He remained standing on the other side of the island. When he was halfway through his drink, he set it down and leaned forward to look at her directly. “I’d like to continue our conversation,” he said quietly.
“I left my recorder—”
“No, not that conversation.” When she didn’t reply, he added, “The one about your family.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “My mom and dad were wonderful, loving parents. I am happy they chose me. Case closed,” she said bluntly.
“Yes, perhaps that part is closed. But you have another part of your history that is not,” he said. “Is that why you’re staying in Sardinia for a week after our interview sessions are finished? To find some answers about—”
“Well, maybe. I’m not sure if my uncle knows anything more than I do.” She shifted in the swivel chair. “Thanks for the orange juice. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to head back to start working on the piece.”
Massimo said nothing for a moment and then glanced at his watch. “My friend and personal chef is arriving shortly and I will be discussing tonight’s dinner menu with him. Is eight o’clock a good time for you?”
“Yes, that’s fine. Thank you.”
“Foods you dislike?”
“What Italian food could I possibly dislike?” she said, and gave a small chuckle.
He nodded. “Bellissimo.”
His gaze was direct, his dark eyes gleaming like river stones. “I hope you don’t think I was trying to pry, Ella, but I suppose it might have looked that way.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry.”
She raised a hand. “I’m fine,” she said, but it came out sharper than she had intended. “It’s just...a sensitive subject. And I don’t expect you to understand my situation. Most people can’t understand what it’s like, either to be adopted or to have to adopt. How can they, unless it happens to them?” She glanced down, feeling a prickle behind her eyelids. “It’s just not a topic I like to get into with people who have no idea...”
“...how it feels,” he finished for her, his eyes narrowing. “Well, I had no intention of talking about this, Ella, but I do want to set the record straight.”
She looked up. He stared over her shoulder for a few seconds. In the distance she heard the thrum of a motorboat. When Massimo gazed back at her, he rubbed at his beard for a moment. “I don’t know what it’s like to be adopted, Ella, but I know how it feels when your wife can’t have children and you both decide that you want to adopt a baby and give her or him your love and the best in life.”
She tensed as his words sank in, her heart starting to thump erratically.
As he ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, her gaze riveted to the muscles tensing along his jaw.
“And I know how it feels when a week later, your wife passes,” he ground out the words, his voice a low rumble, “and your dreams of adopting a baby die with her. So even though I didn’t actually adopt a child, Ella,” he continued, his eyes narrowing, “I can truly imagine how lucky I would have felt—and my wife as well—to have been able to have chosen a baby as our own.”
“I—I’m very sorry for your loss,” she stammered. “I knew about your wife, but I—”
“You don’t have to explain. I didn’t want to focus on that in the interview. But we’re not doing an interview. This is off the record.”
“I’m sorry you weren’t able to adopt. I—I know I was lucky to have been chosen and raised by two good people. People who wanted to be parents and who...who loved me,” she said, choking on her last words.
“I’m sure they felt lucky too,” he murmured, his voice husky. “I wish I had been able to have that opportunity.” His gaze bore into hers. “It couldn’t have always been easy for you, though.”
Ella crossed her arms and sighed. “No, it wasn’t always easy. I was teased by some of the kids in my class, who had found out I was adopted. They were mean, saying my birth parents must have been on drugs or that I must have been ugly when I was born and my parents couldn’t stand to look at me so they gave me away.” She bit her lip. “Kids can be so cruel. Because I was ‘different,’ I was often last to be picked when there were teams to be chosen. Or not invited to some birthday parties.” She paused, frowning. It was amazing these past injuries still had the power to cause her pain.
“That must have felt hurtful.”
“And lonely.” She nodded. “I kept it from my parents, not wanting them to feel hurt, too.”
“You were a sensitive little girl.”
The empathy in his voice made her swallow. If she didn’t leave soon, she’d be awash in tears.
* * *
Ella was blinking at him, her forehead creased, looking like she was on the verge of tears. He hadn’t wanted to upset her; he had just wanted her to know that his earlier words weren’t shallow. His stomach had twisted when she had first revealed her mother had given her up for adoption, and at that time, he couldn’t bring himself to formulate the appropriate words to show his empathy.
What could he have possibly said? “I’m sorry your mother gave you up for adoption?” Especially since he and Rita had hoped for a mother to do just that...
He swallowed, feeling as if there was a wedge of grief blocking his esophagus. Those memories were still raw at times.
They had talked about the possibility of adopting after discovering that she couldn’t conceive. Rita had looked at him with a twinkle in her eye, and said she’d be happy with either a boy or girl, but that there were so many adorable baby clothes out there for girls. And a week later, she was gone, along with all their dreams for the future.
Ella opened her mouth to say something, but the drone of the motorboat drowned out her words. They both turned and saw it approaching the dock, and a few moments later, the rumble subsided.
“That would be Chef Angelo,” he said. “He has two Michelin stars to his credit, and he loves cooking so much he accepted my request for him to come to Villa Serena several times a week to prepare a feast. Afterward, he hurries off to his seaside restaurant in Cagliari, the Mare e Cielo, which is all you see when you’re there, as it sits on top of a hill. Why don’t I introduce you before you go back to the guesthouse?”
