Her head tilts ever so slightly, “I believe I’ll never find anyone better to observe. I’ve never been able to pin down Cosimo’s ambitious plans where he was always several steps ahead of everyone else. I’d like to see it in action.”

“I do believe there is a whole chapter on avoiding flatterers.”

“There’s flattery, and there’s fact. You’re the one who must recognize one from the other. Because of course, you’ve read The Prince. Did you highlight it as well?” She responds with a quirk of those soft, plump lips.

I want those lips around my cock. “Of course, when I was thirteen and then again at university. I don’t use highlighters. So, you are going to study me.”

Blue eyes trail down my body then she blinks fast, her blush is down to her beautiful neck. “Observe by doing work—working for you. It’s obvious you’ve used principles Machiavelli expounded on successfully. I couldn’t find someone better to observe if I were in that period of time in Italy.”

Hmm, she has eyes in her head no doubt about it. Still, the blush fades fast from her cheeks. “You have visited Italy?” I ask in Italian, interested in just how fluent she is. Her resume said fluent, not all resumes tell the truth. Delight shines from her, her cheeks are pink for a new reason, her eyes sparkle brightly as she responds in Italian.

“I visited Florence for a week three years ago, it was amazing. I was worried it would disappoint from fantasy to reality, it was even better. Have you been?”

“Not to Florence, to Milan and Rome. It has been several years. Their economy sputters so often investing there would be a bad bet. I attended a few conferences. While I was there, I took the time to see the cities. Beautiful.”

“How did you learn Italian? You speak it like a native with all the casual élan, not formal at all.” She speaks even faster in Italian now, choppy, also very much like a native.

“My roommate at Stanford. He wanted to learn to speak English like a native. I wanted to learn Italian. And you?”

“My mother came from Florence when she was five with her mother and sister. They still spoke Italian with each other until my mom passed. My dad, to make her happy, learned Italian and was happy to speak it with my sisters and me at home. It made my mom happy to know we kept a piece of her past alive.”

I am reminded of not having Diego’s file. If I had it, I would have known about Alexa’s mother. I don’t like the way her eyes dim at the memory of her mother’s death. “Is your writing of Florence and its history another way for you to keep her past alive?”