Desperate to banish the haunting memory, he strained to open his eyes, his long eyelashes squashed helplessly against the taut dark blindfold.
‘Coconut.’ Roberto almost stuttered the word. ‘Let me taste.’
‘Here it is.’ Sofia’s husky voice engaged his imagination once more and thoughts of his childhood receded into the dark shadows of his mind.
A sublime, smooth chocolate swirl of burnt butter and brown sugar danced around his mouth its creamy texture contrasting with the chew of shredded coconut and a nutty toffee crunch.
‘70% Brazilian cacao, caramel and macadamia nut. Bonaparte’s coconut, caramel cream,’ he said.
‘Are you au fait with our entire range?’
‘Of course, it’s vital to be aware of our competition.’
‘Your palate’s not bad,’ Sofia said matter-of-factly.
‘Not bad?’ Roberto tore off the blindfold. His ability to identify countless flavours was the one skill his father had openly admired. ‘My palate is renowned the world over. People pay a lot of money for me to taste their product.’
Sofia laughed. ‘I’m well aware of your credentials, I just needed to see for myself before I allow you to help with my recipe.’
‘Allow me? I’m the one doing you a favour, remember? At no charge.’ Of course the favour was invaluable to him.
‘No charge? Really? What I agreed to do for you is priceless... amore?’
‘That’s a mutually beneficial arrangement.’
‘And it’s the only reason I can possibly trust you. As soon as my staff at Bonaparte’s taste the chocolate I make here I’ll know if you’ve deceived me. And if you have, the deal’s off.’
‘I’m well aware of that.’ Roberto sat forward in his seat demanding her attention. ‘Sofia, I want you to create your best work so I know I’m competing against the best. Then it’s so much more satisfying when Conti is recognised as Italy’s number one cioccolateria.’
‘Legend in your own mind.’ She shook her head at his bravado but her teasing smile gave away the slight dropping of her guard. Instinctively Roberto smiled back, relishing the glow of her open gaze before catching himself, remembering he didn’t deserve it.
He genuinely wanted Sofia to do her best. He understood what it was like to become a shadow of your former self, question your every move. But he couldn’t let his empathy for her cloud his judgement. His loyalty had to be to his mother. While he could never erase the pain he’d caused her, Roberto was determined to redeem their family’s company. Conti would release a fresh and original signature product that outclassed all their competitors. And Sofia held the key to his success.
But how far would he go? The thought of seducing her ignited a fire deep within him that he didn’t want to extinguish. But would he let her fall in love with him to get what he wanted? Knowing he was incapable of loving her back? Was he just like his father, a coward?
No, he was worse. His father’s only crime had been to succumb to a woman’s love when he’d felt all was lost. The rest was Roberto’s fault.
* * *
Sofia breathed heavily, her foggy breath visible on each exhale as she trudged up the steep incline back towards the hilltop apartment. She was glad she’d agreed to let Roberto accompany her to Baraldo’s specialty food store, grateful for the extra pair of hands to help carry the heavy shopping bags.
Besides, there was no need for her to be secretive about her purchases. Even blindfolded, Roberto would be able to identify each ingredient as soon he tasted her cioccolatino fiori recipe. The complexity of his palate was at least as good as hers had once been. Better, if she was honest.
But one vital ingredient would elude him. Roberto would struggle to isolate the complex flavour profile of the ornella nectar that for Sofia was so intense and distinctive it could spark countless loving memories. She closed her eyes, willing her broken body to heal and allow her just one more taste.
‘Are you okay?’ Her eyes flicked open to Roberto’s concerned voice beside her.
‘Just a bit woozy.’
‘Let’s rest a moment,’ he said as they approached a low stone bench overlooking a vast green valley of ancient trees. ‘The altitude probably isn’t helping your hangover.’
‘I’m okay.’
‘But you’re tired. When we get back you should rest. The chocolate can wait until morning. We’ll have the day.’
‘Okay,’ Sofia sighed. Her body craved a good night’s sleep; her head was still tender from last night’s grappa episode. She carefully placed her shopping bags on the mossy ground and eased herself down onto the cool bench.
