The Forbidden Ferrara

by Sarah Morgan

  ‘I was cranky, irritable and generally horrid,’ she mumbled and he gave a wicked smile as he smoothed her tangled hair back from her face.

  ‘Fortunately you weren’t any of those things last night.’

  Fia turned scarlet. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘Normally I will do the early shift, and that is another benefit to our marriage. We can share the load. But today we are going to have a family breakfast.’

  He was listing benefits, she thought numbly, as if he had to constantly remind himself of all the reasons this marriage was a good idea. She’d never thought of herself as romantic, but she was starting to realise she was nowhere near as practical as she would have liked to be. She would have given a lot for him to have just said he was glad he married her because he liked being with her.

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Breakfast first, and then I have one short meeting I can’t get out of. After that we are going shopping.’ Showered, shaved and dressed in a suit, he looked so indecently sexy that Fia immediately wanted to grab him and haul him back into the bed.

  ‘I have lunchtime service.’

  ‘Not today. I’ve rearranged your schedule. Don’t be angry with me.’ Anticipating her response, he dived in first. ‘Normally I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your business, but today is about us. I really want to spend time with you.’

  No, he didn’t want to. He thought he ought to. Not because he found her company addictive, but because he wanted to invest time in his marriage for Luca’s sake.

  That was item number four on his agenda. Spend quality daylight time with Fia.

  Resigned to going along with that strategy, Fia forced herself out of bed. ‘I need to take a shower.’

  ‘No!’ He moved away from her so fast he almost stumbled.

  Fia stared at him in confusion. ‘I can’t take a shower?’

  ‘Yes, you can take a shower,’ he hissed through gritted teeth, ‘but I’m not going to take one with you.’ He retreated to the doorway. ‘I promised myself that today is going to be spent out of the bedroom.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Meet us downstairs when you’re dressed.’ He fumbled behind him for the door handle. ‘I’ll make you coffee. You take it white. I know that about you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She probably should have been touched that he was trying so hard but instead it just depressed her to think he had to make such an effort. A relationship should be a natural thing, shouldn’t it?

  By the time she joined them on the terrace, Santo had removed his jacket and was engaged in conversation with his son. Warmth spread through her as it always did when she saw the two of them together.

  ‘Mamma!’ Luca’s face brightened and Santo rose to his feet and pulled out her chair.

  ‘Mamma is joining us for breakfast so we must both be on our best behaviour.’

  Fia kissed Luca and lifted her eyebrows as she saw the traditional Sicilian breakfast of brioche and granita. ‘You made this?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ A rueful smile crossed Santo’s handsome face as he sat back down. ‘I ordered breakfast from the Beach Club. I want your opinion. We’re losing business to you. You’re going to tell me why. Is it the food? Is it the surroundings? I want to know what we’re doing wrong.’

  Fia sat down. ‘I don’t know anything about running a hotel so I’ll be no help to you at all.’

  ‘But you know a great deal about food.’ He passed her a plate. ‘And given that my customers would rather eat yours than mine, I assume you’re in a position to have an opinion on that. I brought the menus down for you to look at.’

  Fia took the menus from him and scanned them, wondering how honest she was supposed to be. ‘Your menu is too broad.’

  ‘Scusi?’ Santo’s eyes narrowed. ‘You are suggesting we don’t offer a choice? But choice is good. It means we can cater to a wide range of tastes.’

  ‘You asked for my opinion. If you don’t want it, don’t ask.’

  He breathed deeply. ‘Mi dispiace. Carry on. You were saying—?’

  ‘It’s good to have a choice, but you don’t want to offer so many things that people don’t know what cuisine you’re serving. This is Sicily. Serve Sicilian food and be proud of it. In the Beach Shack we rely totally on local seasonal produce. If it’s not in season, we don’t cook it. We buy our fish fresh from the boat in the morning so we don’t even choose the evening menu until we’ve seen what is fresh.’ She reached across and took an orange from the bowl on the table. The skin was dappled dark red and purple and she picked up her knife and peeled it deftly, exposing the scarlet flesh. ‘It is the temperature variation that makes these blood oranges the best in the world. That and the soil, which is perfect for growth. Our customers can see them growing next to the restaurant. We pick them fresh and juice them and I guarantee that when our guests return home they will want to buy blood oranges, but they won’t be able to find anything that tastes like this.’

