by Annie Seaton
Before they’d ended up in bed, he’d painted all night with her in the studio, aware of her on one level but immersed in creating the best piece he had ever painted, as she’d worked silently across the room from him. Her passion had flared and she’d responded to him as Nic, not because of who he was or what he could give her. Her attraction to him had nothing to do with the Baldini name, and that pleased him. Problem was, how was he going to handle it? He needed to set things up so he could leave when the time came. No regrets, no ties, and no one who had a hold on him or his heart. He would never put himself in a place where he was vulnerable. His life plan was mapped out, and there was no place in it for a passionate black-haired artist with flashing eyes.
When she found out he was a Baldini, and that his discovery of her talent and launching her into the Florentine art world had secured—God he hoped he was right—his position on the Board, he had a feeling that the true Gia, that strong passionate woman, would have plenty more to say.
The guilt that settled in his chest was unfamiliar, but he pushed it away when his phone vibrated. He eased out of bed so he didn’t wake Gia, and searched for his phone, finding it in his jeans on the floor.
He frowned. Five missed calls from Antonio and two from his father.
Nic went back to the villa for a change of clothes, and he had time for a quick coffee before he’d head for the autostrada to Florence. He looked around the villa. Even though it was beautiful, and decorated in bright colors, it was empty…and soulless. Gia’s old stone cottage was full of life and color. Noise and vibrancy. He grinned as he imagined her walking in here. This place would come alive. He’d take down the paintings and line the entry walls with her landscapes…
Whoa, I’m on vacation and I have a problem that needs dealing with. Nic shook his head and forced his thoughts to the problem at hand. Antonio had been furious on the phone, and Nic had calmed him.
“I’m on my way.”
The manager of one of his charities had taken ill, and when Antonio had been looking at the accounts, he had noticed a significant discrepancy. The trusted manager had been siphoning funds into his own account, and if he hadn’t taken ill, it would have been months before the fraud would have come to light.
And not only that, Antonio told him he’d heard a whisper that the announcement of the new Board member might be decided sooner, and that set Nic’s planning for Gia’s exhibition into overdrive. He switched his phone to hands free and called Ben, his PA, and within an hour, before he had crossed the Ponte alla Carraia to the city, most of the logistics had been decided. Ben was on it and the invitations would go out tonight. First ones to the trustees of the Uffizi. A simple parchment invitation with gold writing…with no hint about Gia or her paintings. Only her name, as an enticement.
Nic Baldini presents Gia Carelli. God, he’d have to make sure she didn’t see any of them until the show was over. Nic knew that his name as the organizer would guarantee attendance by the elite and the critics. Discovering Gia and introducing her to the art world of the city would guarantee his position.
Antonio took a step back and stared at Nic when he pushed open the door of his Florence office. Nic took a deep breath as the familiar thrill ran through him. Narrowing his eyes, he glanced up at the screen in the corner that was always tuned in to the stock market and nodded with satisfaction as the figures flashed across the screen.
Good. The Baldini stocks were performing well. He grinned ruefully. And had continued to do so without me watching constantly.
I haven’t looked at the market for forty-eight hours. Maybe his mother’s idea of there being more to life than work had something to it.
“My God, look at you. I’ll have to go to Tuscany for a holiday. How long have you been there?” Antonio shook his head. “You look like you’re already rested and ready to take the business world by storm.”
“Just a few days.” Nic grinned at his little brother. He wasn’t about to share how amazing those days had been.
“What have you been doing? Found a golf course?”
Nic shook his head. Antonio thought he’d gone there to look at the renovations. “Just…sampling the local delicacies.”
Oh, yes.
“How’s the old place look?”
“Fantastic. The builders did a great job. And you should see the decor.” Nic was pleased Antonio had changed the subject. He wanted to tell him all about Gia, and how wonderful she was, but not yet. “It’ll be ready for the first group of artists to go there in a couple weeks.”