She feasted her eyes on the majestic view spread out before her. Lush green foliage dotted with rainbow clusters of bright wild flowers just starting to bloom. She inhaled the clean mountain air, already feeling better.
‘It’s like another world up here. It’s so peaceful.’
‘We’ll be back in Florence soon enough.’ Roberto sat down beside her, his firm thigh pressed against hers on the narrow bench stirred a flutter of butterflies in Sofia’s stomach. A sliver of the night before sparked in her mind, so fleeting it was gone before she could focus on it.
Her unease about last night had slowly subsided; she believed Roberto when he’d said nothing happened. She’d glimpsed a vulnerable underbelly when he’d spoken about his past earlier that day. A softness at odds with everything she’d assumed about him. His fierce loyalty to his family reflected her own need to protect the ones she loved. Like him, she’d do anything.
She’d judged Roberto as a two-dimensional villain, someone she could easily hate. But the thought of him as a young boy grieving the loss of his big brother, then abandoned by his mother? That was much harder to reconcile.
‘Why did you do it?’ Sofia glanced at his profile. ‘Try to blackmail Annabella?’
A muscle twitched in Roberto’s clenched jaw as his gaze remained fixed on the scenery in front of them. ‘I wanted to protect my mother.’
‘From Annabella? She’d never hurt anyone.’
‘Not from Annabella. From the memory of your mother, that time in our lives.’
Sofia had always known what happened with her mother and the Conti family was far from black and white. Umberto Conti had betrayed Rachel terribly but as the ‘other woman’, she hadn’t been entirely innocent. But Roberto’s mother was. She’d lost her first-born son and then her husband to another woman, their affair splashed across the tabloids.
‘I regret how I handled the situation with your sister. But my relationship with my mother was... we were just starting to come together again.’ He stared ahead into the distance. ‘I was impulsive.’ Roberto dragged his hands through his hair and exhaled forcefully. ‘And instead of protecting my mother I only caused her more pain.’
‘By seeing another Conti/Bonaparte scandal all over the press.’
‘Si.’ He sighed shaking his head. ‘My mother was beyond disappointed. She could barely look at me. When she did all I could see was sadness in her eyes.’
‘How is she now?’
‘I try to see her as often as I can but she never leaves our Tuscan estate and I’m based in Turin. I can’t remember the last time she came to Florence. But she’s surviving.’
‘Even though you’re now in a relationship with Rachel Bonaparte’s other daughter?’
‘I’ve talked to her about it. She knows the truth. She understands the world seeing me with you is for the greater good.’
‘What a compliment.’ Sofia couldn’t help laughing.
Roberto’s face softened. ‘You know what I mean.’
‘What will the world think? Of us, as a couple? Fabrizio’s photos will be out by now.’
‘It’ll be a surprise for sure. But who doesn’t enjoy a tale of enemies to lovers?’ Roberto nudged her gently with his elbow.
It was a joke but the mention of them being lovers inflamed Sofia’s blood and she was glad Roberto wasn’t looking at her to see her reddened cheeks.<
br />
‘Ciao ragazzi!’ Sofia jumped at the deep voice close behind them.
She turned to see Alfredo plodding towards them with a large sketch-book and easel tucked under one arm and a paint-splattered suitcase in his other hand. His wide mouth beamed at them, like they were old friends.
‘Ciao.’ Sofia couldn’t believe she’d imagined the old man spiking her drink; he exuded warm-hearted dependability.
‘Come stai?’ Roberto smiled warmly.
‘Bene, grazie.’ Alfredo’s shining eyes rested on them for a long moment, his full smile unwavering. ‘Permesso?’ He gestured to a grassy patch near the stone bench.
‘Si, prego.’ Roberto waved a permissive hand in front of him.
Alfredo nodded politely, humming loudly as he strolled passed them to the small clearing.
‘I love that song, my mother used to play it when I was a kid,’ Sofia said dreamily as she watched Alfredo set up his easel near the mountain edge, overlooking the picturesque valley.
‘What song?’ Roberto turned to her.
