The Italian

by Beverly Preston

  The Italian

  Copyright © 2016 by Beverly Preston

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means without the written consent of the author, except for brief quotations used in critical articles or reviews. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the retailer and purchase your own copy.

  Cover Designed by

  Caylee Rae Photography

  Cover Photo by

  Scott Hoover

  Cover Model

  Josh Kloss

  Edits by

  Nichole Strauss, Insight Editing Services

  Line Edits by

  Renee at Guardian Proofreading Services

  Formatting & Interior Design by

  Christine Borgford, Type A Formatting

  Visit Beverly Preston at www.beverlypreston.com

  Table of Contents

  The Italian

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  Books by Beverly Preston

  Stay in Touch

  Check out a sneak peek at Swing by Adriana Locke

  To Fate,

  Thank you for always stepping into my life

  To my husband, Don—my perfect someday,

  I love you more than words can ever say

  To my family and friends who support me in my endeavors, your words of encouragement and friendship are priceless.

  Karen, you are still the synopsis queen. Thank you for listening to my endless ramblings about my imaginary family.

  To my oldest daughter Caylee, thank you for creating a gorgeous cover and making my vision a reality.

  Jennifer Haren, Francine Petro, and Cara Gadero . . . you ladies rock! Thank you for your input and taking the time out of your busy lives to help administrate the reader fan page, Passport to Romance. Your love and support means the world to me.

  I would also like to thank Renee, Amy, Lara, and Jen. Your valuable input made The Italian even better.

  Ellen DeGeneres, I hope you read this someday; without you there would be no dream.

  To everyone who is falling in love with The Mathews Family, I cannot thank you enough for your support and words of encouragement.

  “STAY,” HE SUGGESTED IN A tone so sinfully rich it made her head swim.

  “Can’t.” Hope bobbled on one foot, slipping the other into her leather crisscross Louboutin black pump. A smile tipped the curve of her mouth, catching Antonio’s reflection in the full-length mirror. He lay naked, sprawled out across the bed looking rumpled and warm, watching with wide-eyed interest as she bent to fasten the tiny buckle at her ankle.

  “Rimani Qui?” Antonio repeated the request in Italian, the pull of his accent intoxicating and powerful. His light-grey eyes, full of playful offerings, gleamed in the early morning sunshine pushing through the window.

  An involuntary laugh escaped her parted lips, attempting to conceal the hint of regret riddling her voice. “I’ve already extended my trip. My boss might think I’m taking a vacation on her dime if I stay any longer.”

  It took every ounce of composure to keep her wits about her. Out of all the lovers Hope encountered during her travels, Antonio was always the hardest to leave.

  Antonio Giovanni was the epitome of all men that women dreamed of. Tall, dark, and handsome with an accent sexy enough to leave a trail of women swooning in his wake. The man wore charisma like a fine silk suit . . . flawless and molded to perfection in all the right places, leaving just enough concealed to make you wonder what lay hidden beneath the faultless exterior.

  “Si, I think you need some rest and relaxing. Come back to bed, bella.”

  Drawing a long breath through her nose, she envisioned a week-long Tuscan rendezvous curled up beside him, under him, on top of him. Hope’s lashes dusted shut at the delicious image. Tempting.

  “I really have to go or I’ll be late for my meeting with Tracy. I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of your sister-in-law.”

  Taking hold of the extended handle of her suitcase, she started for the door. Antonio rolled to his back. Reaching an arm above his head, he caught her around the hip, halting her rush. A low laugh simmered in her chest at his tenacity.

  “You have plenty of time. Tracy said she’d be in her office between nine and ten.” Antonio slipped a strong hand beneath the hem of her indigo wrap dress. His thumb played mindlessly along her bare thigh, coaxing a shiver up her spine. “And it’s only eight thirty. Let me take care of you before you go.”

  “I have to be there at nine, otherwise I’ll be cutting it close to make my departure on time, and I can’t miss my flight again.” Her voice diminished, feeling his long, strong fingers curl around the back of her leg, pulling her close, until her knees rested against the silk bedding. The subtle aches in her inner thighs, sweet and electrifying, brought reminders of the night before.

  Digging a heel into the mattress, Antonio inched his body further across the king-sized bed until his head dropped over the edge. The stark white sheet purposely arranged low on his hips, exposing the dark, trimmed hair at his groin. Heaven lay just beneath the silky sheets.

  A small, wistful sigh of appreciation floated from her lips, taking in his lean body and sculpted abs. He looked nothing short of breathtakingly exquisite.

  “Si’. I’d hate to make you miss your flight again.”

  He didn’t sound one bit remorseful.

  “Liar,” she teased, barely able to hear her own voice over the pulse hammering in her ears. “I think you’re trying to torture me.”

  “Si, I could torture you all day. Stay,” he murmured, taking a gentle bite of her outer thigh.

