Kitabı oku: «The Santina Crown», sayfa 3

His biting assessment of her situation was like a hard slap, all the more painful because it was partly true. She didn’t love the press, that wasn’t true, but she was savvy enough to know that publicity made a difference. It had taken her a year of hard knocks to learn that the press was not her friend. She knew now that just because they called her ‘Izzy’ and acted as if they were on her side, they weren’t.

The notes faded from Izzy’s brain, as did the excitement of writing a new song.

It had been a crazy fantasy to think Prince Matteo, friend to rock stars and royalty, would listen to her singing and be impressed. ‘You’re entitled to your opinion about the press, but don’t ever think you know me.’

Look at me, I’m not who you see.

Suddenly she wished she hadn’t worn the strawberry sequin dress. She’d been so excited about it when she’d noticed it in the store. It had been the sexiest dress she’d seen and when she’d tried it on she’d thought she looked like a popstar. But when she thought about the elegant, restrained clothes everyone else had worn she realised that she’d got it wrong again. She’d stood out for all the wrong reasons.

Izzy blinked rapidly as she remembered the condescending glances and the barely concealed smirks. It would have taken more than the right dress to make her fit in. Her whole look was wrong. She didn’t have a slim, aristocratic face like so many of the women at the engagement party. Her cheeks were round and her nose turned up at the end. They had smooth, perfect hair. Hers insisted on curling. Theirs was golden or glossy brown—hers looked as if she’d rolled in a vat of strawberries. At school she’d been given a detention for colouring her hair and no amount of protestation on her part had convinced the headmistress that Izzy Jackson had developed pink streaks in her hair at the age of three. Apparently her grandmother’s hair had been the same.

Most of the time she told herself that she didn’t care. But creative, dreamy Izzy, for all her bounce and outgoing nature, was extremely sensitive.

Look at me, I’m not who you see,

Deep inside there’s someone else, longing to break free …

Maybe there were advantages to being forced to hide out at his palazzo, she mused.

She could just work on her song until it was perfect. She’d write something so amazing that people had to listen. And maybe, just maybe, she could persuade the Prince of Darkness to at least let her help with the final preparations for the Rock ‘n’ Royal concert. Perhaps he’d even get her a ticket!

Cheered by that thought, Izzy allowed herself a tiny dream where she was backstage chatting with her favourite stars.

Every year since she was a teenager she’d watched the concert live on TV. The event was giant, backed by his friend the famous music producer Hunter Capshaw, who was a genius at staging live events. She’d read that the two of them already had the biggest names in the industry signed up and willing to donate their time for such a good cause. Rock royalty. Not national jokes, like her.

Without thinking, Izzy slid her hand to her hem and tried to tug her dress a little further down her thighs.

The prince caught the movement and his head turned, his dark gaze flitting over her.

Their eyes met briefly.

Heart pounding, she found herself looking at the sensual curve of his mouth and for a fleeting, unsettling second she had a wild impulse to lean forward and kiss him just to see how it felt.

Shaken by the intensity of that sexual connection, she looked away quickly.

The man had no sense of fun and he was so maddeningly sure of himself she wanted to punch him. Having never before wanted to punch someone and kiss them at the same time, Izzy decided that she must be more drunk than she’d first thought.

She tried telling herself that arrogance wasn’t attractive but even so she was sneaking looks at the dusky shadow roughening his jaw and the width of those powerful shoulders.

Seriously disturbed by her own thoughts, Izzy wriggled to the furthest edge of her seat and hoped that her reaction was somehow linked with the volume of champagne she’d consumed because being stupid about a man definitely wasn’t one of her goals. She’d already made that mistake and she never, ever made the same mistake twice.

‘So is it always like that?’

‘Like what?’

‘Royal events.’ She thought about the frozen features, the restrained behaviour. ‘About as much fun as holding a party in a cemetery, although come to think of it lots of the women did look like skeletons. Why wasn’t there any proper food?’

‘There were canapés.’

‘Which no one was eating. No one was doing anything except standing around looking like wax models of themselves. What’s the point of a party if no one enjoys themselves? No one let themselves go.’

‘You more than compensated for the rest of the guests.’

She shot him a defiant look but shame oozed through the defiance because underneath the alcohol-induced high she knew she’d behaved badly. The crazy thing was, she hadn’t meant to.

