by Marinelli, Carol; Hayward, Jennifer; Stephens, Susan; Anderson, Natalie
CHAPTER NINE
‘I’M GOING TO be late,’ Sophie warned as they showered together.
‘Don’t go to work today.’
‘You might have some sway if you were the new boss…’ She laughed. ‘No, I am going in so I can be guilt-free on my days off.’
‘How long are you off for?’
‘Two days and two nights.’
She quickly dressed and, yes, she was going to work but with conditions attached.
‘This time you’re to come back,’ he warned, taking her in his arms. ‘Tonight we’ll go out, somewhere nice.’
And she frowned because, yes, it was an age-old problem but Sophie truly had nothing suitable for a date with Bastiano Conti. Luckily, he read her concern.
‘I’ll take care of everything.’
* * *
As she left, Bastiano was ready to plan their evening.
More than that, he was considering flying her home.
Never had he had any inclination to bring anyone back to the Old Convent, but telling her his history, finally having someone on his side, for the first time he wanted to explore his past…
With her.
Bastiano cared for no one and had been raised not to do so, yet he knew now the real reason he was back in Rome.
Sophie.
Maybe the return of his mother’s ring was a sign that things were starting to turn around. For the first time he believed that maybe, just maybe there was more to life than revenge.
He walked out and looked over to the table where he had placed the ring last night, yet there was no ring there. He had left it there, Bastiano was sure.
In fact, he could remember precisely the moment he had put it down for it had been then he had become aware that Sophie was near.
And he tried not to think that she too might have seen him with it.
He looked at the floor beneath the table.
Unlike the last time he had been here, the room was immaculate and after a few minutes of fruitless searching it was very clear that the ring had gone.
He recalled her expression when he had told her they would go out tonight.
Perhaps Sophie had decided that she needed something to wear.
Had she taken some notes from his wallet he would not have cared, but he’d only just got his mother’s ring back.
Bastiano was still scanning the floor and the surfaces as he dressed, still going over last night’s details in his mind as he pulled on a shirt and impatient fingers did it up, but he didn’t even attempt to tuck it in.
And that was how she saw him.
Sophie had just come from the morning’s briefing and instead of house duties she was to work in the foyer, ensuring that all surfaces were gleaming, including the brass revolving doors.
It wasn’t her favourite job but it was not an unpleasant one. She could observe the guests and chat with Ronaldo the doorman. It was not an easy shift either, for there were many lounges and there were always guests leaving coffee rings and crumbs. But today she could have been anywhere, she was so happy.
They had shared something so precious last night, Sophie knew it.
And then she saw him and it was not the Bastiano she knew.
Immaculately dressed or deliciously naked, she knew only those two.
Now he looked dishevelled, his clothes thrown on, his shirt barely done up and he wasn’t even wearing shoes.
‘Sophie…’
His hair was tousled, his jaw unshaven but most disconcerting was his impatience, for she could feel it as he strode up to her.
‘Can we speak?’
‘I can’t.’ She tried to smile and address him as if he were just another guest. ‘Bastiano, not here…’
‘Yes, here!’ His voice was low but so clipped that Ronaldo and a couple of guests turned their heads. ‘Do you have something of mine?’
‘Bastiano…’ She was nervous. His eyes were blazing, his lips were pale and tense and she could feel his anger. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Just give it back now and we’ll say no more about it.’
Yes, he got that he had never paid her, and he got that she probably thought she deserved something after two nights in a rich man’s bed but, hell, not his ring!
‘Problem?’
Inga perked up and came over. Sophie found she was holding a tense breath but she forced herself to speak. ‘No, there’s no problem.’
‘Sophie…’ Bastiano was livid, even his scar seemed to be jumping to the pulse in his cheek, but he waited until Inga had turned around before he spoke again. ‘Give me back the ring.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bastiano,’ Sophie said, relieved that Inga had walked off. ‘Can we please speak when my shift ends?’
Only Inga had not merely drifted off but had fetched Benita, the head of housekeeping.
‘Can I help you, Signor Conti?’ Benita asked.
‘It’s nothing,’ Bastiano said, and he did all he could to rein his temper in. This was her job after all.
But things were already out of hand.
‘Signor Conti seems to think that Sophie might have his ring,’ Inga said.
‘I am sure there is a misunderstanding.’ Benita smiled. ‘Did you drop it?’ She looked around the foyer. ‘It might already have been handed in.’
‘No, I didn’t drop it,’ Bastiano answered curtly with his eyes firmly fixed on Sophie. ‘I’ll go to my suite and check again, I’m sure it must be there.’
‘Sophie only prepared your room,’ Benita patiently answered. ‘You weren’t even in residence when she did…’ And then her voice trailed off as she looked at Sophie’s flaming cheeks and then Bastiano, who had clearly just come from bed. And as realisation hit, Benita’s eyes briefly shuttered.
It happened, everyone knew that, but Benita had expected better from her, Sophie knew.
