Summer Romance with the Italian Tycoon Read online

  The ping of his phone reminded him of his duties. He couldn’t stand here for ever, no matter how pretty the view. Tomorrow he would go for a long hike, up into the mountains, just as he had when he was a boy. But today he needed to catch up with paperwork, get to know any new staff who had started in the last few months, settle back into the castle after far too many months since his last fleeting visit.

  The woman had disappeared around the curve of the lake path and Dante set off in the same direction. The path was as familiar as his own reflection, memories around every turn. Even now, after all these years, after all these regrets, he had to stop the moment Castello Falcone came fully into view. Had to admire the way the natural stream had been diverted to create a continuous cascade through fountains and ponds to fall down the terraced slopes. Appreciate how the natural and formal so seamlessly blended together in the landscaped gardens—and, rising above it all, the many spires of Castello Falcone. The setting was more fairy-tale than any movie-set designer could imagine, centuries of scandal and secrets locked up inside those walls. His own included.

  His phone pinged again, this time telling him he had a call, and he pulled it from his pocket, frowning. He’d promised Arianna he’d try and take a break this summer, but he could never truly switch off. Too much rested on him. He flipped the phone over, his mood lightening when he saw his sister’s name on the screen, mentally calculating the time difference. It must be midnight in New Zealand.

  ‘Ciao, Luciana. E tutto okay?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

  Dante suppressed a smile at the familiar voice. After a decade on the other side of the world his sister had an accent that was a unique mixture of her native Italian and a New Zealand twang, and she usually spoke English, even to him, liberally strewn with Italian endearments and curses. His chest tightened. How he wished she were closer, were here to help him raise Arianna.

  ‘It’s late,’ he pointed out mildly. ‘I’m surprised to hear from you, that’s all.’

  ‘I just want to make sure that you’re okay, mio fratello. Are you at the castello?’

  ‘Arrived this morning,’ Dante confirmed as he resumed his walk up the sweeping driveway, reaching one of the sets of stone steps flanking the terraces. ‘Arianna’s au pair will bring her along in a couple of days when I’ve made sure everything is ready.’

  ‘Good; it’s time she returned there. It’s not healthy to keep away. For either of you.’

  Dante did his best to bite back his curt reply, but the words escaped regardless. ‘Her mother died thanks to the treacherous mountain roads. I was on the other side of the world. Arianna was left all alone...’

  ‘The roads didn’t kill Violetta,’ his sister cut in. She knew her cue; after all, they’d had this conversation more times than Dante could remember. ‘The mountains didn’t kill her...not even the ice on the road was responsible. It was the driver of the car she was in. It was the drink and drugs. Arianna was safe enough with her nanny, with all the rest of the staff. Stop torturing yourself, Dante. It’s been over five years.’

  Over five years? What did years matter when the end result was the same? His daughter left motherless, his wife’s death a dark stain on his soul.

  ‘I know how long it’s been, Ciana.’ How long to the day, to the hour. Just as he knew how unhappy his wife had been. How, once she’d got over the initial excitement at living in a castle, she’d felt caged in by the mountains, isolated by San Tomo’s remote location, how much she resented him for travelling so much, working so much—although that work paid for her extravagant lifestyle. That unhappiness, that resentment, that isolation had killed her—and Dante knew exactly who was to blame.

  It wasn’t the ice, or the car, or her lover, or the drink or the cocaine that had killed his wife. He had. And no matter how hard he worked he would never be able to atone, never make it up to his daughter. ‘I’m fine, Luciana. Looking forward to spending the summer here. To getting away from Roma for a couple of months.’ He glanced back towards the lake. ‘I’ve already been for a swim.’

  ‘The first swim of summer? How I miss it. I always knew it was the holidays as soon as I was in the lake. No study, no etiquette, no expectations for two whole months.’ Luciana’s voice was filled with melancholic nostalgia. Dante rolled his eyes, glad she couldn’t see him. He knew full well his sister’s house had stunning mountain views on every side, that she could walk down to a lake ten times the size of San Tomo in less than five minutes and her three sons spent most of their time on the water.