‘I didn’t realise it was a crime to enjoy yourself at a party. So doesn’t anyone ever have a good time at a royal event? With your never-ending budget you ought to be throwing the best parties in town.’

‘Royal events are for other people.’

They were out of the city now, and speeding down a narrow road that started to climb.

Izzy realised she didn’t have a clue where they were going. This was her first visit to the small Mediterranean principality of Santina and she knew nothing about the geography.

‘What do you mean “for other people”?’

‘We don’t hold, or attend, events for our own entertainment. There’s always a reason. A state visit, to support a charity, to thank a section of the community, to show we’re interested—’ he shifted gear and accelerated out of a sharp bend ‘—there’s a never-ending list of reasons.’

‘And tonight was the engagement of your brother and my sister.’

‘Yes.’

Hearing something in his voice she leapt to the defence of her sister. ‘He’s lucky to have Allegra. She’s worth a hundred of those judgemental, stuck-up skinny women back at that party.’ She’d expected her hotheaded defence of her family to draw a sarcastic response but this time when he turned his head there was no sign of condescension or arrogance.

‘I hope you’re right because Alex can’t afford for this to go wrong. None of us can.’ He focused on the road again but the frown stayed on his face. ‘Did anything seem strange to you about the engagement?’

‘Apart from the fact my sister must be mad to marry a prince? No. Why?’

The pause was fractional. ‘No reason.’

‘Clearly there is a reason or you wouldn’t have asked the question.’ Although her head was spinning, Izzy felt a flash of unease. ‘Allegra would never marry him if she didn’t love him. And he must love her back or he wouldn’t marry her.’

‘You think love conquers all?’ This time his smile was sardonic. ‘How old are you?’

Stung by the mockery, Izzy gritted her teeth. It didn’t matter what she said or did, he still managed to make her feel small. ‘Old enough to know that you and I trapped together is a recipe for disaster. And just for the record I think love is the only reason to get married. There is no other reason.’ She thought about her parents and then immediately pushed the thought away because the reality of their marriage clashed so badly with her own ideals. If she ever reached the point when she was ready for another relationship then she was going to do everything differently.

The prince kept his eyes on the road. ‘So you believe in fairy tales?’

‘I didn’t say that. I said I believed in love, although just for the record I think it’s hard to find. Also for the record I’d like to say that you are the most cynical guy I’ve ever met and you have an unfortunate tendency to stereotype everyone at first glance. Now just drop me off in the next village and I’ll find myself somewhere to stay. That way we just might not kill each other.’

‘We just drove through the last village. There is nowhere to drop you.’

‘What village?’ Izzy turned her head to look over her shoulder and then wished she hadn’t as her brain suddenly felt fuzzy. ‘I saw two houses. Or was it one house and I have double vision?’

‘For the rest of your stay you are drinking water.’

‘Just as long as you have a nice slice of stale bread to go with it.’ But Izzy was starting to realise that her stay with the prince wasn’t likely to be diluted by the presence of other people. ‘When you said you lived miles from anywhere you weren’t joking.’

‘I rarely joke.’

She looked at his black dinner jacket. ‘I thought you were in the air force. Why aren’t you wearing a fancy uniform?’

‘I left active service five years ago. Now I advise the DD.’

‘DD?’ She tried to get her spinning brain round it. ‘Dear Daughter?’

His jaw tightened. ‘Defence Department.’

‘Oh. Cool.’ Izzy peered into the darkness and saw nothing but tall cypress trees and olive groves. ‘So do you spend a lot of time here?’

‘As much as I can. I value my privacy.’ His eyes glittered with a dark emotion that was alien to her. There were dark layers to the man that were hidden away, buried deep beneath a royal exterior that no observer was allowed to penetrate.

Izzy recognised instinctively how complex he was and the gulf between them widened because she knew that she wasn’t at all complex.

Her school report came to mind.

Isabelle is as shallow as a bird bath but is unlikely to provide even that useful service unless she gives up dreams of stardom and attempts to make something of her life.

She’d been determined to prove them wrong but so far she wasn’t making much progress.

‘Look, I’ll just phone a taxi or something when we get to your place,’ she muttered. ‘It would be better for both of us. I can take care of myself.’

‘You’ll stay at my palazzo until I’ve decided what to do with you.’

