Summer Romance with the Italian Tycoon Read online

  ‘I will get us tickets for the festival here,’ he said firmly.

  ‘You don’t have to...’

  ‘Luciana will want to go. Consider it part of your duties as well as your education.’

  ‘Education and work in one outing? Fabulous.’

  But despite her words she couldn’t help the tingle of anticipation at the idea. Not just because she would get the opportunity to view one of the most famous cultural events in the world, but because Dante wanted her to experience something he loved.

  And from someone so private that was a heady thought indeed.

  Not that the cool and proper Conte had been much in evidence today. After they finally resurfaced from the bed, Dante had headed back out into the town to purchase Maddie a suitable outfit for the day. Even after the night they had shared she’d felt a little embarrassed scribbling her demands—and her sizes—down, but he had brushed her concerns and her offer of payment aside, returning with something really pretty and expensive, judging by the cut, blue-silk maxi-dress covered in a gorgeous flowery pattern. He’d teamed the dress with dull gold sandals and a matching scarf, also supplying her with exquisitely beautiful lace underwear that Maddie thought ruefully must have cost more than all her sensible sets of bras and pants put together. Luckily she carried a few essential travel cosmetics in her bag, so she’d managed to powder her nose and tame her hair before he returned. After reassuring both Guido and the distraught bride that everything was in hand, she had spent a busy hour ensuring everything that could be cancelled was.

  At least by waiting until she’d got to the altar to call off her own wedding she hadn’t had to do anything except cancel the honeymoon. The bemused guests had been invited to stay and enjoy the food and music and, in the end, most of them had. Maddie herself had danced until midnight—hence the photo which had appeared in most of the papers of a bride alone on a dance floor in full white dress and tiara. The first time she had ever just been, without caring what anyone thought. The first and last time—until last night.

  Dante had driven them to Verona in the same car he had transported her down the mountainside in last night. Maddie hadn’t asked how the car had miraculously appeared at the other end of the lake. She was beginning to realise that the castello was just a very small part of the Falcone empire and fortune. Which made Dante’s determination to make his sister happy just that little bit more endearing.

  Endearing—not a word she’d expected to use about the Conte. And not, considering both the tenor of their agreement and the way she’d thrown caution overboard last night, a word she needed to be using. Endearing was too friendly, too sweet a word.

  A little like the day they were spending together. It was both sweet and friendly—but with an edge. An awareness of each other that stayed with them every step, every touch. Every time Dante spoke, Maddie remembered the way his mouth felt on hers, on her body, remembered the endearments he had whispered in the dark of the night. Every time their hands briefly touched she had flashbacks to the way he had touched her last night. A reminder that this was no normal day. It was a prologue to the real business, the real reason they were spending any time together at all.

  ‘And so,’ Dante said as they finally reached the top of the theatre and gazed down at Verona spread before them, unreal in its beauty and antiquity, ‘there she is. Verona in all her glory.’

  ‘Glorious,’ Maddie murmured, every nerve ablaze with awareness of Dante’s proximity. Her body swayed towards him, yearning for his touch. Part of her gloried in this new sensation, in the abandonment he had induced in her—but part of her shrank from it. Maddie was no prude, she wasn’t naïve, but she had assumed—she had hoped—that if she ever felt this kind of passion then it would be accompanied by love, not something as prosaic as a business contract. She knew Dante found her attractive. But he’d said very clearly that he didn’t want a relationship with anyone. That he didn’t believe in love.

  Whereas Maddie believed wholeheartedly in love. She just wasn’t sure she’d ever find anyone who loved her. After all, she never had. Oh, she knew her parents would tell her not to be so silly, so sentimental, that of course they loved her. But it was a love balanced by approval, by doing the right thing, by conforming. Every time she broke out of the established mould—even when it was for their benefit—she felt them pull away.

  She wanted to be loved no matter what.

  Dante’s voice broke into her thoughts and she pulled herself back into the present. How spoiled she was! She was having a perfectly lovely day—after a perfectly lovely night. What else did a young, free woman need? ‘What would you like to do next?’

