‘Buongiorno, amore.’
Sofia had hoped the addition of clothes would quell Roberto’s hotness. But as he strode confidently into her precious space he looked like he’d come from an Italian Vogue fashion shoot. Understated Ray-Bans, designer stubble and a glorious Mediterranean tan. His tousled hair combed back with just the right amount of nonchalance.
His immaculate navy tailored suit fitted like a glove to his well-honed body that Sofia already knew in intimate detail. He looked refined, expensive and much to her annoyance, right at home in the luxurious environs of Bonaparte’s.
‘We’re alone here Roberto, enough with the amores.’
‘Good to practise though, no?’ He whisked off his sunglasses with one hand, his eyes brushing over her. ‘You look beautiful this morning Sofia.’
She straightened at the unexpected compliment. Was he being sarcastic? She’d happily abandoned yesterday’s sexy get-up in favour of a simple black t-shirt and jeans. Her armour of make-up replaced with a smear of nude lip gloss. Though she hadn’t brushed out her blow wave; she rather enjoyed the sexy feel of voluminous waves after years of limp nothingness.
She cleared her throat. ‘I’m glad to be back in my own clothes.’
‘Me too. Though I think I still have gold leaf stuck in some hard to reach places.’
Sofia snapped her attention back down to the cabinet, pretending to secure it closed as prickling heat wound up her neck.
‘I like what you’ve done with the place.’ Roberto strolled to the large hexagonal display case in the centre of the room thankfully ignoring her obvious awkwardness. ‘Bellissimi.’ He leant over a suite of gianduja mousse truffles.
Sofia shook off her unease, bristling as she slowly walked around the side counter towards Roberto, like a mother approaching a wild animal salivating over her precious young.
Anosmia had stolen Sofia’s interest in food but chocolate was the exception. She’d swapped an indulgent diet for a bland menu of nutritious meals prescribed by her therapist. A seemingly endless cycle of green smoothies and herbal teas; nutritious and quick to consume with no time to dwell on the flavours she missed. But she could never abandon chocolate, it was in her blood, her soul. And it defined her relationship with her mother and sister.
Sofia hovered beside Roberto as he ogled her treasured creations. Why the hell did she invite him here, behind enemy lines? He may look the part but he didn’t belong in Bonaparte’s. She and her sister had worked so hard to redeem their mother’s reputation in Italy after the damage his father had caused.
Their company was a tribute to their mother, a celebration of her life’s work and a continuation of her dream. Sofia had no doubt Roberto was just like his father and having him, Conti Creation’s head honcho, in this special place was like sacrilege.
‘You must be proud Sofia, these truffles look exquisite.’ He stood upright, his dark eyes homing in on her. ‘How do they taste?’
‘Like the best chocolate you’ve ever had.’ She met his eyes, like a woman with nothing to hide. Annabella had warned her Roberto knew about her anosmia and her participation in the medical trial last year. For the sake of their business, the sisters pretended Sofia had been cured. If Roberto suspected she hadn’t been he’d be sure to use it against her.
‘I heard you’d recovered from your condition. I’m glad.’
‘I couldn’t do what I do otherwise.’
Countless recipes were so ingrained in Sofia’s psyche she could recreate any chocolate from her past; she didn’t need to taste them to know they were sublime. But the thought of never creating anything new again festered in the corners of her mind, threatening to plunge her back into the depths of despair.
‘Brava. A talented master chocolatier and a beautiful boutique.’ Roberto relieved her of his inquisitive stare as his eyes swept around the finessed interior.
Sofia’s spine lengthened as she followed his appreciative gaze. Like their boutique in Melbourne, she and Annabella had chosen an Art Deco inspired fit-out to showcase their collection. The sumptuous décor of dark timber panelling, customised glass cabinets and oversized teardrop chandelier echoed the luxurious richness of each tempting confection waiting to be devoured.
‘Your cioccolato looks like... beautiful gems in a designer store. Impossible to resist, no?’
‘That’s the idea. Bonaparte’s isn’t a place for a quick sugar fix.’