‘Could you come to my office, please, Sophie?’ Benita smiled at Bastiano. ‘I shall get to the bottom of this.’
It was awful.
Occasionally staff were caught stealing and Sophie knew only too well what would happen.
‘I have to go through your locker with you, Sophie,’ Benita said. ‘These are very serious accusations, though I’m not just concerned with theft. Have you had any dealings with Signor Conti since he checked in?’
‘I did not take his ring.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question, Sophie,’ Benita said, though Sophie’s flaming cheeks had already done just that—of course she had had dealings with him.
‘You won’t find anything in my locker.’
‘Then you won’t mind me checking.’ Benita was firm. ‘And if there is nothing to worry about then you will be more than willing to turn out your pockets for me now.’
Bastiano had decided he would be the one to best deal with this. Although he now had no intention of buying the hotel, Benita didn’t know that so he walked into the office, ready to take control, just in time to see Sophie pulling from her pocket his mother’s ring.
‘I don’t know how it got there…’ She shook her head at the impossibility and then turned and there was Bastiano. ‘I didn’t take it,’ she pleaded.
‘Are you saying that you’ve never seen this ring before?’ Benita checked, though there was a slightly mocking edge to her voice, for the evidence was clear.
‘Yes,’ Sophie said. ‘I’ve never…’ And then she halted for to say she had never seen the ring would be an outright lie. Last night, as she had stood nervous and trembling in the alcove she had, after all, watched as Bastiano sat staring at the small piece of jewellery for the longest time before putting it down.
And he would know that she had seen it.
She turn
ed to him and her eyes implored him to believe her. ‘Bastiano, I didn’t take it.’
Bastiano said nothing.
He wasn’t even disappointed in her.
Instead he was disappointed for them and scornful of himself—for a moment there he had started to believe in the possibility of them.
Not now.
‘Could you wait outside, Sophie?’ Benita said, and though her request was polite her voice was pure ice.
Sophie did as she was told.
She leant up against the wall and heard snatches of the conversation; she heard Benita mention the police and knew he was being asked if he wanted formal charges made.
‘No,’ Bastiano said, but he could see that Benita was tempted to so he pulled rank. ‘It would cause more trouble for me than the ring is worth. I have it back now.’ His head was pounding; he did not want to be standing here, speaking with the head of housekeeping, though he did so, for one reason only. ‘There is no need for Sophie to lose her job, it was a one-off—’
‘Signor Conti,’ Benita broke in, ‘I think we both know that I have more than one reason to fire Sophie.’ She gave him a tight smile. ‘You own plenty of establishments yourself, you will know that liaisons between staff and guests are an ongoing issue.’ She shook her head. ‘I will deal with Sophie and, of course, I shall brief Sultan Alim…’
‘There’s no need for that.’
But Benita wasn’t just cross with Sophie.
She was cross with the very esteemed guest for the havoc his libido had caused.
‘Unlike Sophie,’ Benita tartly responded, ‘I value my job so I shall deal with things by the book. I trust you accept that from the head of housekeeping?’
‘Of course.’
He walked out and there Sophie stood, pale in the face with her back against the wall, but she still met his eyes with confidence.
‘If you needed money you should have just said…’
Sophie hurt.
Unbearably.
‘I was never there for money, Bastiano,’ she said, but he was walking off and that incensed her. ‘It was about more than that, you know it was.’
‘Please…’ He raised one hand and flicked it in the air, dismissing her absolutely. Sophie was incensed.
‘Why did you send me flowers for my birthday, then?’ she called out.
Bastiano halted and then turned and walked back to her.
She had only ever known him nice.
Oh, she’d been warned he could be otherwise, but the Bastiano that other people painted so darkly was one she had never seen.
Until now.
‘Your birthday?’ He frowned. ‘Who said anything about your birthday? I sent flowers so you would know I was in residence and would know to come to my suite. Accordingly, you did.’
Bastiano waited—for an angry slap perhaps, or for Sophie to tell him that she’d always known what a bastard he was, and how he had finally proved it.
Her words cut far deeper though.
‘I don’t believe you,’ Sophie said. ‘You’re better than that.’
Benita came out then. ‘I’ve got this from here, thank you, Signor Conti.’
She waited until he had walked off and then turned to Sophie.
‘Signor Conti doesn’t want the police brought in, but I’m left with no choice but to fire you.’
Benita was not cruel in her dismissal—her disappointment was the part that hurt Sophie the most.
‘I didn’t steal the ring.’
‘Sophie, what were you doing to even give him the opportunity to think that you had? We serviced the room and left together, long before Signor Conti arrived.’
She had no answer to that.
‘I thought you were better than that,’ Benita said. ‘It would be bad enough with any guest, but he is the future owner of this very hotel.’
‘I didn’t know that when we first—’
‘So there were other times?’ Benita said, and shook her head. ‘Come on.’
It was not a pleasant morning.
