“G.G. told you?” Ildaria asked with surprise, but knew at once that such couldn’t be the case. Sofia had just told her that she’d been in bed since 6 a.m. and G.G. hadn’t offered her the apartment until after that.
“No. But you’re working here now, and it’s early to start work so . . .” She shrugged and then nodded toward the bags in her hands, and asked, “Is there more? Can I help?”
“Oh, you don’t have to . . .” Ildaria’s voice trailed away when Sofia took half her bags and turned to lead her inside and up the stairs. It seemed she was getting help whether she liked it or not, Ildaria thought and followed with a wry, “All righty then.”
“Oh, get over it,” Sofia said with amusement. “You work at the Night Club now. You’re part of the family. And we help each other. Get used to it.”
Ildaria didn’t comment. It was the second time today she’d been informed she was now part of a family. And then there was Jess, who called her sister. After more than a hundred years on her own, she appeared to have “family” springing up everywhere. Weird.
Ildaria had expected to have to make four more trips up and down the stairs, but with Sofia’s help they managed it in two. Even better, while traipsing back and forth to the car, Sofia had asked about furniture and when Ildaria said she only had the television and a bed coming for the moment, Sofia had dragged her to the storeroom G.G. had mentioned. It was crammed full of furniture as it turned out. Most of it was stuff from the rooms G.G. had renovated. The furniture was all perfectly good. It just hadn’t suited the esthetic G.G. wanted. But it was all expensive, so he’d stored it until he decided what to do with it.
Sofia had insisted that she take what she needed, that G.G. wouldn’t mind. When Ildaria had still balked at doing so, she’d said to think of it as borrowing. She could return each item to the storeroom when she’d managed to find replacements she could afford. That had made her feel better, so she’d borrowed three high-backed bar stools for the island, and a table with six chairs. It was all very modern-looking. The high-backed bar stools were metal with black leather seats and backs, as were the chairs that went with the table. But the table itself was the most contemporary thing she’d ever seen, featuring a sleek glass table surface tinged black and big enough to seat six more than comfortably, as well as a chrome finished pedestal that looked like mirrored horns coming out of the glossy white base beneath. Ildaria had never seen anything like it and couldn’t decide if she loved or hated it. She did know that she certainly wouldn’t have picked it herself. It was interesting, but cold. Like G.G., she preferred the warmth of real wood.
“There,” Sofia said as they set the table down. “All done.”
“Si. Thank you.” Ildaria sighed. Grabbing the backs of two of the chairs they’d brought up first, she slid them up to the table.
“No problem,” Sofia said lightly, starting to move chairs around the table as well. “So you and G.G. . . .”
Ildaria froze briefly and then lifted her head to stare at the woman uncertainly. “What?”
“You can’t read him,” she said as if that was all she had to say.
Ildaria supposed it was all that needed to be said. It was also true. She’d finally tried to read him last night. He was a very solicitous boss, bringing her blood, coffee, food when checking on her, and then sending her upstairs at midnight, pointing out that she’d arrived at four, had been working for eight hours and that was all the accounting he expected her to do. The rest of the time she should “relax with H.D.” She’d argued that she hadn’t started working on the accounting at once, but had been out in the main room of the club with him. And he’d pointed out that while that was true, he’d spent that time talking to her about the books and instructing her on how they were kept at the Night Club, so she’d been working for eight hours and that was enough. Besides, he’d argued, H.D. was surely growing bored being stuck in the office.
Once G.G. had brought H.D. into the argument, Ildaria hadn’t protested further. Feeling guilty for keeping the