  She smiled down at him, running her fingers through his thick, dark hair. If she didn’t leave in the next sixty seconds, she’d be straddling his face in sixty-one. A tousled mass of golden brown curls fell over her shoulder as she hinged at the waist, placing a long kiss goodbye to the edge of his scruffy jaw.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured. Pushing the loose tresses from her face, he twisted, brushing his lips to hers. Taking her mouth, he deepened the kiss, their tongues dancing in a smooth, masterful art of seduction. The provocative pressure, demanding yet playful, drew a low groan from her throat.

  “Ciao,” she whispered contritely in his ear.

  “Email me the next time you’ll be in Italy. Ciao, bella.”

  Hope smiled, brushing the tip of her nose to his. Her upside-down stare connected with his, soaking up the last few glimpses of silvery grey before walking out the door.

  Driving along the beautiful, unspoiled Tuscan countryside, Hope appreciated the gorgeous view of Antonio’s family’s estate. Two castles, drenched in the color of muted saffron, separated by acre upon acre of lush grape
vines following every rise and dip of the landscape.

  The rental car came to a crawl as she navigated between two massive pillars covered in ledge stone. A large steel beam spanned above the entry touting their new name, Castello Giovanni Vineyards & Amore Mio Winery and Inn.

  Though the Winery and Inn were new additions, the vineyard had been on her radar for years. Hope Tidwell worked as a foreign wine buyer for one of the largest big-box stores in the United States. She traveled the world, scouring every continent, searching for the best wines to offer their retailers at phenomenal prices. Some considered her to be a master sommelier, but she measured herself as a simple wine buyer . . . with talented taste buds and a knack for recognizing great wine. And the Giovanni family made great wine.

  Following the tree-lined drive, she parked in front of the sprawling estate, large enough to be mistaken for a quaint village. A massive door built of thick wood and hand-forged wrought iron hinges was fixed open, settled between two tall turrets made from huge blocks of cut stone.

  She met Antonio five years ago at a wine tasting event in Spain. They spent a glorious weekend together enjoying fine wine, delectable Spanish cuisine, and each other. At the time, Castello Giovanni was a small vineyard, unknown to most of the world, but celebrated locally for making one of the best palatable wines in all of Italy. As a fifth-generation winemaker, he had big ideas of making a profound influence on the global wine market, expanding his family name and reputation around the world. All of his dreams were coming true. Marrying the two estates created one of the most prestigious vineyards in Italy and Castello Giovanni recently received the esteemed award of being voted the Super Tuscan Wine of the Year.

  The castle bustled with workers getting ready for the daily rush of tourists traveling to visit one of Tuscany’s hottest new wineries. The clicking of her heels echoed beneath the archways trimmed in aged brick as Hope walked along a path of worn, stone pavers, taking in the castle restored to its respective architecture.

  She spotted Tracy in the distance arranging snowy white hydrangeas and blush pink roses into a dozen crystal vases. A handsome man at her side pressed a long kiss to her cheek. Without introduction, Hope immediately recognized Antonio’s brother. He bore the same tall, lean build, charismatic smile, and silvery-grey eyes. The similarities between the two men were uncanny.

  Tracy greeted her with a bright smile and friendly wave. “Hi, Hope. So glad you could make it. Have you met my husband, Vincent?”

  “No, we haven’t had the opportunity yet.”

  “Ciao.” Vincent lightly clasped her hand in both of his. The scratchy callouses on his palms, the only distinguishable difference between him and his brother. “So nice to finally meet you.”

  “Great to meet you too.”

  “I hate to run, but I was just on my way out.” Vincent excused himself with an apologetic smile.

  “Ciao,” she said, nonchalantly studying the similarities of the brothers’ backsides, long muscular legs and wide shoulders tapered at the waist, as he walked away. Turning to Tracy, she admitted, “From a distance, I would’ve sworn he was Antonio.”

  “They look alike, but they’re complete polar opposites,” Tracy assured with a wry grin, enveloping Hope in a friendly embrace. “Thanks for stopping by before you head back to Seattle. I know it adds to your already long day.”

  “This place is breathtaking,” Hope complimented, looking over the property with wide eyes. “The renovation is truly stunning.”

  “Thank you.” Pride flushed Tracy’s cheeks. “Our goal was to preserve enough of the old to retain an authentic feel, yet offer all the luxurious, modern amenities you’d find at a new five-star resort. It’s been quite the labor of love.”

  “Then I guess the name is fitting.” Hope pointed to a small sign hanging on the stucco wall with an arrow reading Amore Mio Winery translating to My Love in English. “Your passion certainly shines through.”

  “It’s been an amazing journey. All the hard work and long hours have paid off nicely. Right now, we’re hosting two weddings a day and the calendar is already nearing seventy percent capacity for the next eighteen months. It’s going to be a very busy year.”

  “Let’s not forget your gorgeous new label will soon be adorning the table of two hundred thousand wine enthusiasts.” Hope referred to the deal they’d just buttoned up during her visit, ordering twenty thousand cases of wine that would be distributed to more than six hundred warehouse stores throughout the US. “It’s going to be an exciting year for you.”

