SALVAGE PRIDE

5

I refrain from sharing that thought with Gia. She’d just point out that Mom does the best she can. In my opinion, that’s a convenient excuse for bad behavior. It’s right up there with “boys will be boys.” Bullshit. People will behave as poorly as they are allowed to behave. Mom could stop putting my parents in debt with her ridiculous spending, but she doesn’t seem to care. She only thinks of herself. Sometimes, I wonder if living among the rich has given her a false sense of entitlement—as though she has a right to own all the pretty things she sees. I can’t explain the source of her issues, but it’s been an incessant drain on our family. Even more of a mystery is why my father doesn’t stop her. As far as I can tell, he gave up trying with her long ago. Their entire relationship confounds me, though, so I don’t try to understand because I’ll only end up more confused.

As we near the house, its stone exterior comes into view, surging up over the treetops. A clearing encircles the house with perfectly manicured green grass like a blank wall highlighting the masterpiece of architectural design at its center. I would venture to guess not a penny was spared on its construction. I was told growing up that the home was originally built by a steel magnate akin to Rockefeller or Carnegie. I couldn’t even fathom what something like Hardwick would have cost back then.

In my opinion, Silvano De Rossi’s dedication to maintaining the integrity of the original design spoke volumes about his person. It would have been cheaper and easier to remodel with modern touches, but he kept the historical accuracy of the home intact. He didn’t feel a need to put his own mark on the place. Instead, he chose to honor its original magnificence.

“I wonder what will happen to the house now that Silvano is gone,” I muse aloud.

“Zeno already talked with Mom and Dad. He said that he was moving in and would retain their services. I suppose that means not much will change.”

Hopefully, that’s the case. Zeno is such a mystery that I would never presume to know his intentions. But saying as much serves no purpose, so I merely nod.

The approach of a vehicle into the circle drive snags our attention. When it parks near the front door, I see that Carter Bishop, owner of the neighboring estate, is behind the wheel. He exits the driver’s side and immediately turns toward us, meeting us halfway to his car.

“Gia, how are you?” His kind eyes linger on my sister. I don’t know him well since he moved in after I left home, but my family is longtime friends with his live-in staff, the Larsons, who worked for the previous owner as well. Our cottages are both near the property line, making them our closest neighbors. Gia has mentioned Carter’s name only briefly in passing, but judging by the pink glow of her cheeks, her interest in him is more substantial than I’d been led to believe.

“I’m doing well, thank you,” she offers, her gaze flitting to his, then down to her hands. “Carter …

Mr. Bishop … this is Luisa, my sister. I can’t recall if you two have met.”

It’s easy to offer him a warm smile as I grasp his outstretched hand. He has an openness to him that is disarming. “I believe we have, but it’s been a while.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “And please call me Carter. It’s great to have you here. I mean, not the circumstances, of course, but I’m sure Gia appreciates having you visit.” His nervous bumbling is endearing, if not a touch surprising, considering his age and station in life. I’ve found most middleaged, affluent men are usually dripping with unearned confidence.

I think I like Carter Bishop.

“The timing was a bit coincidental—I already had my trip planned—but I’m glad I could be here to help. There’s a lot to be done.”

“I assumed as much.” His face sobers. “That’s why I wanted to check in with Z and Elena. I want to offer any help I can provide.”

I haven’t had a chance to think about Elena, Silvano’s widow. My heart sinks at how bereft she must be. No matter how poorly my friendship soured with Z, I will always have fond thoughts for his mother. She’s a beautiful person, and I hate that she’s grieving.

A car door shuts, and I peer over Carter’s shoulder to where an elegant woman now stands haughtily next to the car. It’s hard to say if she’s in her thirties or forties. I’ve found the wealthy have access to some rather impressive age-defying treatments, so it can be hard to tell, especially at a distance. Her blond hair frames her face in professionally coifed waves that rest a few inches below her shoulders. She’s wearing a powder-blue skirt suit perfectly tailored to her thin frame and an expression of unquestionable superiority.

“Carter, dear. I’m sure the staff are busy today, and the De Rossis will need our company far more than these two need our interference with their day.” Her voice is more mature than I would have thought, making me lean toward a guess of mid-forties.

He flashes a thin smile. “I’d better get going. I’m sure Z will refuse any help, but please let me know if I can do anything.”

“Of course.” Gia grins. “I’ll make sure to reach out if we need anything.”

We both watch silently as Carter joins the woman at the front door. They disappear into the house when greeted by someone inside.

I turn narrowed eyes on my sister once we are alone. “Gia Antonia Banetti, what in the blazes was that?”

Her eyes widen innocently when she looks my way. “What do you mean? That was Carter Bishop, the neighbor.”

“I know who he is. Since when does he make you blush like a schoolgirl seeing her favorite boy band?” This is the first time in my adult life that I can recall my sister ever showing genuine romantic interest in anyone. She’s not the dating app type and doesn’t run into many eligible men at Hardwick, so her options are limited. I’m absolutely ecstatic to discover she has a thing for the handsome man next door.