Ella shook her head quickly. “Thanks, but I have a slight headache. Please pass on my regrets.”
“You will still join me for dinner?”
“If this headache doesn’t linger, perhaps,” she said. “And about what you said before.” She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry if I—”
He put up a hand. “Please. Don’t worry. I understand.”
He accompanied Ella to his office to retrieve her handbag, and then they proceeded to the foyer and he opened the door for her. She nodded and said “ciao” before continuing on toward the guesthouse.
Massimo turned and waved to the man who was not only a celebrated chef in Sardinia, recognized also on the mainland and in Europe, but a good friend too. They had been each other’s best man, and had often gone to social events together with their wives. Angelo had been there for him during the rockiest time of his life: the year after Rita had passed.
Massimo greeted Angelo with a hug. Angelo was like a brother to him.
“What would signorina Ross like tonight?” He raised an eyebrow at Massimo.
“She’s not fussy. See what you can find and work your magic, Angelo.”
Angelo went to gather fresh herbs from the courtyard garden outside the kitchen, and Massimo went up to his room. He wanted a few moments to himself to process everything that had just occurred between him and Ella.
He opened up the balcony doors and stood at the ornate railing, watching the foamy surf creep up to the beach and leave a scalloped design that reminded him of the lacy edge of a wedding gown. And then the design dissipated as the waves broke and receded back into the sea. Massimo filled his lungs with the fresh sea air and exhaled s
lowly.
The atmosphere on Villa Serena had changed, he realized. For better or worse, that was something he had yet to determine. He did know one thing: somehow, discovering that Ella was born in Sardinia brought a whole new dimension to the situation. What were the chances of a journalist from a New York City magazine actually being Sardinian? Sardinian-Canadian now...
Massimo hadn’t planned on revealing any details about his personal life to her. He talked to very few people about his late wife; his circle of trust included predominantly a grief counselor, his mother and Angelo. But when Ella was implying that he didn’t understand anything about being adopted or wanting to adopt, he had instinctively wanted to explain.
And surprisingly, his words had come out fairly easily compared to how difficult it had been in the first months and year to even say the word died or even passed. And he hadn’t even shared the part about his wife’s infertility and their decision to look into the adoption process to his mother or Angelo. He had discussed that aspect of his grief with only his counselor.
From his balcony, Massimo could also look across at the guest villa and the balcony of the room where Ella would be sleeping. He thought about where they had left off when Angelo arrived and wished that they had been able to continue the conversation.
Ella hadn’t seemed too willing to talk about her plans to stay in Sardinia once their interview sessions were over. She had been very abrupt, changing the subject immediately. It was obviously a sensitive subject, and one she had been planning to deal with completely on her own.
Not that he had any notion of butting into her affairs when it came to exploring her family history.
But he had wanted to ask her where she would be staying for the week after the interviews.
He shook his head. Why was he trying to solve her problems? If she hadn’t already booked a place, why should he even worry about it? Ella Ross... Rossi...was an adult, quite capable of looking after herself.
“Ella Rossi,” he murmured, liking the way her Italian name sounded. He took one last glance at his guesthouse and went back downstairs. On the way to the kitchen, he passed his office, where a bright flash on the floor by his desk caught his eye. He walked in and reached for it, his eyebrows lifting when he saw that it was the gold lettering on the cover of a passport.
He would give it to Ella when she came for dinner. He strode over to the sideboard and deposited it into one of the drawers before heading to the kitchen to see where Angelo was at with the preparation of his courses.
CHAPTER TEN
AS SOON AS she returned to the guesthouse, Ella set down her notepad and recorder by her laptop on the desk in the study and returned to the kitchen for water to take with a tablet. She would look over her notes and listen to the recording once her headache had subsided.
She plopped onto one of the recliners with a view of the cove. The adrenalin was still pumping through her since Massimo had dropped the bombshell about his and his wife’s plans to adopt.
She hadn’t been able to face meeting his chef after that, and she had made her way quickly to the guesthouse, her mind a jumble of thoughts and questions.
Whatever Ella had been expecting Massimo to say after her blunt comment about people not having any idea when it came to adoption issues, it hadn’t been that. It added a new layer to her understanding of what he had gone through, as if losing his wife hadn’t been enough.
Ella’s mother had often shared with her how happy and excited she and Micheli had been, knowing that they would be able to adopt. And how they had been even more delighted the first time they saw her two days after she was born. She hadn’t been given a name, and when Cassandra had taken her in her arms, she had looked out the window at the sea and then, misty-eyed, had said to Micheli, who had had his arms around her, that she wanted to call the baby Marinella, the diminutive form of marina, a name of Latin origin meaning “of the sea.”
“She’s our little Sardinian miracle,” Micheli had replied, bending to kiss the baby gently on the forehead. “Benedica.”
Ella blinked back tears. Every time her mother had recounted the story, Ella had become emotional. Especially at her father’s whispered blessing.