Like a piece of rubbish, Izzy thought, that needed recycling. Which bin do I throw her in? Plastics or green waste? ‘Right, because we both know I’m really going to fit in there. I can’t think of anything I’d love more than being trapped somewhere isolated with just you for company.’ Her singsong response was supposed to conceal how hurt she was but she saw his eyes narrow speculatively.

‘I wouldn’t have thought a woman who chose to wear a strapless dress made from nothing but sequins cared too much about fitting in.’

‘Well, that shows you know nothing about women.’

‘Funnily enough I thought I knew a great deal about women. Apparently I was wrong.’ His voice was a lazy masculine drawl and her spine tingled.

‘If the women there tonight are the sort you’ve been mixing with it’s no wonder you’re ignorant. They weren’t really women. They didn’t smile or laugh, except when they were laughing at me,’ she muttered, ‘and frankly I’m fed up with being the butt of everyone’s humour. That’s why I’d rather you dropped me off here. Let’s face it, we have nothing in common. I’ll just mess up your precious palazzo and although I’m pretty robust all this frowning disapproval is starting to get to me. I don’t want to leave the island with confidence issues.’

He shot her a look. ‘I cannot imagine you suffering from confidence issues.’

‘You’d be surprised,’ Izzy said darkly. ‘Sometimes I feel as though the whole world is frowning at me. Like now, for instance. You keep looking at my dress as if you can’t quite believe your eyes. You’re obviously deeply prejudiced towards sequins.’

‘They’re not exactly subtle.’

‘So? I love this dress.’ She refused to apologise for it. ‘And it’s hypocritical of you to be superior given all the bling you royals own.’

He shifted gears, that strong male hand alarmingly close to her knee. ‘I own “bling”?’

‘Did you see that sparkly tiara thing your mother was wearing this evening?’

‘That “tiara thing” was a gift from a sixteenth century British monarch.’

‘Well, it was sparklier than anything I own so it’s a bit hypocritical of everyone to turn their noses up at my love of shiny things just because some of us can’t afford the real thing. A party needs sparkle and yours didn’t have anywhere near enough. Talking of which, you do realise that I don’t have any luggage, don’t you? So unless you happen to own something that might fit me I’m going to be wearing this not-exactly-subtle dress every day I’m in captivity.’

‘You are not in captivity.’

‘So I can leave whenever I like?’

There was a brief pause. ‘No. The focus needs to be on my brother and your sister. Not you.’

‘So I am in captivity.’

‘Consider it a holiday. You were planning to stay in the hotel for a week. We’ve merely altered the destination and I can assure you that the coastline around my palazzo is stunning. My staff are currently in the process of transferring your luggage—please tell me you own something that doesn’t sparkle.’ His gaze flickered to hers and she felt as though all the oxygen had been sucked from the air because there was something in that look that made her stomach flip.

Even without a smile on his face he was indecently, impossibly sexy.

‘Do pyjamas count?’ It was a good job she could never fall for a man without a sense of humour, Izzy thought shakily, otherwise she’d be in deep trouble. And she’d thought she’d been too badly hurt to even look at a man again. It was the champagne. Surely it was the champagne.

‘Your pyjamas are the only clothes you own that don’t sparkle?’ His gaze skidded to hers and she turned scarlet, wishing she’d never mentioned pyjamas.

Tension throbbed between them and Izzy bit back a wild laugh because even she recognised that the attraction between them was beyond inconvenient. And she didn’t welcome it any more than he did. Her last relationship had been an utter disaster, the fallout from it played out across the world’s media. She had no intention of providing more relationship fodder for public entertainment.

What might have happened next she had no idea because a pair of enormous gates manned by armed security guards swung open and the car sped through the gates without slowing down. Impressed in spite of herself, Izzy sat tensely as they sped down a tree-lined avenue that eventually opened out into a magnificent courtyard dominated by an illuminated fountain.

Ahead of them, floodlit against the star-studded Mediterranean sky, stood the palazzo, centuries old and a vision of warm honey-coloured stone.

Izzy thought of her room in her parents’ mock Tudor house in England and gulped. ‘This is your home?’

‘Yes. Why?’

Because it was enormous. ‘It’s just a bit small and pokey, that’s all. I was expecting something a lot more magnificent. If you’re trying to impress the girls then you probably need to think about trading up.’ She could have sworn that his mouth finally flickered at the corners but maybe it was just wishful thinking because there was no humour in his response.

