The Virgin's Sicilian Protector by Chantelle Shaw

Author:Chantelle Shaw
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2018-09-05T17:25:02+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘I NOTICED SOME art folders in my bedroom,’ Arianna said, pulling herself together and replacing her coffee cup on the saucer. ‘Do they belong to your sister?’

Santino nodded. ‘Gina took a combined art and business degree before she moved to America to become a fashion buyer.’

She felt envious of Santino’s sister. She wished she had studied art, but at eighteen she’d lacked the confidence to apply to universities after her governess had told her that she did not have the commitment to work for a degree. Typically, she had decided to fulfil Miss Melton’s low opinion of her and had spent the next six years partying in those playgrounds of the super-rich—Monaco, St Bart’s, Verbier and Aspen.

Her lack of business qualifications was something else she needed to consider before she launched her own fashion label, Arianna acknowledged. She had never had to live within a budget before but she would need to make big financial decisions. A familiar sense of worthlessness descended over her. Setting up her own company seemed daunting and maybe she would fail. But isn’t failure better than never trying? whispered a stubborn voice inside her. It was the conclusion she had come to a year ago when she had been in hospital fighting for her life. She had been given a second chance and was determined to make her life worthwhile.

‘There’s an empty sketchpad with your sister’s art portfolio. Would it be okay if I used it?’ She kept her voice casual. ‘I might do a bit of drawing to pass the time.’

‘I don’t suppose Gina would mind if you use some of her old art stuff. But don’t think that you can swan around while you are staying here,’ Santino told her bluntly. ‘Unlike the luxurious way of life you are used to, I don’t employ an army of staff to cater to your whims, and I’m not going to run around after you. I’ll expect you to pull your weight. I don’t suppose you’ve spent a lot of time in a kitchen or learned how to cook, but you can wash the dishes. No, there’s isn’t a dishwasher,’ he said drily when she glanced around the room. ‘Welcome to the real world, cara.’

‘I’m not completely useless,’ she snapped, stung by his mocking tone. She certainly wasn’t going to admit to him that she had never washed the dishes in her life. When she ate alone in the vast dining room at Lyle House, the butler whisked the plates away immediately after she had finished eating.

Santino seemed to have used every pan in the kitchen, no doubt on purpose, she thought darkly as she filled the sink with hot water and started on the mountain of washing up he had created. But after she’d washed the copper pans and dried them with a tea towel until they gleamed, before she hung them on hooks above the stove, she realised that she was enjoying pottering about. There was a sense of achievement in turning the disorder back into a clean and tidy kitchen.

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