence with simplicity coming to life in front of her eyes.
    And that was when she finally noticed that something was not right. There were five table settings instead of four. That could only mean one thing, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. She peeked cautiously around the room, but except for Pete and Daniel, engrossed in some deep debate at the window, it was empty. Well, Pete couldn’t expect too much, she decided. Maybe he would realize that his worries were totally unfounded. Maybe the other older man would turn out to be extremely pleasant, which was possible, wasn’t it? Maybe they would find a common language, all three of them.
    ‘Do you mind if I use your powder room?’ she asked Sophia when she realized her palms were still sticky from touching the open camellia blooms. The transparent sap was smeared on her fingertips. ‘I’ll be but a minute.’
    The directions to the powder room were very clear, and she found her way to the pearl grey tiled main floor washroom without any difficulties. It was beautiful as well. She let the warm water wash the sticky resin from her fingers. Everything in the Spitieris’ house seemed to be just perfect, even the white towels monogrammed with a fancy S in dull golden thread. She was just about to return to the dining room when she noticed an open door leading to what must have been a large salon. A huge, black piano took up center stage. She loved pianos, though she had never been good at playing them. She peeked in, hoping she wasn’t trespassing.
    ‘Hi there .’ An amused voice stopped her in her tracks, and she turned abruptly, only to find herself confronted with the solid wall of a male chest. Her eyes went up to meet his gaze.
    ‘I am sorry . I didn’t mean to startle you.’ A pair of the blackest eyes she had ever seen stared back at her, inviting, warm, and open. He had the longest eyelashes she had ever seen. The beauty of his features left her speechless. Even the small, silvery scar on his temple couldn’t dampen the effortless elegance of his features.
    ‘That’s ok .’ Finally she remembered how to speak, and her voice came out breathless. ‘I was just going back to the dining room.’
    Who was he? For a second she imagined him to be Spitieri’s son, vaguely recalling some talk about Luigi and Marcella, the couple’s grown up children. He looked to be in his mid-thirties at most, so that was completely possible.
    ‘Well, then , we can walk together,’ came his wry response, his eyebrows lifting as he smiled. ‘I’m heading there myself. I’ve been in this house for only one day, so I am learning my way around and trying not to ask for directions.’ His white teeth flashed in the deep tan of his slim face. His five o’clock shadow gave his face a slightly wild and untamed quality that made her think of pirates and all things forbidden.
    He couldn’t be who she thought he must be. She inspected his dark, shortly cropped hair and tall body with the dark blue shirt and charcoal pants clinging to his muscular silhouette and could have laughed out loud. She was totally off with her guess about the mysterious guest, after all. Instead of the aged professor type, he was an ancient god with a smile that could melt the ice of the Antarctic faster than any