‘No. Here you recline.’ Roberto glanced over at the burgundy velvet chaise longue by the draped window. ‘You relish each bite and enjoy a moment in heaven, yes?’ His intense gaze rested on her again, his splayed fingers on the display case almost touching hers.
The thought of Roberto’s caress should sicken Sofia but instead he ignited a dormant desire buried within her that refused to abate.
‘Until life drags you back to the real world.’ She crossed her arms.
‘Si. The exotic flavours will fade but the memory of the brief encounter will remain long after.’ His eyes scanned her face, lingering too long on her lips.
Why not enjoy ourselves? he’d taunted yesterday.
Sofia wasn’t opposed to no-strings sex, emotional detachment had become her forte. But Roberto was her kryptonite. A tsunami of shame would immediately follow any kind of tryst with him. Just entertaining the idea rattled her with guilt.
‘I think we need to establish some boundaries.’ She grounded herself, hands on hips.
‘All’s going well so far. The producers were thrilled with Fabrizio’s photos. Bonaparte’s international debut is sure to be a success after our publicity campaign.’
Sofia never would have agreed to their deal otherwise. ‘Despite your efforts, right?’
‘What do you mean amore?’ Roberto cocked his head slightly.
Arsehole. He knew exactly what she meant.
‘Please, your despicable behaviour last year was typical Conti MO.’ She leant in, close enough to make out a myriad of fine lines etched around each of his eyes, liberated from the make-up of yesterday’s photo shoot. A little imperfection after all.
Character lines her mother would have called them. But, even though he was probably ten years older than Sofia, maybe too many for someone his age. Had he laughed too much? Or cried? They definitely weren’t laughing eyes now.
Sofia wouldn’t break eye contact, this was her territory and he wouldn’t intimidate her here. ‘And I told you not to call me that.’
‘Calma Sofia. There was a lot of miscommunication with your sister.’ Roberto waved his hand dismissively.
‘You didn’t try to blackmail her to leave the country just like your father did to our mother?’ Sofia struggled to control her breathing as her temper flared, remembering her dying mother telling her of Umberto Conti’s betrayal that shattered her heart and her career, forcing her to flee Italy.
‘Sofia—’
‘I know all about it Roberto. You gave photos of you and Annabella to the paparazzi to make it look like she was making a deal with Conti and betraying Alessandro and his company. You thought it would end their relationship thereby destroying your main competitor.’
‘It was much more complicated than that.’ He edged closer, Sofia shivered as his warm breath brushed across her cheek.
‘But in a nutshell, that’s how it went down. Right?’ A swell of anger burnt her throat, quashing any urge to back away. She paused, giving him the chance to speak but he just sighed and raised his palms upwards in an insouciant shrug. ‘And it backfired, big time,’ she spat.
‘It’s true, I have some work to do to clean up the mess your sister made.’
‘Your mess, Roberto. That’s why we’re here. You need me to make you look good.’
‘Let’s not forget, you need me just as badly... amore.’
Sofia swallowed, the veracity of his infuriating words sinking to her stomach. She and her sister had planned the opening of their first international boutique to coincide with the publicity for Florence’s famous Valentine’
s festival. Annabella and Alessandro would have time to visit Australia before returning to star in the promo campaign. Everything had been meticulously planned to the last detail. Until the call from the hospital.
The fear in Annabella’s tear soaked voice had awakened memories Sofia longed to forget. She’d have agreed to anything to save her sister from the trauma that haunted her. So when the festival producers demanded Sofia feign love with Roberto Conti of all people, she’d agreed to dance with the devil.
‘You’re right, it’s out of my control and I’ve gotta make the best of this bizarre situation. But I’ll never forgive you or your family for what you’ve done to mine.’
‘I’m not asking for your forgiveness, just your cooperation.’
‘I think I proved my commitment to our deal yesterday, don’t you?’
‘Certo. But now we must get to know each other so we can play a convincing couple at the festival.’
‘About that, I don’t think we need to touch, speak or even see each other when there’s no one around to witness it.’