Antonio grinned at him and squeezed his shoulder in a rare show of brotherly affection. “You’re a good man, Nic. Mamma would have been pleased with what you did with your share of her trust fund. She always said you were the benevolent one.”
Nic grinned back at his brother. “Do you remember that time she took us down to that village? I’ve been thinking about it these past few days.”
Antonio frowned and shook his head. “Not sure. She was always taking us on an adventure somewhere. It’s a wonder either of us ever got an education. Which village do you mean?”
“The one where I got my tattoo?” Nic tapped his chest.
“Oh yes, that was the first time I’d ever seen a real gypsy.” Antonio laughed. “I was expecting a caravan in the middle of a field, but she was quite a well-groomed woman in an old villa. She read my palm, too.”
“I never forgot my reading. I don’t know if it was the impetus that gave me the idea for starting up the artist’s retreat, or whether she was a fortune teller who really could predict the future. But she’d said I’d be involved in charities.”
Nic frowned as Antonio stared over his shoulder and muttered. “I hope it was a coincidence, not that I believe in that mumbo jumbo shit, anyway.”
“Why, what did she say to you?”
Antonio shrugged. “She told me that I wouldn’t be happy until I had experienced a tragedy in my life.”
“Pretty crap thing to say to a teenager.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t it let it bother me.”
Nic narrowed his eyes. “Doesn’t look like it.”
“Come on, we’ve got work to do. Unless you’re not going back to the villa? I bet you’ve had enough vacation already, I’d say, knowing you, Mr. Workaholic? Keen to get back to work? Here to stay?”
Nic crossed to the desk. “Oh, I’m going back. I might even extend my ten days if we sort this mess out quickly.”
Antonio’s brow wrinkled as he picked up the file from the desk. “I don’t believe it. Knowing you, you’re working from the office at the villa.”
Nic simply smiled. He knew he was detail-oriented—and controlling—when it came to his charity work and the marble business, and it blew him away that he hadn’t really given either of them much thought until Antonio had called him. All of his energy had gone into launching Gia. And being in her bed.
Hell, if he didn’t get her out of his head, they’d never sort this mess out this afternoon; he wanted to go back to Castellina.
“Did you get any other calls?” Antonio glanced at him curiously as he pulled up a report on the large computer screen on Nic’s desk, and Nic leaned forward, running his finger down the screen.
“There were some missed calls from our father.” He stopped at a large transaction. “I see what you mean.”
“So, did he tell you he’s coming over to the office?”
“No, I didn’t return his call. I’m on vacation, remember?”
“Jesus, Nic. I don’t know what it is with you and Papa. Can’t you make an effort?”
Nic swung around to face his brother.
“An effort? Why should I? Ever since Mamma died, he’s treated me as though I don’t exist, unless it’s to criticize something I’ve done.”
Antonio stared at him. “You’re too hard on him.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. The only reason he’ll be coming over now is to gloat because one of my projects is in trouble.”
“You know it’s because you are so much like Mamma, don’t you? You have the same eyes and that same way of seeing things. I see the way he looks at you when you are not watching. His grief is still tearing him apart.”
Nic let out a bitter laugh. “Grief? He never even mentions her. He’s moved on.”
Antonio shook his head. “I don’t need a gypsy fortune teller to explain why you work so hard. You’ve been trying to prove yourself to Papa ever since he wouldn’t let you go to the Academy.” He lowered his voice. “And to yourself.”
Nic ignored his brother’s words. “Show me what you’ve found.”
They spent a couple of hours going over the online transactions, and their father arrived just as they were winding up. Being such a high profile company meant the bank would take a call from the Baldinis anytime of the day or night, especially when the call was made by the senior Baldini.
“Nic.” He nodded briefly and then ignored his eldest son as he made the call.
“Have you called the police?” Nic frowned at Antonio as he scanned the transactions. “It’s not a huge amount, but it’s still fraudulent.”
“Do you know Livio’s story?” His father spoke as he helped himself to a coffee from Nic’s coffee maker.