  There was only one possible answer. They’d walked along the river, crossed the gorgeously crenulated Ponte di Castel Vecchio and admired the castle itself. They’d wandered through the various piazzas, stopping off for coffees and a long lunch along the way, before spending a restful hour in the Giardino Gusti, glad of the shade in the heat of the summer’s afternoon. Now they had nearly two hours before meeting Luciana’s train and there was one key destination they had yet to visit.

  ‘I know it isn’t authentic...’ she began and Dante interrupted.

  ‘Of course,’ he said resignedly. ‘Bring a girl to Verona and she has to stand in an overcrowded courtyard to stare at a balcony which was added long after the date the supposed occupant of the house used it, to pay homage to a pair of teenagers with chronic communication issues.’

  ‘It wasn’t their fault. They didn’t exactly have smartphones in the fourteenth century.’ Maddie didn’t know why she was defending a pair of fictional characters so vehemently. But standing here in Verona, where the fourteenth century didn’t just seem relevant but practically modern while she was surrounded by Roman ruins, Romeo and Juliet seemed less like people in a play and more like the embodiment of hope and dreams. Even if it had all gone famously wrong.

  ‘One moment Romeo is sighing over Rosaline and the next he’s falling for Juliet. If Juliet hadn’t been a Capulet and they hadn’t rushed into marriage, who knows who he would have fallen for next? As for Juliet... She should have listened to her mother and married Paris. These mad passions don’t last,’ he finished, a hint of bitterness penetrating the irony.

  ‘That would have made a fascinating play. And of course,’ Maddie answered sweetly, ‘I forgot how sensibly everyone always behaves in opera. Lots of sitting around discussing things rationally over tea and cake.’

  ‘It’s the music that makes the opera, not the story.’

  ‘Not true—it’s passionate music inspired by passionate characters. And it’s the same in Shakespeare; the language is what moves us, what makes the story. After all, Shakespeare recycled most of the stories.’

  Dante sighed in the long-suffering way of one who already knew the answer to a question about to be asked. ‘So, knowing that neither Romeo nor Juliet have ever been proved to actually exist and also that the balcony is a later addition, would you still like to go?’

  ‘Absolutely. Consider it an advance payment for the opera.’

  Dante muttered something that sounded more than a little like ‘philistine’ but didn’t demur any more; instead he took Maddie’s arm in a surprisingly pleasant proprietorial gesture and guided her down the steps. Maddie was more than capable of walking down a set of stone steps, even if they were two thousand years old and a little unsteady in places, but it was nice to find herself being taken care of rather than the person doing the caring.

  Nice and novel.

  It was about half a mile’s stroll to the famous balcony, crossing back across the river and making their way through the cobbled streets until they finally reached the small courtyard thronged with people. Greenery covered the high walls on one side and it was easy to imagine a youthful lover climbing up it to reach his lady-love. Maddie shivered despite the heat, despite the crowds chattering in at least a dozen languages. To be
loved so desperately, to be wanted so intensely that you would rather die than be separated. Melodramatic? Sure. But also so intoxicatingly sweet. A sweetness every fibre in her body yearned for. Last night had been incredible, mind-blowingly, fantastically incredible, but instead of fulfilling a need it had just opened up the chasm inside her heart a little wider. Maddie didn’t just want good sex, lovely as that was—really lovely; she wanted love. Not because of how she made someone’s life easier but because of who she was. She wanted someone to see inside her and love and desire all of her.

  Who would have thought the sensible Honourable Madeleine Fitzroy would turn out to be such a romantic? It certainly wasn’t from her upbringing. None of her ancestors had a romantic bone in their body, the Bryon-worshipping, gothic-folly-building nineteenth-century would-be rake aside, and he wasn’t so much romantic as a romantic. He had yearned for adventure and daring deeds of valour rather than love.

