Page 128 of Peasants and Kings
What history could Ramsey Buchanan possibly have with The White Company? I wondered.
Luca nodded toward the ocean. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is.”
“I’m not sure I could stand the weather here, or the fact that it gets dark early in the winter.”
“Getting dark early in the winter also means it stays light late in the summer.”
“Have you been here through a winter?”
“Not yet.”
“But you’re staying.”
“I’d like to,” I answered truthfully.
Something passed between us, but I wasn’t sure what it was. Luca hadn’t come right out and asked who I was to Hadrian, or what I meant to him, but his curiosity was palpable.
“I’ve never been to Italy,” I said in an attempt to turn the conversation. “What’s it like where you live?”
“A quintessential postcard. Vineyards as far as the eye can see. The earth…it smells like—like warmth, and you can tell that it’s alive. It’s nothing like this wild, barren country.”
Despite my desire to remain aloof, I had Luca’s undivided attention. He wasn’t the only one who was curious though, so I inquired, “And your home? Is it as imposing as Hadrian’s?”
He smiled. “Yes, but in a completely different way. It’s a sprawling estate that sits at the top of a hill. At night, the sky is so clear you can ride a horse by the light of the moon.”
I could picture it clearly in my mind’s eye. A chill went up my spine.
With bold familiarity, he reached over to my plate and plucked a slice of tomato and stuck it in his mouth. Luca radiated the seductive charm and sensual pleasure that could only come from a man of his background. It had been bred into him, and he could no sooner change it than he could the color of his hair. He was one of those men who enjoyed being around women in any capacity. He wasn’t hunting me the way aggressive men had done in the past, even though he didn’t know I was his cousin—and I knew that was his true power. He had the ability to hide his intentions behind a veneer of good humor and indolent indifference, but I knew what was beneath his facade.
“How old are you?” I asked him.
“Twenty-eight.”
“Your father doesn’t look old enough to have a twenty-eight-year old son.”
“He married young,” he said with a shrug.
“Do you have siblings? Aside from Tor?”
“A younger sister. You’re an inquisitive woman…”
“Just trying to make polite conversation.”
“In that case, it’s my turn to ask you some questions.”
“You’ve already asked me some questions,” I pointed out.
“Humor me.”
He took another slice of tomato, and I smacked his hand before I could stop myself. “Get your own.”
“But it’s so much better from your plate.” He winked. “Hadrian mentioned you speak Italian.”
“That’s not a question.”
“Luca,” Angelo called to his son. “Join us.”