“No, I’ve lost touch with the staff here in Florence since I took over at Carrara. Why?”
“His youngest son has cancer, and he took the money to help with the medical costs.”
Nic lifted his head from the screen and stared at his father. “You’re joking? Why the fuck didn’t he come to us for help?”
“He was scared you’d refuse to help him.”
Nic shook his head in disbelief. “Of course I would’ve helped him out.”
His father stared back at him. “He sees you as a hard businessman. Like everyone does. He wouldn’t even have considered that you would listen.”
Nic slammed his hand down on the desk. “That’s bullshit and you know it.” Hell, he donated millions to children’s hospitals.
“Is it, Nic?” His father’s eyes were fixed on him.
“Maybe I won’t be a part of it soon. I’m thinking of changing direction. I’ll leave it to the two of you to look after the export contracts.”
“And what are you going to do?” His father’s gaze didn’t waver from his. He hadn’t noticed before how deep the wrinkles had become around his father’s eyes.
Antonio stood between them as father and son eyeballed each other. Always the peacemaker. “Like I said before, Nic. You’re a good man. It’s in your nature to help people out. We know that. A lot of people wouldn’t expect that. They just see the businessman who works so hard.”
“Set up an appointment with him next week.”
“And the police?”
Nic waved his hand dismissively. “No, of course not. We won’t press charges.”
He managed to keep the conversation civil before he left, but Antonio’s words stayed in his head. How did Gia see him? Nic frowned as he turned off the freeway heading for Castellina. It was about time he told her who he was. Once he got the show organized he would come clean. Then once he got the position on the board he would decide if he needed Baldini Enterprises. He didn’t need the money. Maybe he didn’t need to be part of the family business. Maybe he didn’t need to be part of the Baldini family, either.
…
Gia woke in the early afternoon to an empty bed. It was Sunday and she didn’t have to work tonight—the one night of the week she had at home. She sat up and pushed her hair back from her face. Slipping from the bed, she put on her old glasses and grimaced when she saw the state of her grandmother’s lace pillowcases. The once-white lace was smeared with blue and yellow paint. She grabbed the white silk robe that always hung over the bedpost. There was no sign of Nic in the studio, but the painting he had worked on was still there. Gia smiled; he was getting to know her well. A note was stuck to the side of the easel. Nic must have known this was the first place she would go to.
Back this afternoon. Call me when you wake up, Sleeping Beauty. I have a show to organize.
His writing, and the cell number which followed the message, were written in a beautiful scrolling script just like the tattoo on his chest. Gia drew a quick breath as she remembered how he had painted the same word on her breasts last night. She looked down; it was still there.
Moving her eyes back to the easel, she took a step back and let out a soft gasp as she looked at the picture in front of her. Mauve moonlight bathed her courtyard in a wash of gentle color, and she sat on a chair beside a garden. Nic had painted her face in shadow with no expression apparent. Her body was relaxed, and he had clothed her in a white peasant dress, innocent, yet sexy, as it dropped off her shoulder. He had painted her skin glowing in the moonlight. It was a gorgeous country scene. Serene, peaceful, and beautiful. It was full of him… His calm nature spoke to her from the canvas. His style was very different from hers, soft colors, where hers were harsh and strident, precise and considered strokes where hers were bold. It was a controlled creation. She grinned, very much like his character. But he is good…very, very good.
Looking at his work was like looking at Nic. Sensual, instinctive, and romantic. Hell, never in her life had she ever met anyone like him. He wore the independence she so desperately sought like a second skin. He was confident and knew what he wanted, and went for it. He was a planner and every part of his life seemed to be under control. How good would that be?
To seek adventure and excitement away from home, her own dreams could be fulfilled if Nic’s offer to help her with an exhibition came to fruition. It was testament to his generous nature, and Gia sensed that was a big part of who he was. Maybe it was wishful thinking that she was seeing it in his painting as well. But Nic was straight—what you saw was real; she had no doubt of that. She had trusted him enough to let her guard down and be herself. She would miss him when he went back to the city.