Her room pass was handed over as well as her uniform. All she had in her locker were some shorts and a strappy top. Having dressed, she emptied it out entirely.
‘You had a good job here,’ Benita told her. ‘You know what this industry is like and how word spreads. You will struggle to find work in a good hotel…’
It was true.
Everything Benita said was true.
But as scared and upset as she was, that was not what hurt.
It was the look he had given her, the black smile that had told her he had expected no less.
No trial by jury.
There wasn’t even a trial.
Dario, the head of security, had been summoned and she did not get to leave by the trade door but was escorted out the front to serve as a warning to all staff what happened if caught.
And Bastiano saw it all unfold. He watched as the staff on Reception, the doorman and the maids all paused and turned to watch a rather dignified Sophie walk out.
‘Sophie,’ Anya called out. ‘Your flowers…’
And she almost crumpled.
Sophie looked at the perfect blooms and remembered the joy in her heart when she had received them, and then she glanced over to where he stood. ‘I wish I’d never laid eyes on them,’ she said, while meeting his dark gaze.
‘Likewise,’ Bastiano mouthed for her eyes only.
He headed up to his suite but everything he touched turned black. He thought of her, feisty and sunny and smiling when they had met, and how much she had loved her job.
And now she had been fired.
He looked at the ring in his palm and it felt as if it scalded his skin; he was pocketing it when there was a knock at the door.
‘Room service.’
Not the type he wanted.
It was Inga with breakfast, and she lifted a silver dome and offered to serve.
‘No.’
‘Would you like—?’
‘Out!’ he barked, and when the door closed he picked up the dome himself and saw those bloody baked eggs he had ordered last night while, yes, secretly hoping for Sophie.
He hurled the plate and it slid down the wall.
No, there were no rock stars in residence at the Grande Lucia, but when the staff came to service the room a few hours later and saw how it had been trashed, it was decided that there might just as well have been.
CHAPTER TEN
THANKFULLY HER FLATMATES were at work when Sophie arrived home and she was able to let go of the tears she had been holding back.
Yesterday had been the happiest day of her life.
Today felt like the worst.
For three months Sophie had lived with the knowledge that she might lose her job over what had happened between her and Bastiano. But the scenario had evolved in the most humiliating, painful way imaginable. And still she had no explanation for how the ring had got into the pocket of her uniform.
She had been branded a thief and a whore, not just by her boss and peers but by Bastiano himself.
Worse, though, even worse was the damning look in his eyes—almost as if he had expected nothing less from her.
It had been her first glimpse of the man that everyone said he was—ruthless and cold—but it was not the Bastiano she knew.
As Sophie stripped off her clothes and pulled on a T-shirt in which to sleep, she flicked out her hair and felt something knotted amongst the strands.
A flower.
The stem was bent and twisted, yet somehow the tiny bloom was still perfect.
Recalling his words—how the flowers had been left to let her know that he was in residence—Sophie was tempted to screw up the rose and toss it into the
trash, yet she could not.
It was all she had left of them, the only tangible reminder of a time when life had felt very close to perfect. And so, instead of discarding it, Sophie put it in her journal, pressing the pages together and then placing the journal under her mattress and doing what little she could to preserve the fleeting beauty.
* * *
Things did not look any better in the morning.
If anything, in the days ahead, things started to look considerably worse.
The Grande Lucia had been an amazing place to work and Benita was right—getting a job in a hotel of its calibre was going to prove difficult, if not impossible.
The phone calls she made went unanswered or she was told to provide a résumé and references. Sophie knew she had to get to the library and use a computer but even that felt daunting.
‘Any luck?’ Teresa her flatmate asked when Sophie returned after another fruitless search for work.
‘No.’ Sophie shook her head. ‘Even the cafés aren’t hiring.’
Summer really was over.
‘You have a message,’ Teresa told her, ‘from a lady called Bernadetta. She asked you to call her—maybe it is about some work?’
Bernadetta?
Sophie frowned as she read the message and then made the call. Bernadetta was Gabi’s boss and the one who had run her ragged in the ballroom that night.
Maybe she had heard and was calling to offer her work.
It was a futile hope and a very fleeting one because two minutes into the conversation it became apparent that Bernadetta had indeed heard the news about Sophie being fired and was speaking to her only because she had to.
‘Sultan Alim has asked me to contact you,’ she explained tersely. ‘I told him that I’m not sure you can be trusted with something so confidential but he insisted.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Matrimoni di Bernadetta has been asked to organise his wedding.’
‘His wedding? Who is he marrying?’
‘Gabi. She just doesn’t know that yet.’
Sophie stood there gripping the phone, completely stunned.
‘Gabi?’ Sophie checked, but Bernadetta had already moved on.
‘The wedding is to be this Saturday at the Grande Lucia. As Gabi’s close friend, the Sultan wants you there. He also needs you to ensure that Gabi is home on Saturday when he calls her.’