  Her mother would probably prescribe a long dog walk and a cup of cocoa. Her father would pat her on the head and tell her—remind her—that she was a good girl. If Juliet had been a Fitzroy she would have married Paris, just as Dante had said, knowing her duty and doing it obediently. But if she had wavered, had allowed herself to follow her heart and woken up in that tomb with her dead swain lying across her, poison bottle clasped in his still warm hand, then would she have died for love or would she have allowed herself one solitary tear and then got on with her dutiful life, only occasionally allowing herself to remember her entombed lover?

  Maddie suspected the latter.

  But at least Juliet would have lived out her life knowing that she had once been loved to the point of madness. Would Maddie ever know the same? She’d take a week of wild passion over a lifetime of duty any day. Otherwise she might as well have married Theo.

  ‘Would you like to go inside the house? There’s a museum, I believe.’ Dante’s voice broke into her reverie and Maddie pulled herself back into reality.

  ‘No, thank you. This is great. Look at all these people. I wonder what they’re thinking?’

  Tour parties, young couples kissing under the balcony, lone sightseers, families with fractious toddlers or sulky teens, older couples holding hands... All of humanity seemed to be represented in the square.

  ‘That it’s too busy in here and they want a coffee—or better still a glass of wine?’

  ‘They’re not thinking about coffee,’ Maddie said wistfully, her gaze drawn to a couple around her age who were staring into each other’s eyes as if nobody else existed. At that moment the young man dropped to his knee and presented a box to his blushing girlfriend. ‘Oh, my goodness—look, Dante. How romantic. A proposal. Oh, thank goodness she said yes. Can you imagine how embarrassing it would have been if she hadn’t? Oh, what a romantic place to choose.’

  ‘A busy square full of tourists?’ His voice was full of cynicism and Maddie’s heart ached for him. He’d told her he’d been besotted with his wife—how had that young man full of love and hope turned so bitter?

  ‘It might not be the most private place, but it shows some imagination.’ Maddie sighed. ‘When Theo asked me to marry him we had just got out of the car and were walking towards the back door at Flintock Hall. It was slippery underfoot, thanks to the frost, and I was so busy trying to make sure I didn’t fall I didn’t hear what he said. It was part of a longer speech about how grateful he was for all I did, and how we had known each other all our lives and how much he respected me. No wonder I didn’t hear the “wouldn’t it make a lot of sense if we got married?” part.’ She smiled as she watched the couple enthusiastically embrace in the midst of a circle of well-wishers. ‘I’m not one for public displays of affection or for overly complicated proposals, but if anyone ever proposes to me again I want romance and heart. Not that it seems likely right now. You’re the first man I’ve kissed in over a year—and we’re all about business.’

  ‘Not all about business,’ Dante said softly and Maddie felt the increasingly familiar heat flush through her at his words.

  ‘Okay, maybe not all about business. But not all about romance either. Don’t worry,’ she added hurriedly. ‘I’m not asking you to suddenly start buying me roses and to serenade me under a balcony. I would just like to know that one day I will fall in love with someone who loves me. Just the basics really.’

  ‘People used to write love notes and stick them on the walls, but that is now strictly forbidden. But they say that if you touch the statue of Juliet,’ Dante grinned, slow and dangerous, ‘specifically her right breast, then that will bring good fortune in love.’

  ‘Really?’ Maddie looked over at the bronze statue doubtfully. ‘That seems a little over-familiar. Poor Juliet. I don’t think she signed up to be groped by a bunch of strangers.’

  ‘Maddie. It’s a statue.’

  ‘You think I should do it?’

  ‘I think it’s nonsense. The statue, the superstition and romance. All of it. But you don’t, so here you are. What harm can it do?’

  Maddie chewed on her lip. On the one hand the very idea seemed embarrassing. To touch a statue—and so intimately—and signal to the world that she was lonely and looking for love. On the other hand she had promised herself she would be open to new experiences. To stop worrying about how people perceived her. To relax and enjoy life. Dante was right; she was already here. Why not join all the other tourists, none of whom seemed to give touching the statue a second thought?

  Besides. She did want love. She wasn’t in a position to turn down any chance to increase her luck, no matter how unlikely it seemed.

