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that Marco
released her.
    She
heaved angrily and she ran her hands through her now messy hair.
“Are you done fighting?” he asked, folding his arms and staring at
her.
    She
shook her head, looked away and squeezed a way some tears. “I have
to get back to the hotel so that I can do my job,” she said in a
calm tone.
    “I
thought your job lies with me , mia tesora …or have I misunderstood?”
    “ Are
you saying that you’re going to confide in me for my story?” Her
eyes lit up at that moment and her lips curved into a
smile.
    “Ahh …I see
that is all you care about. But sí , I
will confide in you…after you learn to accept that I am not the man
you think I am.”
    She
sighed. “And how long will that take?”
    “For
as long as it takes… It is your choice, not mine.” And he turned his back to her,
resting his hands against the railings.
    Meagan contemplated the deal over and over and over again in
her mind for a couple minutes. If had wanted to hurt her, he
probably would have done just that already, right? She didn’t know
if she could trust Marco Mussolini…but she needed that story. She
sighed and brushed the locks of hair, that breeze was blowing over
her face, and then rolled her eyes at the conclusion she had
arrived at. She just hoped that she wasn’t making a big
mistake.
    “ Where am I supposed to get clothes?” she
questioned.
    “ We
are on the same page now, yes?” he remarked and then faced her. “I
have just enough clothes here to fit you.”
    Her
eyebrow rose at him. “Belonging to your women, I suppose? I won’t
wear them, thank you very much.” She saw him frown angrily at her,
opened his mouth as if to say something and then
stopped.
    “I
refuse to argue with you, mia tesora ,” he only said. “ Pranzo! Let’s
eat.”

CHAPTER 4

    Meagan sat at the beautifully set round table and tried not to
show how impressed she actually was. The striking appearance of the
yacht’s interior had almost caused her to forget that she was, in
fact, inside a boat. The ceiling was concave and golden, and the
room looked very much like a typically merged dining-living room,
with exquisite and apparently exclusive furniture ranging from
mahogany arm chairs to large leather sofas. She glanced at him for
a moment, standing near a small table, talking on his cordless
phone. She heard him muttering softly in his language and she
watched him keenly. Who was he talking to? He had taken off his
jacket and was still dressed in his black trousers and white
long-sleeved shirt, whose sleeves were now rolled neatly up his
forearms. He looked unbelievably handsome and because he was, she
hoped that she could just get the story as soon as possible and
leave Sicily. She had no time to fall for a man like Marco
Mussolini.
    Shortly, the waiter walked into the room pushing a food tray.
He then placed a few plates and dishes, filled with all sorts of
food, on the table next to the bottle of wine he had placed there
just a couple minutes before followed by two wine glasses. He then
left the room, upon saying a word to Marco. Meagan stared down at
the food and then up again, which was when she noticed that Marco
was now attempting to take his seat before her. She had no idea if
she was to start eating or not because he only sat there looking at
her as if he hadn’t seen her before in his life. She then reached
for a croissant when he halted her movement.
    “ We
must say our grace, yes?”
    She
frowned slightly and the shrugged. On all honesty, she could not
remember the last time when she had said her grace before having
any meal. “Uh…sure.”
    “ You
don’t mind, of course…” He gestured to her with a small wave of his
hand.
    Meagan bit her bottom lip and dug deep inside her head, trying
to remember one she had learnt from her mother. “Okay,” she said
and cleared her throat. “Close your eyes…” And he knotted the
fingers of both hands and placed his elbows on the edge of the
table, closing his