‘Endeavour to behave yourself in front of my staff.’

‘I thought you lived alone.’

‘I do, but I have a permanent staff of fifty.’

‘I hate to tell you this but a permanent staff of fifty doesn’t constitute “alone.” You seriously need fifty staff?’ She digested that fact in amazement. ‘I guessed you’d be hard work but not that much work. That’s an awful lot of people to pick up after you. You must be terribly untidy.’

He brought the car to an abrupt halt. ‘My charity is run from here with a permanent staff of ten. I also host visiting heads of state and senior government officials in my role as advisor to the Defence Department, so I require staff for that. The rest are involved with the running of the palazzo, including a team of gardeners and an archivist. I do have a private secretary, but I “pick up” after myself. And here’s a friendly tip—while you’re here I expect you to conduct yourself with dignity and propriety.’

‘You use an awful lot of long words. The moment I get a signal I’m going to download a dictionary app to my phone so that I can understand you.’

His jaw tightened. ‘Isabelle—’

The name made her shudder. ‘Here’s a friendly tip for you—if you want me to behave myself, don’t call me Isabelle. It brings out the worst in me.’

Before he could respond, someone opened the car door and Izzy stepped out gratefully, the platform sole of her shoe-boots crunching on the drive. The air was fresh and cool. ‘Oh, I can hear the sea. That’s nice.’

‘The palazzo is built on a cliff. My ancestor didn’t much trust his fellow humans so he chose a position that was easily defended. Don’t go wandering at night, especially after a drink.’

‘I don’t usually drink.’

His scathing glance suggested he didn’t believe her. ‘Areas of the cliff edge are crumbling. We have a major restoration project going on but with a place this size it’s a never-ending battle.’ The prince switched to his own language to speak to his staff and Izzy wished she’d concentrated more at school because she had no clue what he was saying.

That was another app she was going to have to download.

Italian for beginners.

But she didn’t need an app to see how warmly the staff greeted him. Whatever his faults, the prince was clearly loved by those around him.

Presumably he’d delivered some sort of command because a uniformed member of the prince’s household greeted her formally. ‘If you would like to follow me, signorina.’

‘Absolutely. Completely on my best behaviour at all times.’ Saluting Matteo and trying desperately to walk in a straight line, Izzy staggered on her towering heels through the gilded doors and was instantly dazzled by the grandeur of the place. She stopped dead, her head tilted back as she stared at the ornate ceiling. ‘Wow. Another incredible ceiling.’

‘It’s called a fresco.’ Matteo’s voice came from behind her. ‘It was painted by a contemporary of Michelangelo.’

Izzy raised her eyebrows. ‘How on earth did they do that without getting paint in their eyes? Last time I painted my bedroom wall I covered myself with the stuff. I had blue hair for weeks.’

‘They used scaffolding.’ The prince’s eyes lingered on her hair. ‘And the artist didn’t lie on his back, he simply tilted his head.’

‘And used non-drip paint. I like it.’ Izzy stared at the ceiling again, slightly alarmed to see it shifting and spinning. ‘I particularly like the way they’ve made it move.’

With a soft curse the prince caught her as she fell and scooped her up into his arms. As one of her shoes fell to the floor, she made an abortive grab for it.

‘My shoe!’

‘Next time don’t drink so much …’ This close she could see the dark shadow of his jaw and the perfect lines of his undeniably sexy mouth.

‘I didn’t drink too much. I just didn’t eat enough and that’s down to your lousy hospitality. You starve your guests. I guess that’s one way of making sure they don’t outstay their welcome.’ Horribly dizzy, she let her head flop against his shoulder and gave a low moan as he strode towards the elegant staircase. ‘This time it would be great if you could walk smoothly.’

His grip tightened on her. ‘Izzy Jackson, you are a disaster.’

‘I know, I know, but the tragedy is I don’t mean to be. All I wanted to do was sing,’ Izzy mumbled, her face buried in hard muscle. ‘But no one wanted to listen. Poor me.’

CHAPTER THREE

WONDERING how he’d come to be carrying her yet again, Matteo strode into the turret bedroom and kicked the door shut behind him.

Depositing her in the centre of the bed he stepped backwards and undid the collar of his shirt, hoping to relieve the tightness in his throat.

