As they walked toward the house, one of the double doors opened, an older gentleman dressed in khakis and a faded denim shirt stepping outside. An enthusiastic grin stretched across his face at their approach and he headed straight for Stasia, his arms opening wide. “Ciao, Anastasia, mi carina.”
She walked easily into the man’s embrace, hugging him tight. “Ciao, Renzo.” The warmth, the happiness in her voice was unmistakable.
And that was all he caught. They spoke in rapid fire Italian when they broke apart, talking animatedly, their hands flying and accompanied by plenty of laughter. Gavin took it all in, marveling at how even more beautiful she was when happy. She’d only been somber during his interactions with her. Returning home, to Italy, brought her joy.
Secretly, he wondered what it was like, to make her smile like that. Feel like that.
Despite the warning alarms going off in his head, he was curious to find out.
Renzo was kind enough to bring in their luggage while Stasia showed Gavin around the main house. She tried to imagine what it must look like through a stranger’s eyes. The interior was pure, stark white, calm and with soft lines. White walls, white couches, accented with wood coffee table and end tables, mellowed warm with age. The occasional pop of color appeared. Bright yellow and blue printed pillows dotted the couch, a vibrant bottle blue vase bursting with a bouquet of colorful flowers on the otherwise pristine white tile countertops in the kitchen.
Her mother had worked with one of the best designers on the coast, laboring over each and every choice. She’d wanted the house to have a particular look and feel, and after many years, she’d finally mastered it.
Even when she was young, Stasia had known to be careful, to treat every item in the main house with care. Her rowdy older brothers respected the house as well, never tracking in dirt or grime, though it had never felt like a museum, oh no.
Villa Renaldi had been a happy place, filled with fond childhood memories that Stasia cherished. Despite coming here under such unpleasant circumstances, she was still happy. Excited to show Gavin everything the villa had to offer.
“Wait until you see where you’re staying,” she said as she opened one of the French doors that led onto the back terrace.
“I’m not staying in the main house?”
“No, I had Renzo prepare the tower for you.” It had once been a crumbling relic from centuries ago, a pile of stones destroyed by years of neglect. But now it was a one-bedroom, one-bathroom guest quarters. Gorgeous in its simplicity, it had the best view from its bathroom—and with a giant sunken-in tub to sit in and enjoy it too.
“The view from here is pretty damn unbelievable.” The awe in his voice made her smile. He followed diligently as they walked down the cobbled steps toward the tower, the sea before them majestic. The sun cast the brilliant blue water in hazy golden shimmers, and she swore she heard the calls of children playing and splashing in the water from below. Overhead, a bird cried as it flew over them, and the gentle breeze swept through the nearby olive trees, the rustling leaves like a sweet childhood melody. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It’s wonderful, isn’t it? I’m excited to show you the view from the tower bathroom. It feels like you’re about to step into the water, right from the window.”
The large wooden door to the tower was unlatched and she pushed it open, stepping to the side so Gavin could enter first. “Tell me what you think.”
He entered the room and stopped in the center, slowly turning so he could take everything in. The glossy cream tiled floor shone so brightly she could see his reflection, and the floor to ceiling windows were open, allowing that delicious ocean breeze inside. Filmy white curtains billowed, the king-sized bed was made up with crisp white linen and there was a small seating arrangement near the balcony door, two overstuffed chairs covered in elegant, pale gold velvet, a small round wooden table sitting in between.
“This is my room?” He sounded shocked.
“All yours for the next four nights.” She glanced toward the bed, had a fleeting image of his dark head resting against the plump white pillow, draped with a sheet and wearing nothing but golden skin. Was he muscular? He appeared so, even through the fine suits. She bet he had a delectable body, one that would certainly know exactly what to do to make hers sing with pleasure…
Her skin grew warm and tight, as did her nipples. She jerked her gaze away to find him headed toward the bathroom, a rather loud expletive escaping when he entered the room.
