Swept Away by the Venetian Millionaire

by Nina Singh

  Still, Lexie played along. “What did he say?”

  “He said that I needed to get past whatever it was I was feeling for him.”

  “And then what?”

  Maya blinked at the query. This was a new line of questioning. Usually Lexie and Zelda simply let her vent and unload everything. Apparently, they’d decided a new approach was in order. “What do you mean?”

  “Did you tell him that you didn’t want to get past it?”

  “Why would I do that?” Maya asked. “What would be the point?”

  Lexie shrugged and took a sip of her non-alcoholic beer. “I dunno. I do know you’ve told us that he’s afraid to take a risk, that he was stuck in the past and that’s why he let you leave.”

  “And?”

  Lexie reached for her hand over the table and gave it a tight squeeze. “You don’t appear to have taken any kind of risk yourself.”

  * * *

  “Back again, miss?” The pleasant, smiling young woman on the other side of the window handed her the entrance ticket Maya had just paid for.

  Maya returned her smile. “What can I say? I really like the exhibits.”

  Passing through the turnstile, she walked through the lobby of the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. Maya had spent every lunch hour here for the past two weeks. She’d splurged on a year-long membership soon after she’d returned to work. Maybe she was being silly, but being here made her feel closer to Vito somehow.

  Never mind that he was an ocean away and had probably already forgotten she existed. Well, she would find a way to move on, as well. She had to, didn’t she? These museum visits weren’t all completely frivolous, either. Maya had made it a point to check MOFA’s website online for openings she might qualify for. She didn’t mind starting at a lower position and working her way up. Not that she planned on leaving Uncle Rex’s employ all at once. He still needed her. But she needed to make a career change and would do it gradually to eliminate any whiplash effect.

  Maya hadn’t mentioned the potential job switch to anyone. Not even Grandmama.

  She wouldn’t do that until she had a few more details solidified. Plus, it didn’t help that the person she most wanted to talk to about it was thousands of miles away. Oh, and she couldn’t forget that he’d made it more than clear that he didn’t really care what her plans for the future held.

  Maya had been nothing more than a fling.

  Shaking off thoughts of her fateful Venetian trip, she walked over to her favorite gallery, the one featuring Italian paintings. Each time she looked at the masterpieces on the wall, she noticed another detail or learned something new. Each afternoon spent here was never like the one before.

  Plus, if she closed her eyes and tried hard enough, she could almost pretend she was back in Italy admiring the paintings on the walls of the palazzo. And that Vito was by her side.

  Her imagination had to be functioning particularly well today, because she could swear she heard his voice behind her.

  “I find the still life with fruit paintings particularly compelling, don’t you, cara?”

  Maya didn’t dare turn around. Her wishful mind was merely playing tricks on her. She refused to be fooled. No one was behind her. In fact, she was the only person in the hall of this particular gallery.

  But the voice somehow continued. “Of course, this one has the added feature of dead birds in the picture. What do you suppose Ruoppolo intended when he included them?”

  Maya whirled around so fast her head spun for the briefest second. Then she almost lost her balance completely. For there in front of her, through some miracle, stood Vittorio Rameri. In the flesh. As devilishly handsome as she remembered.

  He flashed her a heart-stopping smile.

  “Buongiorno, mia vita.”

  It took several moments before she could get her mouth to work. Her peripheral vision grew dark; the only thing in her focus was the man standing before her. “Vito? Is it really you?”

  He spread his arms out, his grin growing wider. “None other.”

  “But how? What are you doing here?”

  “I stopped by the shop first. Talbot’s Expert Plumbing. Your uncle told me where I could find you.”

  Okay. “No, I mean, what are you doing here? In Boston?”

  “Ah, see, that question might take a bit of explaining.”

  “Perhaps you could give me the overall gist.”

  “Nothing felt right after you left, cara. The city I loved suddenly became empty, much smaller all of a sudden once you were gone. Lonelier.” He paused to run a finger down her cheek and along her jaw. Her skin warmed wherever he touched it. “Then there was the painting I’d begun of you.”

  “What about it?”

  “I wanted badly to finish work on it, because it reminded me of you. But I couldn’t bear to uncover it. Because it reminded me of you.”

  He stopped speaking and blew out a frustrated breath. “I’m not explaining at all well, am I?”

  “No, no. You’re doing fine. Don’t stop, please.”

  Vito chuckled then stepped closer to where she still stood dumbfounded and unable to move so much as a muscle. “I’ll do better, cara,” he said on a soft whisper. “I’ll show you.”

  As he took her in his arms Maya thought for certain none of this could be real. That she was, indeed, going mad. But then Vito took her lips with his and she couldn’t think at all.

  When they finally parted, Vito drew her even tighter against him, nuzzling his chin against her hair. Then spoke softly on a whisper in her ear in Italian. Maya didn’t need a translator to understand his words.