‘The one Alfredo’s humming. “L. O. V. E.”?’ She sang the first line looking at Roberto expectantly. ‘You know the one, by Nat King Cole?’
‘Si, I know the song but don’t expect me to sing along.’
‘Why not? You’re hardly lacking in confidence.’
‘That may be so, but I draw the line at public humiliation.’
‘But there’s no one here. Well, except me and Alfredo. Come on, just quietly?’
‘Nope, not going to happen.’ He crossed his arms stubbornly.
‘Wouldn’t want to loosen up a bit, might get a hair out of place hey?’
‘Not unless there’s gold leaf and a G-string involved.’ He grinned, leaning into her side.
‘Touché,’ Sofia giggled. She didn’t baulk at his closeness; in that moment the warmth of Roberto’s body pressed against hers felt completely natural.
It really was like another world in Baraldo. A magical place where Sofia was about to make the biggest creation of her career and Roberto Conti was going to help her do it. The fear that had consumed her for the last three years seemed to evaporate into the lush scenery in front of them as exhilaration and ambition seized its place.
Sofia took a deep breath, expelling the last of her anxiety on the exhale. ‘Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go.’
* * *
Roberto looked up from his makeshift workstation on the small dining table. Sofia’s forehead crinkled with concentration as she tempered glossy dark chocolate on the kitchen counter. Using a large palette knife, she expertly smoothed the melted chocolate back and forth over the cool marble bench.
‘How are you going?’ he asked.
‘Nearly done.’ Sofia lifted a chocolate covered acetate sheet and placed it gently in the fridge and removed two stainless steel bowls she’d prepared earlier. ‘You?’
‘Almost there.’ Roberto stirred a small jug of cardamom infused syrup and carefully poured it into a prepared mould of mini semi-spheres. Overwhelmed by the volume of work to be done, Sofia had trusted him to prepare some of the more basic elements of her dolce. ‘The gel is ready to set,’ he said.
‘Great. Put it in the fridge and I’ll get the blindfold.’
‘Like music to my ears amore.’ He chortled, closing the fridge door.
‘Roberto,’ she warned. ‘This is serious.’
‘I know.’ He sat on a dining chair beside the table and stretched out his arms. ‘My back’s killing me from sleeping on that tiny sofa.’
He’d been the perfect gentleman the night before, leaving Sofia to get ready for an early night while he caught up with the locals at the bar.
‘Oh, poor baby,’ Sofia said sarcastically as she wound the tie around his head securing it firmly in a knot. Darkness descended and he was keenly aware of her by his side as her thigh brushed against his. He envisaged her pert behind only inches from his bicep.
‘Any chance of a massage?’ He couldn’t resist.
‘None.’
‘Is this a case of treat ‘em mean?’
‘I don’t know Roberto, do you feel—’ she rested her hand on his shoulder, ‘—mistreated?’ she whispered suggestively in his ear. He heard her laugh softly as she shifted away from him. He dug his fingertips into his palms, fighting the urge to pull her onto his lap and beg her to mistreat him some more.
‘Now, can you please be professional?’ Roberto heard the clattering sound of metal on metal. Playtime was over; she’d had her moment of fun.
‘Here it is.’ Roberto straightened as Sofia placed her hand on his shoulder again. His skin shivered as her long hair tickled his bare forearm. ‘Taste.’
Like a puppet on a string, his mouth dropped open to welcome a heavenly smooth dark chocolate ganache. He coated his tongue with the creamy texture, instantly recognising the dominant flavours.
‘Colombian 70% cacao, hazelnut gianduja and vanilla.’
‘Uh huh, and?’
Roberto worked the velvety confection around his mouth and a faint memory emerged. Berto, a tavola. His mother calling him to the kitchen table in the days when she once cooked for him, when she wasn’t ashamed to show him her love.
‘Rosemary,’ he said as the vision dissolved.
‘Very good.’ Sofia sounded impressed. She shifted by his side and he could hear her prepare something else. ‘Taste.’
