Pope's Assassin Read Online Free PDF

versation that had occurred in that bar in Whitehall, while Chelsea was playing some team, it didn't matter to her. The same God Rafael believed in created an opportunity in the form of an Italian Adonis. Apparently she was attracted to Italians. He was a London correspon dent for Corr iere della Sera, made regular appearances on RAI, was thirty-two years old like Sarah, and had a body that would make Eros green with envy. He only had eyes for her from the first second he saw her at a lunch for journalists at the Italian embassy.
        It should be said that Sarah avoided this Adonis from the south of Europe at fi rst. But soon the Italian showed a genuine interest and agreeable conversation far beyond his playboy appearance. A native of Ascoli, his name was Francesco. To tell the truth, his sculpted beauty was the reason Sarah agreed to a date. An opportunity for Francesco to show what he was worth and if he was worth it. After this fi rst date came a second. On the third their commitment was sealed with a pas sionate kiss on the steps of her house in Kensington, and others fol lowed with greater intensity in her bedroom.
        In the days that followed, things progressed naturally. More dates, more conversations, more kisses, and more. Francesco seemed capti vated by Sarah's directness. There was no role-playing or cover-ups. She was always herself, Sarah, authentic, on the telephone in the offi ce, ordering something in a restaurant, kissing in her room. There was no one but her in his eyes, and he adored this.
        "Listen, those books are not bad. I see why you're a celebrity."
        "You read them?" Sarah asked with feigned shock. "Who gave you permission?"
        "I needed to know if I was going to introduce an anti-Catholic to my mother," Francesco replied, then, seriously, "They put me at ease."
        "They're books about men, not about religion," Sarah explained.
        "Yes, in fact I think my mom would agree with you on some points. We could drop by Ascoli on your book tour. What do you think?"
    "Don't you think that's a little premature?" Sarah argued.
        "Not for me. Take the time you need to promote your book. Don't rush. When you're free we can detour to the northeast."
        "It's only a conference on La Feltrinelli of the Largo di Torre Argen tina," Sarah said as she considered the invitation.
        Francesco leaned over her. "You're a very appealing heretic."
        "Do you want to carry me to bed, my bad boy?" Sarah smiled with desire.
        "Would you let me?" Francesco chose to sound like an innocent boy.
        "I would. I do . . ." Sarah said. "I don't know if your mother would let you." She threw herself against him.
        "Oh, do you want war?"
        A little struggle began with pillows and deep kisses. "You're going to pay for this," Francesco teased.
        "Will it be very expensive?" Sarah provoked him.
        When the hostilities were over and they lay in bed, out of breath, on their backs, sweating, they smiled.
        "I love you," Francesco said.
        His words were like a bullet, wiping her smile away. She had no reply. At least not at the moment. Francesco was not just a pretty face, it seemed. He looked at her for a while and changed the subject, paying no attention to the uncomfortable silence.
        "You still haven't told me who the bishop or cardinal is who's bring ing you these stories," he said, half joking and half seriously.
        "A woman never tells." She regarded him pensively. She thought about Rafael again.

7

    B en Isaac was doing everything to save his marriage. Myriam had lost her patience and given him an ultimatum. The business or her. That was the reason he agreed to go on a cruise when his busi ness was in such a precarious state. His son, also named Ben, would take care of things for a month. Little Ben, twenty-seven years old, had worked administering the business for a long time, but always under the