She followed, found him staring at the tub in wonder. It was large and constructed in a half-round, butting up against the wall below the giant window that overlooked the ocean. The view was magical, indeed appearing as if one could step directly out onto the sea. As a child, she’d begged to stay in the tower after it had been remodeled, her parents allowing it only on very special occasions.
She’d thought of it as hers, an escape from her brothers. A place to call all her own, where she would sit and dream, pretend she was a princess locked away in the tower, waiting for her knight in shining armor to come and rescue her.
Silly, childish dreams she couldn’t help but still hold on to, especially considering what had happened. She needed a rescuer, needed someone to stand tall beside her and help her fight the battles so she could conquer the war.
Someone like Gavin…
“I thought you might like some privacy and a space of your own,” she said to fill the sudden too-long silence. She needed to banish her foolish thoughts. They were pointless. He didn’t like her. Despite his earlier protests, she didn’t believe him.
Did he not like the tower? Or even worse…did he think it too much? As if she might be showing off, flaunting her wealth and prosperity? She was merely proud of her heritage, of this house on the cliffs that had been in her family for generations. Her brothers constantly brought guests and friends to the villa, though she rarely did.
Not that Gavin was a friendly guest. This was a business trip, nothing more. She needed to remember that.
“I appreciate the thoughtful gesture.” He met her gaze, wonderment making him look a little dazed. Relief flooded her at that look. He liked the space, thank goodness. “I almost feel like you went to too much trouble.”
“Absolutely not. It was no trouble at all.” She’d made a phone call and that’s all it took to make it happen. “Oh good, Renzo is here with your luggage.”
Renzo set Gavin’s single black suitcase next to the dresser, then set his computer bag on top of it. “You find it to your liking, eh?” His gravel-voiced question was aimed at Gavin.
“It’s amazing. I appreciate the hospitality.”
“Anything for Miss Renaldi’s friend, si? She’s never brought any friends like you to visit. A few girlfriends, but when she was still a girl in school. I assume the two of you are…” Renzo left the question unspoken, but there was no denying the twinkle in his eye, the raising of his white, bushy brows.
Mortified, Stasia shook her head. Just the thing she didn’t need to happen, Renzo and everyone else assuming she and Gavin were somehow involved. Not that she’d discouraged it when she called Renzo to make the arrangements. She’d kept quiet so her mother wouldn’t be suspicious. “I think you might’ve misunderstood...”
“You’re right, we are good friends.” Gavin stepped close to her, grabbing her hand and giving it a meaningful squeeze. His hand was large, his touch electric and she took a deep breath, desperate to calm her suddenly racing heart. “I couldn’t refuse her invitation to the villa for a little escape from the city.”
“A fine choice, signore. Miss Renaldi can show you many sights. She has explored this entire area since she was young. She knows all its secrets.”
“I look forward to exploring it with her.” Another squeeze, his long fingers were tight around hers.
She sent him a look, hoping he got the message. That she expected a thorough explanation the moment Renzo left. What the hell was he doing?
�
�Very good.” Renzo clasped his hands together and bowed. “Dinner will be served at precisely eight o’clock.”
“And my mother, Renzo? Will she be in attendance this evening?” Gavin released his hold on her, smoothed his hand down the middle of her back in a reassuring gesture, which she found oddly comforting.
She could not depend on this man for comfort, not like this.
“Ah.” Renzo shook his head, his mouth turning grim. “I’m afraid she takes every meal in her suite.”
Disappointment crashed through her. Mama wasn’t going to make this easy. “Does she know we’re here? That I’m here?”
Renzo nodded. “I told signora and she seemed to understand. Sometimes it is as if she’s left us, you know? She’s not…all here.” He tapped his temple with his index finger.
Sadness filled Stasia. Her mother wasn’t in a well state of being. It wasn’t right, wallowing in her loss, allowing it to consume her life. Claudia Renaldi needed to find a purpose again. Needed to realize she had a family depending on her to be strong and pull through. A young grandson who surely missed his grandmother, her sons and their wives, her only daughter...