He gently inhaled as Sofia rested the cool spoon on his lip and accepted the chocolate into his mouth once more. The same flavour combination but now accented with the faintest hint of... what? He couldn’t quite pinpoint the citrus note and an unusual delicate spicy undertone.
‘It’s very subtle. Maybe Kumquat and... ginger? No not ginger.’
‘Do you think I should add more?’ Sofia sounded a little shaky, of course she must feel wary asking for his advice.
‘Si, it’s very weak.’ Roberto strained to visualise the faded page in his journal, the scratched letters like hieroglyphs he couldn’t decipher. He had to identify the unusual spicy accent in Sofia’s chocolate, it was within his grasp. He just needed another taste.
She moved away from him again, the brush of her buttock against his arm interrupting his concentration.
‘Taste.’ That word again, tauntingly whispered in his ear sent a sudden rush of blood straight to his crotch as he imagined working his fingers under Sofia’s sweater and tasting her irresistible vanilla-scented skin.
But the sultry vision vanished as soon as he opened his mouth and was met with an unsavoury bitter tang tainting the balanced complexity of the ganache.
‘Urgh. Aqua, per favore,’ he stuttered.
‘So too much.’ Sofia carefully guided a glass of water into his hand.
‘Si, way too much.’ Roberto swilled the cool water around his mouth, cleansing his palate. He heard the clink of the spoon against metal as Sofia prepared another spoonful of chocolate.
Taking the glass from his hand, she offered the spoon to his lips. ‘Try now.’
All traces of the unpleasant bitterness had disappeared and a blissful chocolate masterpiece awakened Roberto’s body and soul. The hazelnut, vanilla and rosemary harmonised perfectly with the mysterious flavours that were so familiar and comforting to him and yet so exotic.
A sudden flash of his brother’s laughing face lit up his mind. Paint splattered all over Matteo’s shirt as he chased his little brother with a brush. Roberto’s heart filled with aching joy as he struggled to refocus the fading image.
‘It’s on the tip of my tongue but I can’t quite identify the essence.’ He sucked hard to absorb the remaining residue fully into his taste buds and reveal its composition. But the evocative flavours remained a tantalising blur within the chocolate. Like trying to recapture the vision of Matteo’s sunny smile, they slipped from Roberto’s hold, as intangible as a rainbow.
‘It’s superb... It has a floral accent, no?’ He ached to pinpoint the elusive ingredient and rekindle the waning image of his s
miling brother. ‘Another taste?’
‘No, I think we’re done,’ Sofia said softly. The clang of metal reverberated in the kitchen sink.
Roberto couldn’t remember the last time a flavour combination had eluded him. And yet, just that small taste of Sofia’s creation was so familiar it had sparked a repressed memory from his childhood. With Matteo, laughing in the hills of Baraldo. A taste sensation, so powerful it was ingrained in the physical depths of his consciousness. He’d tasted that chocolate before.
‘Sofia, that dolce, it’s... sublime.’ He pulled off the blindfold, anxious to see the exotic ingredient that had awoken childhood happiness and infused him with a comforting, euphoric warmth.
But Sofia had moved on, standing at the kitchen bench with her back to him as she arranged her chocolate moulds.
‘Are we done?’
‘You’re a free man.’ Her voice tremored slightly as she leant forward against the bench top.
‘Sofia, are you okay?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Then I’ll meet you back here this afternoon. The road should be cleared by this evening and we can return to Florence.’ He stood and pulled on his overcoat. ‘We’ll be back in time for the festival opening tomorrow morning. Our grand debut, yes?’
‘Great,’ she said without moving.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
Her posture lengthened. ‘I just tasted the ganache. Out of habit.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing.’ She turned to face him. ‘Just the usual, a faint bitterness from the cacao.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘No, don’t be. It’s weird, it’s different this time.’ She took a hesitant step towards him, her hands cradled in front of her. ‘When we opened our training boutique in Melbourne, I insisted Annabella focus on developing our collection while I’d teach technique to the apprentices. I couldn’t call myself a master chocolatier anymore, I felt like a fraud. And like they say, those who can’t, teach, right?’
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