‘I disagree. The photo shoot went well but it’ll be much harder surrounded by a sceptical public. Not to mention the media studying our every move.’
‘I know all I need to know about you, I’m not interested in learning any more.’
‘I’m not as bad as you think, Sofia. And how will it look when the love of my life shudders at my very touch?’ He brushed a finger against her forearm. ‘Or my kiss?’
He reached for Sofia’s hand and pressed his lips gently to her skin making her tingle for all the wrong reasons.
‘What are you doing?’ She whipped her hand from his grasp and stepped back.
‘You need to learn to control yourself around me. When I touch you, you need to look like you’re enjoying it.’
‘When the time comes I’ll play the doting girlfriend. I proved yesterday your touch isn’t so earthshattering.’ She sniffed, hoping her words sounded convincing. ‘Until then I don’t want to see you.’
She offered a curt smile and turned, pretending to inspect the chocolate display as she paced to the safety of the other side of the large cabinet. Roberto’s insistent closeness threatened to unravel her composure; her pulse raced when all he’d done was kiss her hand.
‘That’s not going to work. What about the chocolate, we must discuss that, no?’
‘What chocolate?’
‘For the gala evening.’
Sofia recoiled, confiding in Roberto about her mother’s recipe was the equivalent of ripping open her heart and baring her soul. ‘That has nothing to do with you.’
‘We’ll be attending the gala as a couple. Of course I must know what we’ll both be serving.’
‘All you need to know is I’ll hold up my end of the bargain. As your pretend girlfriend not your colleague. Annabella and I have perfected our Valentine’s recipe, I’ll be damned if I discuss any of it with a Conti. Nothing is beneath your family, I shudder to think what level you would sink to.’
‘I’m here with you, aren’t I?’ Roberto’s eyes suddenly flared with fire. ‘I think that’s as low as I can get.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Do you think this is what I want? Your sister destroyed my reputation, disrespected me and my family on national television. I had to rebuild my company, placate our shareholders. And in my mother’s eyes? Declaring to the world I’m madly in love with you, the daughter of the woman who seduced her husband, is as low as I can get.’
Roberto’s chest heaved as he stared at Sofia, his fierce words shooting across the divide of the vast cabinet straight to her heart. The mention of his mother, an innocent victim in the history of their families, caught her off guard. A flash of empathy unsettled her; she sensed Lucia was the chink in Roberto’s armour. Just as her mother was to her.
‘We can agree not to like each other Sofia,’ he said calmly. ‘But for the next few weeks we need each other.’
‘No recipes. That wasn’t part of the deal.’
‘Okay. But we need to spend time together, learn to be comfortable around each other if we have any hope of pulling this off.’
‘Fine.’ She stuffed her hands in her pockets as she reluctantly surrendered to the inevitable. ‘I’m out of town tomorrow for the night, we can meet when I get back.’
‘There’s not enough time, you’ll have to change your plans.’
‘No, I’m not going to change my plans.’ The cheek of the man. ‘I need to collect an ingredient for my Valentine’s recipe.’
‘You can’t get what you need in Florence?’
‘No. I have to go to Baraldo.’ A look of surprise flashed across Roberto’s face, so brief Sofia thought she might have imagined it.
‘Baraldo?’
‘It’s a small town near San Remo. I won’t be gone long.’
‘That’s hours away. I’ll send someone to get it.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Sofia scoffed. ‘It’s more secure if I pick it up myself.’ She wouldn’t trust the priceless floral concentrate in anyone’s hands, certainly not anyone associated with the Conti family. Umberto Conti had shamelessly used her mother for her recipes then abandoned her when she needed him most.
‘I’m intrigued, what is this elusive ingredient?’
‘None of your business,’ she said firmly.
Sofia’s mother had experimented with the unique ornella concentrate when she’d lived in Baraldo. Soon after she’d left the hamlet town she’d rationed her precious supply, using it only in her chocolate for her young daughters. Sofia had almost wept when she’d discovered the rare nectar had been harvested again. Finally she’d be able to recreate one of her mother’s most treasured recipes, the cioccolatino fiori.