Stasia frowned. It had been too long since she’d seen her only nephew, Matteo’s son, Matty. The first grandchild, the prodigal grandson and heir, he was precious, the sweet, bright light in her mother’s life.
She knew for a fact her mother hadn’t seen Matteo or his family since their father’s death either. Despite her earlier worry that she was all alone, her brothers did their best to stay in contact with her and keep her informed on what was happening in Italy. Her eldest brother called or emailed Stasia at least once a week, as did Rafe and Vincenzo, though Matteo stayed in touch more frequently. Her big brother had no idea how much she appreciated his efforts. He was the one connection to her old world she could depend on.
“Thank you, Renzo,” she finally said with a faint smile. She couldn’t remember life at the villa without the man. “We shall be in the dining room at precisely seven-fifty-five, ready and waiting.”
The old man chuckled. “Very good.” Turning on his heel, he left, closing the door behind him. Leaving the two of them alone in a gorgeously romantic room.
Nerves made her palms clammy, and she clutched her hands together, fighting the foolish sensation.
“Well, I’m sure you’d like a few hours to rest, shower, whatever you need to do before dinner.” She stepped away from him, needing some distance.
“Yeah, I feel kind of grimy. And I should probably change, try not to look so lawyer-like.” He flashed her a quick smile. It sent a zing to all her feminine parts, leaving her uncomfortably warm.
“Very well.” She sounded too formal and she wanted to roll her eyes. The man made her uncomfortable. “I’ll see you later at the main house?”
“Sure. I can just…walk in, right?”
“Of course. Don’t bother knocking. We’re the only ones in residence, besides my mother.” She frowned. If she was brave enough, she’d go straight into the house and knock on her mother’s door. Demand to be let in so they could hash this out. It was ridiculous, how secretive Mama was being.
Stasia deserved to know answers. But she wasn’t quite brave enough to ask for them.
Yet.
“We’ll work through this, Stasia,” Gavin said, his voice low and full of sympathy. She wondered if he could read her mind. “Don’t worry.”
She appreciated the words, but they were so easy for him to say. He had nothing to lose, nothing at risk. Though she’d already lost everything, maybe someday she could gain some of it back. At least a semblance of peace.
Hopefully.
Chapter Six
Dinner was an elaborate meal for only two people, Gavin mused. At least three different kinds of pasta, a giant bowl of fresh green salad dotted with vibrant red tomatoes from the garden and a basket of warm crusty bread, it was enough to feed a family of ten. Fortunately Gavin was ravenous enough for at least three men, and he ate with an intensity that shocked him.
Probably shocked Stasia as well, not that he could worry about it. He felt as if he hadn’t eaten all day…which, he realized, he hadn’t.
“Renzo’s wife is the cook,” Stasia said as he’d served himself a second plateful. “Elena is very good, no?”
Her Italian accent became more pronounced the longer she was here. “Very good,” he said after he swallowed. His belly might be protesting, but he wasn’t ready to stop.
She smiled, dropped her gaze to her still full plate, dragging her fork back and forth through the cream sauce. “And the shrimp is fresh from the ocean. Renzo picked them up from the market just this morning.”
“They’re delicious.” Plump and full of flavor, they were the best damn shrimp he’d ever tasted, and he’d eaten at plenty of fine restaurants in Manhattan.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying your meal.” Clearly, she wasn’t.
He set his fork on the edge of the plate, didn’t say anything in hopes she would look back up and find him waiting.
She did, rather quickly. Her eyes widened the slightest bit and she pushed her plate away as if the meal disgusted her. “You want to talk.”
Stasia was rather perceptive, and he liked that. “I want to know what’s bothering you.”
Well, he could be perceptive too.
“I’m afraid.” She spoke in a broken whisper, the depth of emotion in her voice making his chest ache. “I think I might be wasting your time here.”
“I just had the best meal of my life. This was definitely not a waste of my time.”
She smiled, but it was weak at best and it didn’t mask her sadness. “I’ll let Elena know you approve.”
“Stasia. Stop.”
