DiLuca Luxury Resorts was a billion-dollar industry that attracted clients with deep pockets to the many dozens of incomparable resorts nestled in Sardinia’s most enchanting and picturesque bays. People came for the breathtaking views of the sea, unspoiled beaches and the unique culture of an island which had been coveted and dominated by, among others, the Phoenician, Roman, Spanish, Piedmont, and ultimately, Italian populations.
Massimo had eventually returned but had chosen to continue a large part of his responsibilities from his home office, instead of DiLuca headquarters in the capital city of Cagliari.
Massimo glanced at Ella. She had to be exhausted after her delayed flight. They’d be at the hotel in a few minutes, and she could go to bed right away if she wished. Or if she preferred, she could rest, take a refreshing shower and then dine with him in the hotel’s two-Michelin-starred restaurant.
When he finally stopped at the hotel doors, Ella started, her eyelids struggling to stay open. She blinked, straightened and peered out the window at the gold lettering on the entrance doors. Villa Paradiso. She swiveled in her seat to face him. “This isn’t my hotel, signor DiLuca. There must be some mistake... I had booked a night’s stay at L’Albergo al Sole.”
Massimo raised an eyebrow. “I am aware of that. But I cannot have my guest stay at anything but a five-star resort.”
“My hotel was four stars,” she countered, “and I know your family is generously footing the bill, but I can’t expect you to pay for something like this. It’s much too much.”
“You will like it here, you will see. I’ve already notified L’Albergo al Sole.” Massimo promptly climbed from the car and greeted the concierge.
A moment later, Ella stepped out and went around to his side. Her eyes widened at the sight of the luxury cars in the parking area, two of them his. She held up a hand in protest. “I can’t expect you to—”
“Signorina Ross, it is only for one night. Please accept our Sardinian hospitality... My mother would be very upset at me if she found out you had stayed elsewhere. And it’s very embarrassing to be scolded by your Sardinian mamma when you’re thirty-six,” he added with a smirk.
“Fine,” she conceded with a sigh. “I wouldn’t want to start on the wrong foot with your mother. Grazie. And if I can call you Massimo, you can call me Ella.”
“Prego. Okay. Now let’s go in. I’m sure you’re anxious to relax in your room. As I am.”
“You’re...?” She frowned, cocking her head slightly.
“Staying overnight as well, and tomorrow I will take you myself to my villa. Andiamo. The concierge will bring up your luggage.”
“I—I’ll just need my carry-on, thanks.”
“Va bene.” He walked over to say a few words to the security guard at the door before gesturing to Ella to step ahead of him. When she got to the door, her gaze froze on the door handles, two large gold Ds.
“Is this—?”
“Yes, one of my resorts.” He nodded and flashed her a smile. “Welcome to Villa Paradiso.”
Massimo was pleased with Ella’s reaction as they strode through the marble foyer, past the intricately carved wooden table with its massive pedestal vase filled with a flamboyant arrangement of red roses and a variety of lilies.
He greeted the employees at the check-in desk, introduced Ella and shared the news about Gregoriu. After their clapping and exclamations subsided, Massimo informed them that he looked forward to dining at the restaurant in an hour or so.
Moments later, they handed him a room key, which he glanced at before passing it to Ella. “If there is anything you require, please do not hesitate to call the front desk,” he told her. He gestured toward the gleaming gold elevator doors. “After you. I will show you to your room.”
When the doors opened up to the seventh floor, Ella gasped at the view from the large floor-to-ceiling windows opposite them. She rushed over and placed her palms directly on the glass as she peered out at the endless stretch of sea.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed. “This is paradise. I couldn’t tell this place was built on the side of a hill. This view is...breathtaking.”
“I’m glad you like it. Hopefully, you will like your room, as well.”