  “Ti amo.” I love you.

  EPILOGUE

  “I DON’T KNOW about this, Vito. Last time I attempted getting into one of these things it didn’t go so well.” Although she had ended up meeting Vito as a result.

  Still, Maya wasn’t so sure a gondola ride was the best way to celebrate the one-year anniversary of the day they’d first met. Vito was trying to be romantic, but all she could focus on was making sure not to reenact the scene where she’d fallen into the water.

  “The difference this time is that I’m by your side, cara. I won’t let you fall.”

  That wasn’t the only difference. “Also, I’m quite sober this time around,” she reminded him with a laugh.

  Vito hopped into the boat first then helpfully lifted her in. “See? That went pretty smoothly.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  She sat next to Vito on the padded seat and let him pull her into his arms. Slowly, the gondolier began navigating them through the Venice canals.

  “Why was it so important that we do this today, anyhow?” Maya asked, though now that the initial boarding was over, she found herself thoroughly enjoying the outing. The splendor of Venetian architecture still took her breath away.

  “You need to get used to gondola rides if you’re going to be living in Venice part-time.”

  “I suppose that’s fair. After all, you’ve had to get used to Boston rush-hour traffic.”

  “Hardly the same.”

  Maya nestled closer against his length as they approached the waters by St. Mark’s and the palazzo. The setting sun had turned the sky above to a striking shade of gold. Moments later, they were heading under the Bridge of Sighs.

  “Do you remember the legend I told you about this bridge all those months ago?” Vito asked her.

  “I do, as a matter of fact. The legend says that a couple on a gondola as it sails under the Bridge of Sighs will share eternal happiness if they happen to share a kiss just as the bells of St. Mark’s Cathedral are ringing.”

  “Very romantic, sì?”

  “Yes, it is,” Maya agreed. “I also remember discussing that it was statistically almost impossible. Too many random variables.”

  Vito sighed. “I suppose you’
re right.” He sounded so disappointed that Maya couldn’t restrain her laughter. “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try, however,” she suggested, not that she needed an excuse to kiss this man.

  “Of course, we should. Also, we can create our own little legendary story.”

  Maya turned in his arms to look at Vito’s expression. His mischievous smile and the teasing in his voice told her he was definitely up to something.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  To her delighted surprise, Vito reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Maya’s breath left her lungs as he flipped it open to reveal a sparkling square-cut diamond set in a band of pink gold.

  “Oh, Vito. It’s beautiful.”

  “Amore mio,” he began, “would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  She felt the sting of happy tears in her eyes as he slipped the ring on her finger then turned her hand and kissed her palm affectionately.

  “Yes! I’d be honored to marry you,” Maya managed to blurt out through all the emotion pounding through her heart. Their gondolier turned to give them a whistled cheer.

  Vito lifted her chin and brought her face close to his. His lips settled over her own for a long lingering kiss, one that made her blood burn through her veins. Just as she heard the bells of St. Mark’s Cathedral ringing through the air.

  * * *

  Welcome to the Destination Brides quartet!

  Summer Escape with the Tycoon

  by Donna Alward

  Swept Away by the Venetian Millionaire

  by Nina Singh

  And look out for the next book Coming soon!

  And if you enjoyed this story, check out these other great reads from Nina Singh!

  Captivated by the Millionaire

  Christmas with Her Secret Prince

  Tempted by Her Island Millionaire

  All available now!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from A Week with the Best Man by Ally Blake.

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  A Week with the Best Man

  by Ally Blake

  CHAPTER ONE

  CORMAC WHARTON SAT on the curved boot of his classic car, shoes hooked a half-metre apart on the gleaming bumper, elbows resting on knees, as he watched his dog, Novak, sprint off into the small forest to his right; a streak of sleek caramel fur in search of the stick Cormac had thrown. And had been throwing for the past forty-odd minutes while he waited for the visitor to arrive.

  The sound of a car belting along Beach Road beyond the high bougainvillea-drenched walls of the Chadwick estate had him sitting up, listening for a slowing engine.

  Alas, it was not to be.

  So, Cormac waited. And would continue to wait. For he was best man to his best mate, Grayson Chadwick, and this was wedding-related-waiting, so it was his job to help out on such occasions. Not that he wouldn’t have done so under normal circumstances. It came down to friendship. Loyalty. Respect. Balance. Duty. The pillars upon which Cormac believed a person could build a good and honest life.

  Harper Addison—Maid of Honour and The Person Cormac Had Been Waiting Forty Long Minutes For—appeared to have other ideas.

  With only days to spare until her sister Lola’s big day, Harper had finally deigned to drag herself onto a plane to join them. She hadn’t condescended to actually let anyone know she was even on her way until she’d landed. Then, refusing to wait for someone to pick her up in Melbourne, she’d hired a car instead to meander down the Great Ocean Road to Blue Moon Bay at her leisure.