Her startled gaze met his, her damp, lush lips parted. “You’re angry.”
“I want to know what’s wrong with you. Why do you think being here is a waste of my time? We just arrived.”
“And my mother refuses to talk to me. I went to her suite of rooms before dinner and knocked on the door. She wouldn’t open it.”
“Did she talk to you?”
“No. She told me to go away.” She dropped her gaze once more, as if afraid to look at him.
“Did you tell her it was you?”
“Of course, I did. She still told me to go away.” Her face crumpled and she dashed at her cheeks with the tips of her fingers, as if wiping away tears. “She hates me.”
Jesus. He’d had plenty of clients cry before. He dealt mostly with estate law; he understood the despair people went through after they lost a loved one. The anger and the fighting that usually accompanied such a loss as well, considering most of his clients were wealthy, much like the Renaldis.
So why did this woman’s tears upset him so? Tempt him to go to her, pull her into his arms and whisper words of comfort? He wanted to bury his face in her hair, kiss her temple, smooth his hands all over that curvy body and tell her everything was going to be all right.
Though he didn’t know that for a fact, had no way of knowing. Maybe it wasn’t going to be all right. Maybe it was going to be a complete disaster.
“Don’t give up. This is the first time you’ve approached her. Once she realizes you’re not going away, she’ll come around,” he said.
“Maybe four days isn’t enough. What if it’s not enough, Gavin?” She lifted her head, tear-filled eyes meeting his. “I told myself I wasn’t going to cry. I’ve cried enough tears to fill a thousand oceans, I swear. I’m so tired of being sad.”
“Then stop being sad and start getting angry. Let it fuel you, let it give you the determination you need to reach your mother and get her to talk.” Anger was an excellent motivator, far better than sadness.
She sniffed, dabbed at her eyes yet again. No streaky make-up, no flushed cheeks and red nose for her, oh no. Even in her complete and utter despair, she was beautiful. “I tried angry. It got me nowhere.”
“You haven’t tried angry on your mother, I bet.”
/> “It won’t matter. Doesn’t seem like much matters to her but herself.”
“Then tell her that. Tell her how much it hurts, how selfish she’s being. Tell her how damn angry you are, finding out your life has been completely turned upside down from something she did. You’re the innocent one in all of this. You realize that, don’t you? It’s not your fault your mother had an affair. It’s not your fault you’re not the blood daughter of Giorgio Renaldi.” Anger flared in his blood, made his voice rise. Damn it, it was ridiculous, how she’d been treated. By the man who raised her, her father, though he denied it now in death.
What a cowardly thing for Renaldi to do. The only brave one in this situation was the crying woman sitting across a too-wide table from him.
“There’s no need to yell,” she said softly.
“I’m pissed off.” He leapt to his feet, started pacing back and forth. “I yell when I get mad. I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t mean to make you mad.”
He thrust both his hands in his hair, glaring at her incredulously. “I’m not mad at you. Jesus.” He threw his hands into the air, gesturing at the ceiling. “You’ve been put into a shitty situation, Stasia, dealt a really bad hand, yet you won’t give up. You keep coming at it and coming at it, turned down at your every single move. Don’t give up now, not while you’re so close.”
“I’m not close. I’m back at square one.” She wrapped her arms around herself, ran her hands up and down her bare arms. She wore a simple red cotton sundress held up by skimpy straps, one of them drooping off her shoulder, revealing that she wore no bra. He hated that his thoughts went there. Straight to deliciously intimate images, his mouth pressed against that beautiful shoulder, his hand beneath the front of her dress, cupping her supple flesh, his thumb rubbing against her hard nipple…
“If you think like you’re defeated, you’ll believe it,” he said, shoving the lurid thoughts from his brain. She was consumed with sadness, left vulnerable by all the wrongs done to her. And it wasn’t fair, it really wasn’t, how much he wanted to take advantage of that vulnerability and offer his comfort, which he had a feeling would be welcomed.
Worth Everything: Worth It, Book 4 Page 5