  ‘There’s plenty of room if you want to come for a visit any time.’ The offer was genuinely meant, but Dante knew she was unlikely to make the two-day flight back to her native country any time soon, not with three boys aged between five and eight and the extensive vineyard she owned with her husband to manage.

  ‘Grazie—it’s been too long since I saw my niece. Now, Dante, I wanted to ask you a favour.’

  Here it was, the reason for the call. ‘Mmm?’ he said noncommittally.

  ‘My amico, Giovanna, you remember her? She recently got divorced—her husband was not a nice man—and she’s moved to Milan. She could really do with a friend. Will you take her out? Maybe for dinner?’ Luciana’s voice was sly and Dante didn’t try and hide his sigh.

  ‘I’m not planning to spend any time in Milan this summer,’ he said as repressively as possible. He should have known this conversation was coming; after all, it was at least three months since his sister had last tried to set him up.

  ‘She has a villa on Lake Garda and spends all her weekends there. That’s not far away. You could do with some time out as well, Dante. Just a few dinners, no expectations.’

  ‘Perdonami, Luciana, but I’m not looking to make any new friends, to date anyone. I know you mean well, but please, stop trying to set me up with your friends.’

  ‘I just hate to think of you all alone, brooding away.’ Luciana sounded throaty, a hitch in her voice. Dante knew those signs all too well; his sister was going to cry.

  It would be different if she was close by, if she could just see that he and Arianna were both well, both happy. But he knew how much she fretted about being on the other side of the world, how much she blamed herself for promoting Dante’s marriage to Violetta. She just wanted him to be happy. How could he be upset with her for that? If only he could stop her worrying...

  ‘I’m not alone...’ The words spilled out before he had a chance to think what he was saying. ‘I met someone, but it’s really early days, so don’t get excited.’

  A little, teeny white lie. What harm could it do? If it made Luciana happy—and stopped her trying to set him up with any newly single friend then surely it was allowable? Maybe even the right thing to do.

  ‘You met someone? Who? Oh, you man, you, why didn’t you say something before?’

  ‘It’s not serious. I didn’t want to get your hopes up.’ Plus, the tiny point that he’d only just thought up his imaginary girlfriend.

  ‘So? Details?’ Luciana demanded and Dante stopped dead. Details? Of course his sister would want details. He swivelled, looking out over the lake for inspiration. His gaze fell on the jetty almost directly opposite, on the woman he had seen standing there, on the intense way she had watched him, as if he represented something she needed, something she yearned for.

  Despite himself the blood began to heat in his veins, his heart thumping a little louder. He’d been annoyed, sure. His coming-home ritual interrupted, the sheer intentness of her stare intrusive. And yet... There had been something almost sensual about the moment. The two of them separated by hundreds of metres of water and yet connected by something primal. He’d felt a little like a stag in the prime of his life, preening for attention. She the doe, unable to look away, waiting to be claimed.

  ‘She’s English,’ Dante said slowly. ‘Tall, blonde.’

  ‘English? Okay. An
d? What does she do? Where did you meet? What does Arianna think?’

  Dante seized on the last question gratefully, his inventiveness already giving out. ‘Arianna doesn’t know yet, so don’t say anything when you video-call her. Like I said, it’s early days. Luciana, I’ll call you later this week; I have only been here a couple of hours and I need to meet the new staff and look over the new event planner’s business plan.’ Hopefully by then he would have thought up a story that would pass muster. Planned out a summer-long romance, followed by a regretful breakup in the autumn and his sister off his back for a good few months.

  ‘Okay, but I want to know all about her,’ Luciana threatened. ‘Ciao, Dante.’

  ‘Ciao. And, Luciana? Thank you for calling. For always calling.’