‘Very well, but I’m coming with you,’ Roberto said with the confidence of someone unaccustomed to hearing no for an answer.
‘I don’t think so. I don’t want to be surrounded by a media circus.’
‘Media circus? No one even knows we’re a couple yet.’
‘Just being seen with you will alert the paparazzi.’
‘Then I’ll pick you up on the way out of town where it’s not so busy... near Ponte a Varlungo, you know the bridge?’
‘Yes, but—’ She scrambled for an excuse.
‘Brava. I’ll meet you there. We’ll... what’s that saying? Fly under the radar, yes?’
He glanced at his expensive watch and whipped his sunglasses out of his top pocket. A man like Roberto was incapable of flying under the radar. In the sleepy township of Baraldo he’d look like a shiny urban god among the country mortals.
‘I’ll see you in the morning, say nine o’clock... amore.’ He winked at her before shielding his eyes with his glasses and turning to the door.
‘Roberto?’ Sofia shot out her hand, flailing to regain some control over the situation.
‘Si?’ He half turned back to her, the morning sunlight streamed through the doorway, casting a shadow over his perfectly sculpted jawline.
‘Try to look a little less... conspicuous.’ The inflection of her tone sounded more uneasy than assertive as she dropped her hand back to her side.
‘Relax.’ Roberto smiled, his shining white teeth conveying as much reassurance as a used-car salesman. ‘I can do inconspicuous. Ciao bella.’ Without glancing back he strode through the door out onto the narrow cobbled street.
He was so infuriatingly sure of himself. He’d probably never questioned an action in his life. Even when things didn’t go his way, Roberto Conti was the type of man who always landed on his designer clad feet.
* * *
Roberto glanced in his rear-view mirror and scanned the morning passeggiata alongside the Arno River. Shopkeepers were setting up alfresco tables and chairs on the sun-dappled pavement. Groups of optimistic tourists wore t-shirts and licked gelati denying the crisp chill in the air, as though the late winter sunshine had already turned to spring. A hive of morning activity but no sign of Sofia.
Baraldo. He
r mention of the small mountain town had been like music to his ears.
Roberto smoothed his hand over the worn leather cover of the black journal in his lap. After he’d left Bonaparte’s he’d frantically searched the Conti estate for the little book he’d packed away as a child, unsure of what he’d do if he found it. But once it was in his hands, like a conduit to the past, Roberto knew exactly what was required of him.
He flipped through its contents, the scratchy writing and sketches a blur of possibilities. A strange mix of loss and excitement swelled in his stomach as he studied the pages just as he’d done countless times as a boy.
Bellissima. His father would have whispered in awe if he were here now. In his eyes a flicker of pride that would be enough for Roberto to justify anything.
He’d lied to Sofia yesterday when he’d told her he’d sunk to his lowest level. That moment was yet to come. But any trace of doubt evaporated as he studied the journal, imagining his father’s admiring voice, fuelling his resolve.
Roberto looked up in the mirror again. A flash of red behind a school group excursion caught his attention. A bright vermillion scarf, a brilliant contrast to Sofia’s long dark hair, floated over her head and around her neck in the breeze as she navigated her way around the children and strode purposefully towards Roberto’s black SUV.
He quickly leant down and slid the journal under the driver’s seat and got out of the car. He waved to Sofia as he waited for her by the passenger door.
Several men admired her as she hurried past the shop fronts. Casually dressed in a black sweater, dark-denim jeans and ballet flats, she looked just as alluring as she had at the photo shoot. She didn’t need high heels to give her hips a seductive sway as she walked.
After their meeting at Bonaparte’s Roberto couldn’t deny his attraction to Sofia was more than skin-deep. Her fiery spirit and confidence to stand up to him was such an unexpected turn on.
He’d dated countless attractive women but none had ever challenged him. That’s why he’d chosen them; attention seeking C-grade celebrities hungry for the fame that being with him would provide. His ‘relationships’ were easy, mutually satisfying affairs, over before any expectations had a chance to flourish. Roberto had no right to desire anything more.
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