And now, to know that Massimo had been robbed of the opportunity to know the joy of adopting, and to imagine how devastating it had been for him to lose his wife and their shared dreams, was overwhelming.
He had lost a partner, just as her mother had lost hers. Ella had been only four at the time, but she could still vaguely remember her mother’s sadness, her crying. Her mother’s tight hugs when Ella had asked, “Quando ritorna a casa papà?”
She had wanted to know when her father was coming back home even after they had moved to Canada. When Ella was older, her mother told her that she had been sad too, crying for her papà, especially at night, missing story time and his bedtime blessing. Her mother would reply with the same story about heaven, the stars and angel wings, and him being close by...
Ella had been comforted by her mother’s words as she had tucked her in, her mother’s whispered “Buona notte, Marinella,” the last thing she heard before falling asleep.
Ella swallowed. Her mother had continued to call her Marinella after she had decided to change her name. And Ella hadn’t actually gone so far as to formally change it. Her mother had also continued to speak to her in Italian regularly so she wouldn’t forget her first language, which Cassandra had studied in high school and university before taking a trip to Italy when she had graduated.
Ella’s thoughts flew back to the man she would be in close contact with for the week ahead. She had made a mistaken judgment about him, and she hoped that the air had been cleared between them. She would get a feel for the situation at dinner tonight...
It would be hours before dinner, though. The headache tablet had started to kick in, and Ella decided to return to the study. She would work on the piece for a good stretch and then take some time later in the afternoon to walk along the beach, and maybe even go for a swim in the cove.
* * *
Satisfied with what she had accomplished, Ella shut down her laptop and strode to the kitchen.
She peered at the contents of the pantry and the fridge, and decided to make a fruit salad with a little honey and lemon juice. She left it on the island while she went to the bedroom to change into a bathing suit and a loose top and shorts. She applied some sunscreen to her face, arms and legs, stuffed a hat and towel into a beach bag, and put on a pair of canvas flats and sunglasses before returning to the kitchen for her fruit salad.
She took it out with her and walked down to the cove. Sitting on the chaise lounge where Massimo had almost spent the night, she enjoyed her sweet snack while watching the surf tumble onto the shore in a frothy explosion and recede with a gentle swoosh back into the translucent turquoise waters. The late afternoon sun felt wonderful on her face and she tilted it to the sky, breathing in the salt-tinged air contentedly.
Feeling like a pampered cat stretched out on a patch of soft grass, Ella breathed in and out slowly, thinking what a great place this would be to do an outdoor yoga routine in the morning. Or even later in the day. She set down her empty bowl on a side table and decided to walk along the beach and return when she was good and hot, ready to be refreshed in the sea. She put on her hat and set off, marveling at the fact that she had the island practically all to herself.
She pictured Massimo walking along the beach before diving into the crystal-clear waters and emerging moments later, his muscled shoulders and arms glistening with the jeweled drops of sunlit water.
And then she berated herself silently for having such wayward thoughts, only to have a rebounding one: she was human and Massimo was a gorgeous man that many woman would want to—
No. Stop thinking. Keep walking.
Ella scanned the beach for shells and collected ones with unique colors or shapes and put them into
her shorts’ pockets. It was a perfect summer day, the sun hot but not scorching, with the sea breeze fanning her cheeks.
The only sounds she heard were the cries of seagulls and other unfamiliar birds and the surf. She tried to imagine what it was like actually living on the island... Massimo must have found it to be healing, with the lush vegetation, and the sea with its soothing murmur always around him.
After about a half hour or so, Ella heard the thrum of a motor. Angelo must have finished whipping up dinner for the evening and was heading back to his restaurant. She checked the time on her watch and saw that she had time for a quick swim before getting ready to go to Villa Serena for the meal.
By the time she arrived at the cove, Ella was more than ready to cool off. She slipped out of her top and shorts, flung them on the chaise lounge along with her hat and watch, and after removing her canvas flats, she walked gingerly into the lapping waters. The surf met her with a foamy rush, making her catch her breath. She dove in and came up refreshed and exhilarated. She swam for a bit and then floated, letting her muscles relax completely as she looked up at the baby blue sky.
A sensation of pure delight filled her, and she wanted to simultaneously shout out her joy and cry. The last time she had splashed in Sardinian waters was with her parents when she was four. And now she was back, twenty-four years later. Ella made an instant decision to save her tears of nostalgia for another time. Her mother and papà would want her to be happy now, not sad.
With a sudden feeling of freedom, Ella let out a whoop and as she treaded water, she slapped at the waves playfully and eventually allowed the surf to push her toward the shore.
She emerged from the sea with a light heart, but when she squeezed her eyes to clear her vision, she froze.
She wasn’t alone.
Massimo was striding through the oleander path toward her. Had he seen her splashing about in the water? He must have. She shivered as a slight breeze swept past and, eyeing the large towel she had left on the chaise lounge, realized in dismay that the baron would reach her before she could walk over and grab the towel. And it would look pretty foolish if she made a dash for it.
Falling for the Sardinian Baron Page 8