“Are you kidding me?” Ella murmured moments later as she stepped into her suite. Massimo watched as she did a 360-degree visual sweep of it, her eyes widening as she took in the spaciousness and luxury of the appliances and furnishings. And the king-size bed, with its two-tone turquoise duvet and fluffy assorted pillows. She gave another gasp at the sight of the doors opening to a room-length balcony overlooking the sea. “I must have a peek,” she told him and was gone before he could respond.
He watched as she surveyed the expanse of water, her hands gripping the balcony railing. He could hear the soft gush of the waves and knew it wouldn’t be long before they would be lulling her to sleep. His gaze shifted to the king-size bed. Ella was small; she would be lost in it...
Why were his thoughts veering in that direction? In the three years he’d been living without Rita, he had never entertained the idea of dating another woman, let alone imagining one in bed. Not that he was imagining Ella and himself in the same bed; he had just pictured her there alone, nestled under the huge duvet...a two-second blip that meant nothing.
So why was he suddenly feeling so disloyal to Rita’s memory?
He frowned. He should go. He’d like nothing more than to take a relaxing shower to ease some of the tension he had in his shoulders, have a glass of wine on his balcony while the sea breeze dried his hair and then go to dinner.
His suite was a floor above hers and twice the size. It was his haven when he had business to take care of in Cagliari, and when he did not, the suite was never used for other people. And although for the last year, he had spent a portion of his day communicating online instead of in person, it was always a pleasure when he was here to take in the spectacular sunrises and sunsets at the first resort built by his family.
Ella came back in, shaking her head. “I can’t believe this. A terraced hillside resembling the Garden of Eden, a massive infinity pool and that gorgeous sea. Right outside my window. Am I dreaming?”
Massimo gave her a terse smile. “No, but you will be soon.” He turned to leave and then stopped at the door. “Please take all the time you need tomorrow. You’ll probably still have jet lag.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a card. “Call me when you’re ready to leave... Oh, here is your carry-on.” He thanked the employee, and when the latter had gone, Massimo turned to face Ella again. “If you’re not too tired, you are welcome to join me in the restaurant in an hour. If you are, I will wish you good-night now, Ella,” he said with a curt nod. “And sogni d’oro.”
CHAPTER THREE
ELLA WATCHED AS the baron strode out of her room, glad he couldn’t see her eyes prickling at his last words. Words only one man—her father Micheli—had ever said to her.
Ella had loved her adoptive parents Cassandra and Micheli, and she could still remember the sadness in their lives when Micheli died. She had been only four years old, but she occasionally had a cloudy memory of crying in the home they were sharing with Micheli’s parents.
Most of what she knew about him was from stories her mother had told her, although Ella did have vague memories of sitting on her father’s lap while he read to her and of him singing her a song at bedtime with funny-sounding words before kissing her good-night and murmuring “Sogni d’oro.”
Of course she eventually discovered from her mother that the song was a traditional Sardinian lullaby. Ella hoped she would certainly have sweet dreams as her father, and now Massimo, had wished her before leaving. Dreams of gold was the literal translation, and it seemed so apt, especially with the sun beginning to set right now, a saffron ball in a gold-streaked sky.
Just watching the horizon change, like an artist’s palette, before
her eyes made her heart twinge. She had missed twenty-four years of skies like this, having been only four when her mother had moved them back to Canada. Not that she didn’t love Canada; it boasted spectacular beauty from coast-to-coast, with its stunning oceans, majestic Rocky Mountains, lush valleys with world-class vineyards, and diverse landscapes and varying climates in each province.
Living in Ontario, dotted with over two hundred and fifty thousand lakes, Ella had loved exploring the rugged northern shores of Lake Superior and the picturesque places around the other Great Lakes. Her apartment was just north of Toronto, so she was close to Lake Ontario, an hour away from Lake Simcoe, and close enough to the magnificent Muskokas, with their pretty towns and smaller lakes with such fanciful names as Fairy Lake, Butterfly Lake, and Honey Harbour.
But being in the country where she was born, stepping on Sardinian soil and breathing the sea air outside just moments ago, a bevy of emotions were now swirling within her, causing a bittersweet ache in her chest.