  ‘So you’re saying fresh and local. I understand that. But we are catering for larger numbers than you, so that degree of flexibility isn’t always possible.’

  ‘It should be. And what I don’t grow, I outsource from local producers. I’ll talk to my suppliers. See if they can cope with a larger order.’

  Santo poured coffee. ‘I want you to look over the menu properly and make suggestions.’

  ‘Isn’t that going to hurt the feelings of your head chef?’ Fia handed Luca a segment to suck.

  ‘My concern is not the feelings of my head chef but the success of the business which, ultimately, is in everyone’s best interests. At the moment most of our guests prefer to eat with you.’ He handed her coffee. ‘Congratulations. You’ve just been appointed as Executive Head Chef, overseeing both the Beach Shack and the Beach Club.’

  Fia gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘You’re a very surprising person, do you know that? All macho one minute and surprisingly forward-thinking the next. When you first mentioned marriage I assumed you were going to insist I gave up work and stayed at home.’

  ‘Do you want to stay at home?’

  Fia picked up a napkin and wiped the sticky juice from Luca’s fingers. ‘I love being with him, but I enjoy my work, too. I like the flexibility of the life I have and I’m proud of the fact I can support my son without financial help from anyone. But I wouldn’t want to work if it meant I couldn’t see him. This is a perfect compromise and I admit it’s nice to have your chef helping out. I like him.’

  ‘Now you are working with me, which means you can take off as little or as much time as you like. But not until you’ve told me how to improve the restaurants. Try the food.’

  Fia tore a piece of the warm, buttery brioche, automatically studying the texture. ‘I thought you’d be very traditional about a woman’s role.’

  ‘I think we have already established that we don’t know enough about each other,’ he said softly, ‘but that is slowly changing. Now tell me what you think of the brioche.’

  ‘It’s good. A little greasy, perhaps.’ She nibbled the corner, testing the flavour, and felt a glow of satisfaction because she knew hers was infinitely superior. And it should be. She’d worked herself to the ground perfecting the recipe. She kneaded and baked and tested until she was satisfied that it couldn’t get any better. ‘As we’re married and I have a vested interest in your success, I’ll share my secret recipe with your chef.’

  Aware that he was watching her, she picked up her spoon and tasted the granita from the tall glass. ‘Elegant presentation.’ She made a mental note to review the way she served hers in the restaurant. ‘It’s difficult to make the perfect granita.’

  ‘It’s just water, sugar and, in this case, coffee.’

  ‘The Arabs first introduced it when they flavoured snow from Mount Etna with sugar syrup and jasmine water.’ She took another spoonful. ‘But if it isn’t frozen to the right consistency then it tastes all wrong.’

  ‘And does this taste wrong?’

  ‘It’s not
bad—’ This time she scooped granita up with the brioche and tasted both together. ‘I’ve had worse.’

  He winced. ‘That is not the accolade I was hoping for. So when and where did you learn to cook?’

  She put the spoon down slowly. ‘I taught myself. When my mother left, I was surrounded by men who expected me to cook for them. Fortunately I loved it. I made lots of mistakes and plenty of food ended up in the bin, but after a while I started to get a lot of things right and when they turned out right I wrote them down. Why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘You had no formal training?’

  ‘Of course not. When would I have had formal training?’ She poured milk into Luca’s cup. ‘I would have loved to go to college, to travel and spend some time with other chefs, but that was never an option.’

  He gave an incredulous laugh. ‘The chef who made that brioche trained at two of the best restaurants in Italy.’

  ‘He probably hasn’t made as many bad batches of brioche as I have. It’s about experimenting. And it isn’t all about training. Sometimes it’s about the quality of the raw ingredients and giving the customer what they want.’

  ‘And what do you think my customers want?’

  ‘I only know about my own.’

  ‘Given that a high percentage of your customers come from my hotel, they’re one and the same thing,’ he drawled. ‘I’m surprised your grandfather let you run the restaurant. Cooking for him is one thing, but running a business is another. He is very traditional.’

  She wished he’d remove his sunglasses. With those dark shades obscuring his eyes she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. ‘My grandmother always had a few tables on the water’s edge. Nothing fancy, but the food was always fresh and local. I suppose because she cooked for others, he was more accepting of me doing the same thing. But he does complain. He thinks I’ve turned it into something fancy.’