  ‘Stupido,’ she murmured and hung up.

  Dante slipped his phone back into his pocket, for once the smile playing on his lips unforced. He did appreciate every phone call; he just wanted Luciana to stop worrying about him. Now, thanks to the stroke of genius that was his imaginary girlfriend, he’d achieved that.

  For now.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘THAT’S GREAT. I look forward to meeting you in two weeks’ time.’ Madeleine replaced the phone handset and leaned back in her chair. There was no need for her to speak to Sally Capper again, but—she made a private bet with herself—there would be at least another four conversations before the bride arrived in San Tomo.

  Of course, every bride put a lot of trust in Maddie’s hands. She organised their pick-ups at the airport, she allocated rooms to their guests, sometimes ensuring that larger parties were also accommodated in the village. She arranged ceremonies at the church, at the town hall and in the small chapel in the castello—always reminding the couples to have a legal ceremony at home first to cut through the extensive Italian red tape. She advised on menus, she organised the decoration of the hall or the courtyard. She booked hairdressers and make-up artists. She received wedding dresses and made sure they were pressed and stored properly. In fact she had four hanging in the cedar closet behind her right now.

  She soothed tears and tantrums, listened to diatribes about selfish relatives; she was counsellor and advisor. Some brides fell on her as if she were their best friend when they finally met. Others treated her as if she were there to do their every bidding, with no thought of pleases and thank-yous. Maddie didn’t much care either way. She was here to do a job, that was all.

  The truth was, most of the weddings left her cold, their very perfection unsettling. The only times she felt a glimmer of any emotion was when the bride and groom didn’t care if the playlist was disrupted for a song or two, laughed if it rained, smiled benevolently when a great-uncle rose to his feet to make a long, rambling speech—because in the end all they cared about was each other. Maddie would watch those couples swaying later in the evening, eyes locked, and her heart would ache. Would anyone ever look at her that way—or would she always be practical, helpful Madeleine with the right name, the right upbringing and the right can-do attitude?

  All she wanted was someone, some day to look at her as if she was their whole world.

  Maybe she should get a dog.

  She turned at the sound of voices in the courtyard behind her office. She’d waved off the last party yesterday and the rooms had all been cleaned and made up ready for the next, so no one should be out there. Maddie stood up to see better, but couldn’t see anybody.

  Stretching, she snapped her laptop shut, deciding she wasn’t going to get much more done today; another wedding party would be arriving tomorrow and the exhausting cycle would begin again. Technically she was supposed to take the two days between bookings off, but she rarely did. There would be plenty of time for leisure and adventure when she finally had enough saved to begin travelling properly.

  Picking up her bag, she stepped over to the little oval door which took her onto the covered balcony walkway with stone steps leading down into the courtyard. Her office was at the very back of the castle, overlooking the beautiful, cobbled courtyard with its gracious arches, flower-filled pots and imposing marble fountain which marked the centre.

  Madeleine had been offered a room in the castle, but she had taken a small apartment in a chalet on the outskirts of the village. She had grown up surrounded by the old and grand at Stilling Abbey. She knew all about graceful arches and medieval halls and battlements. About draughty corridors and smoking chimneys, about slippery, steep stone steps and tiny windows which let in hardly any light. About furniture older than most people could trace back their family trees and dirty oil paintings featuring disapproving-looking ancestors.

  No. Let the brides and grooms exclaim over the romance of it all from their four-poster bed while she went home to her little one-bedroom apartment with its glorious view of the lakes and its humble furnishings chosen for comfort alone. There wasn’t a single antique, nothing worth more than a handful of euros in the apartment, and Maddie liked it that way, although she knew her mother would wince at the clashing bright colours of the throws and cushions with which Maddie had personalised her little home.