This was still her country. She had dual citizenship, and over the years, she had wondered when she would be able to return. Her mother hadn’t had the same desire, too heartbroken over the loss of Ella’s father and the memories they had shared there.
When Micheli’s father had died, Ella’s mother had called to give her condolences and arranged for flowers to be delivered to Micheli’s mother. And then when she had died eight months later, Ella’s mother had sent the floral bouquet to Micheli’s only brother, Domenicu. Ella had been nine when her nonno and nonna had passed, but she still had memories of her mother telling her about them.
Cassandra had occasionally called Domenicu after that, but over the years, the communications had dwindled. As well as the reasons to return to Sardinia. Cassandra had been working two jobs to support herself and Ella, and traveling out of country had not been possible, for reasons of time and money.
And Ella had been focused on her studies, and later, her job.
Cassandra had kept phone numbers and addresses of the relatives in a small notebook that Ella had found in her mother’s kitchen drawer weeks after the funeral. Ella had tucked it away in her handbag, overwhelmed with grief, but when Paul had offered her the assignment in Sardinia, she had pulled it out, added the number to her cell phone contacts and had gone online to try to find information about her uncle.
Her heart had skipped a beat when she’d found that his number and address were the same, but Ella had had no intention of actually contacting him before her trip. She had a job to do with relatively short notice and she hadn’t wanted any emotion dealing with her past to interfere with her task.
Now, finally back in Sardinia, reconnecting with her uncle was a real possibility if she still had the nerve. Ella had extended her stay by one week after her assignment, but she had begun to question if she could deal with such an emotional reunion in such a short amount of time. And the even greater emotional ramifications of finding her birth mother. Maybe she could plan a longer trip in the future and deal with everything then...
Ella forced herself to switch her thoughts to the man she would be interviewing in the coming week. Intrigued by the brief information her boss had given her, Ella had begun doing some preliminary research on the DiLuca family, and surprisingly, there wasn’t as much information as she had expected to find. It seemed that the DiLuca family of the current century had preferred to be more low-key than the past generations of barons and baronesses. Except until now, with the upcoming official opening of a state-of-the-art cardiac research center in Cagliari, which they had funded.
Massimo DiLuca and his mother had conceived of the project to honor their respective spouses, with the hope that continuing research would save future lives. They had enlisted an international team of architects and medical experts, and the complex would soon open its doors to accommodate some of the top cardiac researchers in the world. The upcoming ribbon-cutting ceremony would be followed by a seven-course dinner with musical entertainment and dancing in one of the building’s international symposium halls.
In the latest media releases about the project, there had been speculation as to whether Massimo DiLuca would preside at the ceremony with his mother, since he had avoided the public spotlight for three years. Was the reclusive billionaire ready to face the world again?
Ella had found a few photos and articles about Massimo’s parents and their investment into the resort business and how it had taken off. And then she had come across the shocking news that Massimo had lost his wife suddenly, three years earlier. Ella had stared at the online obituary of Rita Floris—she had kept her maiden name, like most Italian women—and the photo of Rita, smiling indirectly at someone. She had felt deep sadness for the loss of such a young life, and for her widowed husband.
She could understand why the baron would want to stay out of the limelight while dealing with his grief. And she doubted even now, after three years, he would bring up anything personal about himself or his late wife during the interview.
A shiver ran through her at the recollection of her first glimpse of the baron, with his strong chest and arms in a muscle-revealing T-shirt and jeans, and his abrupt, elusive manner that had made her imagination go wild. Ella shook her head, wanting to erase the memory of her initial impression. What she couldn’t erase was the image of Massimo DiLuca’s dark chocolate-brown eyes, revealed once he had removed his sunglasses in the pastry shop. And the sheen on his lips from the honey-drizzled sebada...