Izzy gave a low moan and rolled over the bed, her arms flopping above her head as she tried to focus on him.

Matteo watched her efforts to rouse herself with barely concealed anger.

Why the hell had he done this to himself?

He should have let her sabotage the party. He should have left her there and just cleared up the mess afterwards. Or let Alex deal with it himself. Anything would have been better than putting himself in this situation.

She blinked and looked around her. ‘Where am I?’

Sleeping Beauty, Matteo thought grimly, but a thousand times more lethal.

‘You are in the turret bedroom.’

‘So you’re locking me in the tower just like the fairy tale. But how is the prince ever going to find me here? I hope he has sat nav fitted to his horse.’ Giggling, she rolled onto her side, the movement pushing her dress further up her thighs. ‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your golden hair, but not if it has strawberry streaks in it because no one wants a girl with strawberry streaks.’

Matteo tried to ignore the burn of lust that ripped through him. She had incredible legs. ‘This is our best guest suite, usually reserved for visiting royalty. It’s more than you deserve.’ Keeping one eye on her to make sure she didn’t fall off the bed, he snatched up the phone and ordered a pot of black coffee and food, well aware that his midnight order would trigger yet more speculation from his already fascinated staff.

As someone who conducted his relationships with utmost discretion, he knew that having someone like Izzy in his home would create a huge stir.

As he ended the call she sat up and slid shakily off the bed. She stood for a moment and wobbled slightly, testing that her legs would hold her. Bending over she pulled off her remaining shoe and almost fell. ‘Oops. Champagne really affects your balance.’

‘It has never affected mine.’

‘That’s because you’re horribly, boringly controlled.’

Matteo gritted his teeth. ‘Sit down.’

‘Not a good idea. My head is spinning.’

‘Per meraviglia, you are incorrigible.’ He grabbed her arms to stop her falling and she swayed and flopped against him, sighing into his chest.

‘I like it here. You smell so good.’

And she felt good. Soft. Fragile. Without those towering heels she was surprisingly petite. Matteo tensed his body, instinctively rejecting the effects of that knowledge because the alternative was unthinkable. ‘Behave yourself.’ He forced himself to release her, but she stayed welded to his chest and the contact sent a rush of heat across his skin.

‘If you weren’t so moody you’d be really sexy.’ She tilted her head back and those bewitching eyes fixed on his. ‘Why don’t you ever smile? Are you unhappy, Matt?’ That mass of soft hair whispered gently over his hand—the same hand he’d been fighting not to plant in the centre of her back.

He started to withdraw, but a curl of hair wound itself around his finger like a silken noose and suddenly, instead of letting go, his hand was touching her cheek. Control was eclipsed by raw desire and Matteo captured her face in his hands, bringing his mouth down on hers. Her shock mirrored his own and then her lips parted under the demands of his, her mouth soft, sweet and unapologetically sexual as she kissed him back. As her tongue slid over his, raw sexual heat ripped through him and Matteo locked his hands on her hips and pulled her hard against him.

They were welded together, their mouths creating a fire that devoured both of them, so wild and out of control that the next move would have been the bed behind them had it not been for the knock on the door.

He heard it dimly, through a fog of sexual excitement and primitive need, but when he tried to lift his head she gave a low moan of protest and dug her fingers into his hair, prolonging the kiss for a few more erotic moments. Or maybe he was the one who prolonged the kiss. Either way they were still kissing when the second knock came, louder this time, followed by the unmistakable sound of the doorknob turning.

With a supreme effort Matteo dragged his mouth from hers and disengaged himself just moments before one of the kitchen staff entered with a tray of food and a pot of coffee.

Twice, he thought. Twice in the space of a few hours he’d lost control with this woman.

‘Grazie. Just leave it on the table.’

If the girl from his kitchens was surprised by his unusually abrupt tone then she didn’t show it. Instead she simply took the cover off the sandwiches and was about to pour the coffee when Matteo dismissed her.

‘I’ll do it.’

The girl scurried out of the room.

Next to him Izzy stood, swaying slightly on her bare feet, her eyes not quite meeting his.

She looked slightly dazed, as if she’d been struck by lightning.

He knew exactly how she was feeling only he didn’t have alcohol as an excuse.

‘Eat something.’