  Lola claimed she didn’t mind not knowing exactly when her sister would arrive. That she understood how busy her sister was. Cormac knew better. He knew all about keeping the family peace.

  A crunch of claws heralded Novak’s return as the dog bolted across the bright white gravel driveway, ears flapping, fur gleaming in the summer sun, before coming to a panting halt. Her tongue lolled around the mangled stick as she looked up at him, all liquid eyes filled with adoration and trust. It was a hell of a thing, even from a dog.

  “Good girl,” Cormac said, and Novak carefully placed the damp stick into his upturned palm. He gave her silky ear a rub. “Ready?”

  Novak’s nose quivered.

  “Fetch!” he called as with a flick of the wrist he launched the stick. It whistled winningly as it soared through the air and into the bush beyond. And then Novak was gone, a rocket of joy bounding off into the shrubs.

  When Cormac looked back to the driveway it was to see an unfamiliar car pulling through the gates.

  “Here we go,” he murmured as with hands flat to the warmed metal he launched himself to the ground. There he twisted at the waist and stretched his arms over his head, before running his slobber-covered hands down the sides of his jeans.

  Not a hire car, he saw as it rounded past him. A long black Town Car, the kind that came with a driver and windows so dark he could not see inside. For the hour-and-a-half drive from Melbourne it was a little too much. Even for Blue Moon Bay, which was not short on folk with more money than sense.

  So, what did that make Harper Addison?

  Cormac tried to call up a mental image of what she’d looked like in high school.

  A year or two below him, wasn’t she the one who had hung around the bottom of the D-Block staircase, tin in hand, collecting coins for whatever down-on-their-luck soul had appeared in the news that week? He saw unruly brunette curls, ripped jeans, smart mouth and a frown.

  Lola Addison, on the other hand, was a sweetheart; bright, happy-go-lucky, with an easy irreverence. His hazy recollection of Harper felt about as far from Lola as one could get.

  The Town Car pulled to a halt at the bottom of the wide stone stairs leading up to the house. A moment later a silver-haired driver in a peaked hat and black suit alighted from the car and shuffled to the back door before opening it with a flourish.

  Then, like something out of a classic Hollywood flick, a woman’s shoe—the colour of champagne with a heel like an ice pick—uncurled from inside the car to stab the graveled ground.

  The second shoe dropped, followed by a pair of long legs.

  The woman attached to the legs came last, a hand tipped with shiny black fingernails curving over the top of the door as she disregarded the outstretched hand of the driver and pulled herself to standing, slammed the door shut and stared up at the Chadwicks’ house.

  Not an unruly brunette, Cormac noted as sunlight flowed over sleek, caramel-blonde waves, kicking out sparks of bronze, of gold. And no ripped jeans either, but a long, fitted, expensive-looking coat—far too much for a southern summer’s day—embroidered with the same champagne colour as those killer he
els.

  Clearly not the bolshie rebel he thought he’d remembered. Unsurprising. For him, those later high-school years were pretty much a blur.

  The driver moved in to ask her a question right as a mobile-phone tone sounded loudly in the restive silence. She stayed the driver with a hand as she answered the call with a clear, “Yes?”

  Was she for real? Cormac coughed out a laugh. Then ran a hand up the back of his head as he counted down the hours until the wedding. The hours he’d have to make nice with his counterpart in the lead-up. When he could have been working. Surfing. Staring into space. Any of which would be a better use of his time.

  Friendship, he reminded himself. Loyalty. Respect. Balance. Duty.

  The driver glanced Cormac’s way, his face working as if unsure what his next move ought to be. Cormac lifted his hand in a wave and half jogged towards the car to take the passenger off the poor guy’s hands.

  As if she’d heard his footsteps encroaching, the woman turned.

  Cormac’s pace slowed as if his batteries had drained, till he came to a complete stop.

  For the woman was a fifties femme fatale brought to life. A swathe of shining hair curled over her right eye. Shadows slashed under high cheekbones. Full nude lips sat slightly apart, as if preparing to blow a kiss.

  Cormac found himself engulfed in an instant thwack of heat. Like a donkey kick to the gut, it literally knocked the breath right out of him.

  Then she flicked her hair from her face with a single, sultry shake of her head, said something into her phone before dropping it into a structured bag hooked over one elbow, and then both of her eyes met his.

  A flash of memory hit like a rogue wave, and he knew he’d remembered her right.

  He saw himself bounding down the D-Block staircase with Gray, Adele, Tara and the rest of the school gang at his heels. There she was, the unruly brunette, homemade posters covered in pictures of flood or famine tacked to the post behind her, collection tin in hand, eyes locked on his with that same unrelenting intensity.