She had expected to have a day to herself before meeting him, to prepare herself emotionally. The term reclusive could have so many different connotations, she had thought when her boss had first told her about the assignment. Yes, the baron had agreed to be interviewed about the DiLucas’ thriving resort business, the baronessa Silvia’s upcoming birthday and the official opening of the DiLuca Cardiac Research Center. But perhaps he was doing so reluctantly and would be difficult to work with. She could very well be going to fairy-tale surroundings but dealing with an absolute ogre.
After seeing a rare photo of him online, Ella’s pulse had quickened. The photo was from a black-tie event the baron and his wife had attended, and only her back had been visible, but he’d been captured fully by the photographer. The look of him—beardless, black tux and wine glass in hand—had caused a reaction in her that was probably typical of most women when they saw him or came into his sphere... And there was nothing ogre-like about him. At least not physically.
Well, she was in his sphere now. And his manner wasn’t ogre-like, either. Granted, her initial impression of him hadn’t been the most positive one but was understandable, given his abrupt manner and the way his cap and beard had concealed his identity.
Taking a deep breath, Ella opened up her carry-on and retrieved a short nightie and took it with her to the spacious gold-and-crystal-accented washroom, where she was relieved to be able to finally take a shower. As she lathered with the lilac-scented soap, Ella’s thoughts replayed moments from the time the baron had appeared at the airport up to the time he had shown her to her room.
Massimo’s manner and tone had seemed different when she had returned from the balcony. Somewhat cooler... Perhaps he had been a little annoyed by her exuberance over her view and room. Could it be Sardinian women were more reserved with their emotions? She shook her head. What did she know? The sole Sardinian she had ever come in contact with had been her father, and that had been for only the first four years of her life.
Well, soon enough, she’d be on the baron’s private island, staying in his guesthouse, and interviewing him up close and personal. And her instinct was telling her that she’d be learning much more about him. Maybe more than he wanted her to know...
Ella stepped out of the shower and quickly towel dried her hair and body. She slipped on her nightie and wrapped the provided bathrobe around her. It didn’t take long for her hair to air dry on the balcony while she enjoyed the view.
Moments later, she was lying between the luxurious cotton sheets, sighing with pleasure before feeling her eyelids get heavier.
“This is living the life,” she murmured, smiling. She felt so pampered, and as she began to drift contentedly toward sleep, Ella wondered if this was how a baronessa felt...
* * *
The ringtone on his phone told Massimo he was getting a text. He stretched to get his phone on his night table and read Ella’s message.
I’m almost ready. I’m just on my way to the breakfast room for a quick cappuccino.
He texted back.
Va bene. I will meet you there in a few minutes.
He thought about his dinner the night before. He had wondered if Ella would be joining him and trying her first traditional Sardinian dish, a seafood fregula with saffron broth. He had also ordered a local wine, but the signorina had not shown up. She must have been exhausted. It had been over thirty degrees Celsius yesterday. Perhaps that was why her cheeks had been flushed so often.
Massimo’s thoughts shifted to the baby photo Gregoriu had texted him last night, followed by the same feeling of sadness he always seemed to get recalling how, since his wife had not been able to conceive, they had just agreed to explore adoption possibilities a week before she passed.
He leaped out of bed, willing himself to suppress any further thoughts in that direction. He showered quickly and changed into a pair of white pants and a salmon-colored shirt. He chose a wide-brimmed hat from his selection on the top shelves of his walk-in closet, and putting his sunglasses in his shirt pocket, he took the stairs instead of the elevator to the terrace floor.
Now that he was in his own resort, Massimo didn’t have to be concerned about anonymity. The tourists wouldn’t know who he was and his employees all knew not to address him by his last name in front of the guests. Entering the room, he scanned the tables and spotted Ella by the far railing, gazing out at the sea, her cappuccino in hand. He strode toward her, thinking what a perfect picture she made wearing a white eyelet blouse over a long, flowered skirt with a matching red belt, her hair held back by a red band.
Falling for the Sardinian Baron Page 3