  She started down the old stone steps, mentally totting up all the things she needed to do the next day, not registering the small group in the corner of the courtyard until she reached the ground. The sound of her heels on the cobbles must have advertised her presence because the three men all stopped talking and turned as one. Maddie paused, smiling automatically, registering her boss, the castle general manager, Guido, and an older man she recognised as one of the accountants from the Falcone headquarters in Rome.

  Her heart stuttered to a stop as her gaze moved on to the third man. What was the bather from the lake doing here? By the flare in his blue eyes he was as surprised to see her as she him—but then, it was a tiny valley, one small village, where everyone knew each other. The chances of the mystery man not being connected with the castle were far less than running into him.

  After the first flare of surprise his expression smoothed into neutrality as he stepped forward. ‘Nice to meet you again, signorina.’

  Guido looked from one to another. ‘You know one another?’

  ‘We ran into each other at the lake, but we haven’t been formally introduced,’ he said.

  Maddie clenched her fists at the mocking tone in his voice, but managed to twist her mouth into a smile. ‘Literally ran into each other. My fault.’

  ‘I believe the signorina was transfixed by the view.’

  Maddie’s fists tightened as her smile widened. ‘My mind was elsewhere,’ she agreed, trying her best not to let him see how easily he riled her.

  ‘Maddie is one of our hardest workers. We are very lucky to have her.’ Guido stepped in, to Maddie’s profound relief. ‘Dante, this is Madeleine Fitzroy; she looks after all the weddings here at the castello. Maddie, let me introduce you to Conte Falcone.’

  Maddie had already started to extend her hand and continued the motion automatically, even as her mind raced with the new information. It wasn’t the dark-haired man’s title that threw her—most of Maddie’s family had titles—it was the realisation that he was her employer. The first employer she had ever had and he’d seen her ogling him down at the lake. Was that an automatic disciplinary?

  ‘You’re the events planner?’ He sounded as surprised as Maddie felt as he took her hand. It was just a brief touch, but a jolt shocked up and down her arm, her nerves tingling from the encounter.

  ‘I... Yes. I...’

  Nicely done, Maddie; pull yourself together.

  After all, she’d had tea with the Queen three times and managed to make polite conversation over the finger sandwiches just fine. There was no way this tall man with the sardonic smile was more intimidating than meeting the Queen of England. ‘I’ve been here nearly a year now; I started last September.’ A couple of months after her non-wedding, desperate to get away from the limeligh
t she had found herself in, away from the camera lenses and the headlines, from her mother’s disapproving and palpable disappointment. A friend of a friend had mentioned that she knew of a job somewhere remote in the Italian Dolomites for someone with good organisational skills and fluent Italian, and Maddie had jumped at the opportunity.

  ‘You approved her appointment before you went back to Roma at the end of last summer,’ Guido said. ‘Maddie managed events at two similar venues in England.’

  So her CV had carefully omitted that one of those venues was her own ancestral home and the other belonged to her ex-fiancé? The blatant nepotism and lack of a salary didn’t change the fact that Maddie had managed them both expertly, and she had had no qualms about using that experience to get herself a real paying job.

  ‘Si, I remember. I was expecting someone a little older, that is all. I seem to remember at least eight years’ experience at the highest level...’

  ‘I started working young,’ Maddie said, lifting her bag higher onto her shoulder, signalling clearly that, lovely as this encounter was, she had somewhere else to be.

  ‘Obviously.’ His smile didn’t reach his eyes and Maddie shifted, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

  ‘Are you in a hurry?’ Guido asked her. ‘I was planning to show the Conte some of the changes you have made to the accommodation. But you can explain your thinking much better than I can, if you have time to accompany us.’

  Maddie shifted again. Usually she would jump at the opportunity to showcase some of her work; she was proud of what she had achieved over the last few months. But she felt uneasy spending any more time under Dante Falcone’s all too penetrating glance.

  ‘I’m sure the signorina has more inspiring things to do with her evening; a walk around the lake perhaps?’ the Conte drawled, his eyes gleaming at her.