  ‘Okay, then.’ She lifted her chin and gave Dante as jaunty a grin as she could manage. ‘Wish me luck.’

  * * *

  Dante leaned against the wall and watched Maddie as she approached the statue, head back and shoulders as taut as if she was heading into battle—which in some ways she was. Not just because she had to get past the other people vying to caress the statue, but because she was setting out her stall and asking the universe for love.

  His body tensed. Part of him wanted to pull her away and warn her that she was heading for nowhere but heartbreak and loneliness. Tell her that she should have gone through with her wedding because respect and similar goals were the best foundations he could think of to build a marriage and a family on.

  But part of him wanted to applaud her courage. Wished he had her ability to hope and believe.

  Though he had to ask the question—what the hell were British men thinking? How on earth had someone as sexy and intelligent and interesting as Maddie ended up thinking she needed a statue’s help to find love? She should have been snapped up years ago, not allowed to measure her worth through her name and her ability to run a large estate.

  She gave him a quick, almost flirtatious glance over her shoulder and Dante gave her a thumbs-up as she reached out and almost reverentially placed her palm on the statue, her hand flat on the side of Juliet’s breast. Maddie closed her eyes and murmured something Dante couldn’t make out before stepping back and relinquishing her place to the next eager tourist who, Dante noted disapprovingly, didn’t treat the Shakespearian heroine with the respect she deserved.

  ‘So?’ He straightened as she neared him. ‘Feel any different?’

  ‘Oh, yes, the world is full of opportunities. Any second now one of these men is going to fall to his knees before me and profess his undying love.’

  ‘I hope they won’t mind waiting a week,’ Dante said drily. ‘You are otherwise engaged, after all.’ It wasn’t jealousy or ownership that prompted him to take her hand. He really had no need to be jealous and he had no desire to have any claim on her. He just wanted to ensure he didn’t lose her in the crowd as they exited the bustling square. But he had to admit, the softness of her hand in his felt—well, it felt nice. Right.

  ‘Thank you.’

  He looked at her enquiringly.
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  ‘For suggesting today. I’ve had a really good time.’

  ‘Me too.’ And he had. ‘It’s been too long since I’ve been here. Violetta preferred La Scala to the festival; she liked going to the opera to see and be seen, not for the music. She preferred the shopping in Milan. The couple of times we came here she got bored quickly. She would want to shop and to lunch and that was that.’

  ‘In that case, maybe I shouldn’t mention that I was hoping we’d have time to browse in a couple of the bookshops we passed?’ Maddie shot him a quick, apologetic glance. ‘Don’t worry about it. Now I’ve ventured here I’m pretty sure it won’t be my last visit. It’s just so beautiful. So much history in one place.’

  She wanted to go to a bookstore? Not to a designer dress shop, or one of the many luxury bag or shoe shops, or the expensive make-up stores? She didn’t want to browse the jewellery counters? That was the only type of sightseeing Violetta had enjoyed, and she would always return laden with bags, despite wardrobes full of unworn clothes at home. It wasn’t that Dante had begrudged spending a penny on his wife—the opposite. He had adored lavishing gifts on her. It was just that, no matter what he had bought her, it was never enough. It never made her happy—he never made her happy. And, in truth, she hadn’t made him happy either. She had never tried to enjoy his interests or wanted to spend time on the things he liked doing and by the time he had realised how little they had in common it was too late. In the end he had come to the opera alone, come to explore the ruins alone, peruse the bookstores alone. He’d been alone long before he was bereaved. He just had never admitted it.

  Luckily he knew better now. Knew that loneliness wasn’t something to fear; rather it was a safety to embrace. A timely reminder on a day when the personal and business were melding together in a way he hadn’t expected, on a day when he found himself relaxing his guard. A day when, for one moment, watching Maddie touch the statue, he had hoped all her dreams came true and wished he could be the man to do that for her. A foolish wish—better he wish that she was never disillusioned. That if love came it was kinder to her than it had been to him.