  Tracy agreed with an anxious nod. Her dark, auburn hair accentuated her blue eyes. “I’d love to take you on a tour. Do you have enough time before your flight?”

  “I have about an hour. I’d love to see it.”

  Over the last few years, meetings had always been held at the vineyard next door, but she’d watched the progress of the restoration from afar. Fortunately, the Inn was booked to capacity this trip and she stayed at a quaint village not too far from the vineyard. Not that Hope didn’t want to stay at the Inn; she simply preferred not to divulge the fact she and Antonio were lovers. She’d learned early in her career not to sex-and-tell. If anything, she went the extra mile to keep her love life private.

  Tracy escorted Hope through the quaint courtyards nestled between colorful gardens, pointing out intimate details of the castle. The Inn was tastefully decorated with stylish Tuscan furnishings, wonderfully-appointed beneath original wood beam ceilings. Enthusiasm clung to her every word. “We host an authentic Italian cuisine culinary class three times a week for tour groups, plus jazz nights in the courtyard during the summer. The list goes on. It’s too bad you have to rush home so soon.”

  “Believe me, I’d love to stay longer, but I have a meeting the day after tomorrow that I can’t miss. I could use a real vacation. I always promise myself I’m going to come back and visit so many amazing places I travel for my job, but it never seems to happen. Every time I get a few days off, I wind up relaxing at home.”

  “Do you ever get tired of traveling so much?”

  The innocent question rendered Hope momentarily speechless. She’d been asked that same question countless times over the last ten years, and each time the air always seemed to weigh a bit heavier on her shoulders. Though it was a simple question on the surface, it burrowed into her subconscious . . . like a dog burying its bone deep enough so no one would ever find it.

  Not waiting for a reply, Tracy continued, “Ever thought about putting down roots?”

  “Not really. I’m like a palm tree . . . no roots,” she joked, masking her discomfort. Hope lifted her gaze and their eyes collided. An inquisitive grin widening across Tracy’s face. “Wait, are . . . are you offering me a job?”

  “I’m simply . . . testing the waters.” Giddy excitement rose in her voice. Tracy curled a loose strand of hair behind her ear, pausing as she pinched the lobe between her thumb and finger, rubbing timidly. “Up until this point, the vineyard and winery have been a combined entity. Of course, it still will be, but we plan to diversify things a bit to make the estate run smoother. Vincent handles the winemaking, Antonio oversees the marketing and exporting at Castello Giovanni, and I get the crown jewel . . . Amore Mio Winery and Inn. I’m putting together a team, a family so to speak, of smart, enthusiastic people and I think you’d be a perfect fit.”

  An appreciative sense of pride swelled in her chest and heat rose to the apples of her cheeks. “Wow. I didn’t see this coming at all.”

  “We’ve never really discussed work beyond the scope of all-things wine. I wanted to talk with you face-to-face while you’re in Italy to see if you’re happy where you’re at.”

  “I’m incredibly flattered. Really, I am,” she croaked softly. Her thoughts swirled, wondering if Antonio had anything to do with the offer. She didn’t think so. If anything, he’d probably panic at the idea of her working at the winery. Neither invested in long-term relationships. The convenience of a casual, passion-filled, triannu
al romp in the Tuscan countryside appealed to both of them, equally.

  “I travel the world tasting the best wine. That constitutes as a dream job to one quarter of the American population,” she joked. “I love my job, for the most part. I mean, every job has its issues, but I’m happy there.”

  “They’re lucky to have you.” Demonstrating an abundance of fortitude, Tracy persisted, “I’ll be honest, Hope, you’re the only person I’ve even considered for the job. This place is like my first-born child and I can’t think of anyone else I trust enough to manage it. You’re diligent, ambitious, hard-working, and you have an easygoing style about you that would only add to the charm here.”

  “Tracy, I’m honored that you’d trust—”

  “Before you say no, just think about it for a few weeks,” she coaxed. “I’m not expecting to fill the position until after the holidays. I’ll email you, spelling out the key terms, job responsibilities, title, salary, vacation, etc. as soon as I put together a detailed package.”

  “I can’t make you any promises.” Hope had no intention of quitting her job and moving to Italy. However, it would be easier to say no when Tracy wasn’t standing in front of her appearing so hopeful. “But I’ll look at it.”

  Many of Hope’s friends envied her career. They fantasized of escaping the calamity of their real lives to jet set around the world, visit sleepy villages in France, Italy, Spain, Chile and more, indulge in the best wines and enjoy spontaneous love affairs with gorgeous men. To some, it was a dream job. Or at least that’s how it appeared on the outside looking in.

  At times it was a glamorous lifestyle, but in reality, she lived a hectic schedule, in and out of airports, taxi cabs, and hotel rooms. It was easy for her girlfriends to be seduced by the romanticism of it all . . . especially if you were comparing it to potty training a two-year-old.

  However, Hope Tidwell wasn’t a romantic.