She stirred and looked round her. ‘What happened to my bag?’ She spied it on the bed and walked unsteadily over to it. ‘Need to write something down before I forget.’ It took her three attempts to unclip the bag and pull out a pen and a small notebook.

Matteo watched in exasperation as she tried to focus on something she’d written.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m evaluating today. I do it every night before I go to sleep, but I’m afraid that tonight I’m going to forget, so I’m doing it now.’

‘Evaluating today?’

‘Every day should have a purpose.’ She swayed and almost lost her balance and Matteo was just stepping forward ready to catch her when she planted her hands on the bed to steady herself. The notebook fell to the floor and he retrieved it, his temper simmering.

He was about to hand it back and make his exit when he saw the words on the page.

Goal of the Day—Meet Moody Matteo.

A scalding flame of anger speared his body. ‘You actually took the trouble to write it down?’

‘Give me that—it’s private.’ Her attempt to snatch the book from him almost sent her tumbling again. ‘And yes, I write it down. It’s like making a promise to myself. I will achieve my dream.’

Feeling sick to his stomach, Matteo handed her the book. ‘I’m going to kill that dream of yours stone dead. Get this straight right now—I am not your goal.’ His palms were damp and the past flashed into his head with explosive force, blasting through the barriers he erected between himself and the world. ‘I am not your target.’

She winced. ‘Could you speak in a softer voice? My head hurts. And I do think you’re slightly overreacting.’

Matteo swore fluently in Italian and strode to the door.

Her voice stopped him. ‘Well, this has been a very interesting evening. I think we’ve each learned something about the other, which is useful as we’re going to be related. I’ve learned that despite being so uptight on the surface, underneath you’re steaming hot and you kiss like a god. What have you learned, Your Highness?’

He’d learned that what had happened to him years before remained embedded like shrapnel in his subconscious.

He’d learned that his control was a much more fragile thing than he’d believed.

He’d learned that helping his brother was going to cost him dearly.

‘I’ve learned never to carry a woman to bed when she’s drunk. Go and take a cold shower and sleep it off. And try not to drown. A domani.’

Izzy woke with a crushing headache, a mouth as dry as a child’s sandbox and a clear memory of every single thing that had happened the night before. Why, oh, why, couldn’t she just have forgotten everything? Why wasn’t she one of those people who could never remember a thing that had happened? A bit of alcohol-induced amnesia would have been extremely welcome because most of the memories weren’t good ones.

She remembered being starving-hungry. She remembered grabbing the microphone at the party and being showered by disapproving stares. And she remembered the adrenalin rush of being driven by the prince in his super sports car.

And the kiss …

Closing her eyes, she gave a moan.

Oh, yes, she remembered the kiss. And she had a feeling she’d still be able to remember it when she was ninety and wrinkled. Where on earth had someone so zipped up and restrained as the Prince of Darkness learned to kiss like that? Except that he hadn’t been zipped up and restrained when he’d kissed her. One moment he’d been cold and disapproving; the next he’d been giving a crash course in the true meaning of sexual excitement. Because she knew that what they’d shared had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with hot physical chemistry.

She’d been kissed before, but never like that—never had the feelings spread all the way through her body creating a craving so powerful she hadn’t seen the benefit in stopping. Who in their right mind would want to stop something that felt so good?

And the craving was still there …

Shaken by feelings she didn’t recognise, she decided that the first thing to do was fix the throb in her head. Reaching for the jug of water by the bed, she noticed a pool of scarlet sequins on the floor. She dimly remembered wriggling out of her dress and then flopping onto the bed.

‘Never again,’ she moaned as she poured water into a glass and drank. ‘Never again am I drinking champagne with nothing to eat.’

Gingerly, trying not to move her head too vigorously, she squinted at her watch.

Ten-thirty.

She never slept in. Ever. She set her alarm for seven every morning no matter what she’d done the day before.

Wincing, she eased herself gently off the bed and padded into the bathroom feeling like roadkill.

Raccoon eyes stared back at her where her make-up had run, her face was horribly pale and she had a red mark on her cheek where she’d slept awkwardly. ‘No wonder he wasn’t keen to hang around.’ As she wiped away the damage, she noticed that although the palazzo was ancient and historic, there was nothing ancient or historic about her bedroom, or the luxurious bathroom with its walk-in shower.