Isabella's mind raced like a thoroughbred. "Oxford," she replied, the word coming from nowhere, surprising even herself. "Economics and international relations."
"Impressive," Salvatore said, his eyebrows rising with respect. "And before that?"
"I spent my childhood traveling," Isabella continued, the words flowing like they were true memories rather than desperate invention. "My father was a diplomat."
A man named Thomas nearly choked on his wine, coughing violently. "A diplomat!" He struggled to compose himself. "Any countries in particular?"
"Mostly Eastern Europe," Isabella said, wondering why these details were coming so easily, as if pulled from some hidden well. "I speak five languages."
"Five!" Salvatore exclaimed, clapping his hands together like a delighted child. "Perhaps you should demonstrate?"
Isabella noticed Matteo watching her with something new in his cold eyes with amusement? Curiosity? Something that looked almost like pride.
