Peasants and Kings - Emma Slate Page 0,111

the lavish staircase, I took in the beauty of The White Company ancestral home. Irreplaceable Renaissance art hung on the walls, ornate rugs covered gold inlaid marble floors, and gleaming wooden furniture spanned fashions over the course of hundreds of years. The worth of each piece would be incalculable to all but the world’s finest antique dealers.

The wealth was so encompassing that I briefly wondered if I’d entered a different time. It felt like a different world. A world not even Hadrian had been a part of.

The thought of him sent a stab of yearning through my belly.

The wooden doors of the dining room were already open, the occupants seated at their places. At the head of a long wooden table was Angelo. Two spots on his right were vacant, while the two seats to his left were occupied. Tor sat at his father’s left elbow and a young woman, who couldn’t be any older than sixteen perched next to him.

My eyes skimmed over Tor’s cold expression and then settled on the young woman, who wore a dusty pink dress. She shot me a tentative smile, but I refused to smile back.

Luca helped me with my seat.

“Sterling,” Angelo greeted. “You look lovely.”

I didn’t give a damn what he thought about how I looked. “I thought you said this was a family meal? Where’s Nico? Or should I say, Uncle Nico?”

“Nico doesn’t live here,” Angelo explained, not at all perturbed by my attitude. “He lives with his wife, Beatrice, and their four children on their own estate. This home is for the first-born son and his family. You’ll meet Beatrice and your cousins in a few days.”

I reached for my napkin just to have something to do.

“This is my daughter, Gisella,” Angelo said with a smile at his youngest child.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sterling,” Gisella said. “Your Italian is flawless. How did you learn to speak it?”

“My dead mother taught me,” I stated coldly.

She didn’t react, but still, I instantly felt remorse for lashing out at the young girl. It wasn’t her fault she’d grown up a Moretti.

Angelo ignored my remark as though I had said nothing of importance and rang a small brass bell that rested by his plate. A few moments later lunch was served. Cured meats and cheeses, warm bread and olive oil, sautéed escarole and broccoli rape, grilled calamari and octopus, platters of meat and fish.

I couldn’t help the maniacal laugh that escaped.

Luca glanced at me and frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“Is this a welcome home feast?” I asked, a gruesome grin stretching across my face. “What’s the point of this charade?”

“Charade?” Angelo repeated. “It’s no charade. You’re family. And families dine together.”

“We’re not family,” I gritted out.

I was on the verge of taking a butter knife and jabbing it into Luca’s thigh, but I thought better than to draw blood at the table. In one swift move, I stood up, knocking my chair over and rushing from the room.

No one stopped me.

I had no idea where I was going, but I passed a maid dusting a priceless antique vase resting on a wooden credenza and asked her how I could get outside. She pointed the way to a set of double doors that led out into the gardens. They were even more magnificent to behold from ground level.

Greedily gulping the fragrant air, I tried to stem the rapid beat of my heart. My blood simmered in my system, but at that moment I chose to nurture it instead of shoving the feelings away. I would gladly give the Moretti my rage, but they would not conquer me nor spill my tears.

I found a stone bench in front of a fountain depicting a bearded god wearing a crown, holding a naked woman. It was so beautiful that it nearly brought my emotion to the surface, but I got control of myself. I took a seat in front of it, not caring that the white dress I wore would be smudged with dust.

“It’s a version of the Rape of Proserpina,” a timid voice said from behind me, making me jump.

I turned to look at the intruder. Gisella had walked on light steps. She reminded me of a doe, watchful, careful, quiet.

She lifted a plate of food in her hands. “I thought you might be hungry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Thank you,” I said. “That was thoughtful of you.”

Gisella came to the bench and took a seat next to me and handed me the plate. It had olives and

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