Gia was thoughtful as she headed for the shower. She paused in front of the mirror where Nic had held her last night. Slowly she traced the fingers over the reversed letters before letting out a soft sigh and stepping into the shower. There was work to be done if she was going to have an exhibition. She closed her eyes and smiled as the warm water soaked her.
After Gia had showered and stripped the paint-stained bed, she called Nic, but he didn’t pick up. A little disappointed, she ignored the little tug of doubt that ran through her and turned back to the painting she’d been working on last night. If he hadn’t wanted her to call him, he wouldn’t have left his cell number. Soon, she forgot about everything else and was immersed in her world of color.
Hunger stirred her hours later, and she broke from her work as the light began to fade. She crossed the room and pulled the old-fashioned cord. As the room was bathed in bright light, she stood and cast a critical eye around. Nic seemed certain that it was a suitable venue for a show, but she wasn’t sure. The few times she’d been to exhibitions in galleries in Florence, the setting had been slick and sophisticated. Not a room with crooked stone walls and poor light…and faulty plumbing. She could just imagine some of the art aficionados she had observed in Florence looking for the ladies room. Uncertainty flooded her.
No. Gia shook her head with a frown. It just wouldn’t work. Nic’s enthusiasm had sucked her in and she hadn’t thought it through. Her life would go back to normal after his vacation; she would just enjoy being with him while he was here. He said he had an apartment in Florence; maybe they could stay in touch when he went back to work? His offer to help her out and have a show didn’t take into account the difficulties of holding it.
They’d signed no agreement, so she could change her mind. Now that she was away from his enthusiasm—and he had to admit, his decision making—she was having second thoughts. They would talk when he came back.
She shrugged off her worry and opened the pantry in her small kitchen. It was almost bare; there’d been no time to restock. When she thought of shopping, it wa
s usually the middle of the night and the local store was closed. And as she’d told Nic, she hated cooking.
Oh well, Papa will be pleased. She was going to have to wander down the hill for dinner. She tried Nic’s phone a couple more times, but he didn’t pick up. No voicemail, which was strange. Gia shrugged as she changed into warmer clothes to walk down to Giannino’s. He’d turn up when he was good and ready. She wouldn’t stress, but she couldn’t resist trying one more time as she pulled the door shut behind her.
“Nic Ba—” His deep voice answered on the first ring, but Gia sensed that Nic cut off the rest of his greeting. For a moment, she even thought the call had been disconnected.
“Nic?”
“Gia…sorry I had to pull over.”
“Where are you?”
Nic’s voice faded in and out; it wasn’t a good connection. “I had to take a trip to Florence… had a call…on the way back now.”
“I tried to call you earlier.” For some reason, she needed him to know that she missed him, and then she was cross with herself for being so transparent.
“I’m on my way back now. Are you working tonight?”
“No. But I was just about to head down to the restaurant for dinner.” A storm was sweeping up the valley; the tops of the hills were wreathed in mist. She would have to go back inside for her umbrella.
“Can you wait half an hour for me? How about I take you somewhere different?”
Happiness filled her. She hadn’t been game to admit to herself that deep down she had wondered if Nic would come back or not. “Yes. I’ll wait at my cottage.”
Gia disconnected and gave into vanity. She ran into her bedroom and tugged off the old jeans and paint-stained shirt she had been going to wear to the family restaurant, threw off the old black glasses, and dug out the new pretty ones. Eating in the kitchen at Giannino’s didn’t require dress clothes, even though it would have gotten a frown from Gabriel. She stood in front of her meager wardrobe, flicking through old shirts and baggy skirts. Over the past few months her clothes had become looser. She’d worked harder than ever to save enough money to move to Florence. Gia knew she didn’t eat properly, but the last thing she felt like doing was eating at the end of a long shift. Running around the restaurant, up and down the stairs, and through the courtyard kept her fit.