  ‘You have had a very difficult life,’ he said quietly. ‘Losing both your parents and then your brother … and yet you’ve managed to hold it all together. Not just hold it together, but you have a thriving business, a happy child and a more mellow grandfather. You didn’t repeat the pattern you saw, you created your own pattern.’

  ‘The way you live your life is a choice,’ Fia said. ‘I chose to copy your family, not mine.’

  ‘And you did that without any support. I want you to know that I do have enormous respect for what you have achieved. And I owe you an enormous apology for being so hard on you when I found out about Luca.’

  ‘You don’t have to apologise,’ she muttered. ‘I understand. You’re very, very focused on family. I’ve never really had that so we sort of came at the whole thing from a different place.’

  His dark eyes raked her face. ‘Yes. I think we did. But we’re in the same place now and that is the way it’s staying.’ He stood up abruptly. ‘I have a meeting that will last about an hour. Then I’ve asked Gina to take Luca so that we can have some time alone.’

  Alone sounded terrifying to Fia. Alone meant concentrating really hard on not showing him how she felt. Respect, she could take, especially from a man like Santo who didn’t give it readily. Pity didn’t interest her.

  ‘Why don’t we take Luca with us? Make it a family day out?’

  Santo paused in the process of putting on his jacket. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of something more romantic.’

  ‘Romantic?’ She managed a light-hearted laugh. ‘Really, you don’t need to do that. I appreciate the thought but it isn’t necessary.’

  ‘It is necessary. Apart from your wedding dress, I haven’t bought you a single thing since we got together. You’re my wife. You deserve the best.’

  Oh, God, she was an embarrassment to him.

  Why hadn’t that occurred to her before?

  She was married to Santo Ferrara and she was dressing the same way she’d always dressed. Mortified that he’d had to broach the topic in such a way, she caved in and nodded quickly.

  ‘Yes, of course. Let’s go shopping. Whatever you think.’

  ‘Finish your breakfast. I’ll pick you up in an hour. It’s important that we spend time alone together. And you—’ he bent to kiss Luca’s dark hair ‘—are having a day with Gina. Be good.’

  With a final glance at Fia, he strode off the terrace towards the hotel, leaving her staring after him in despair.

  ‘He wants to spend the day with me because he thinks he ought to. And he’s going to buy me clothes so that I look right and don’t embarrass him in public. Your Auntie Dani has already told me he hates shopping so the fact that he’s determined to take me must mean I’m not just a bit embarrassing but extra embarrassing.’ Fia handed Luca another piece of brioche. ‘Name one good thing about our relationship apart from you. Go one. Just one.’

  ‘Sex,’ Luca chortled helpfully and Fia gave a moan of despair and dropped her head into her hands.

  ‘You look stunning in that.’ Expending every effort to please her, Santo layered on the compliments but the more he praised, the more withdrawn she became. Having never before known a female to treat an extravagant shopping expedition with so little enthusiasm, he racked his brain to work out what he was doing wrong.

  Was she disappointed that they’d left Luca at home?

  ‘You like this?’ She stared listlessly at her reflection in the mirror. Truthfully Santo liked her best in nothing at all, but he assumed that to admit that would be unlikely to improve her mood so he dutifully studied the blue silk dress and nodded.

  ‘The colour suits you. Let’s add it to the pile.’

  She disappeared into the changing room to take it off and then re-emerged clutching the blue dress.

  Santo took it from her and handed it to the sales assistant along with his card. ‘That dress will be perfect for our family party.’

  ‘What family party?’

  ‘It’s Chiara’s birthday party in a couple of weeks. Ferrara family gathering. Cristiano adores his girls—and that includes Laurel—so you can be sure a big fuss will be made.’ Santo picked up the bags in one hand and led her back to the Lamborghini. ‘I thought I’d mentioned it.’

  ‘No. No, you didn’t.’ She stopped dead just outside the store and Santo had to clamp her against him to prevent her from being flattened by a group of overeager shoppers.

  Instead of pulling away, she stayed still in the circle of his arm, her head resting against his chest.

  He frowned.

  There was something intensely vulnerable about the gesture and he felt a flicker of concern.

  It was the first time they’d touched like this, he realised, and he felt another flash of guilt at the way he’d treated her. He’d rushed her into marriage without giving any thought to her feelings. All he’d thought about was his son’s welfare. Not once had he thought about hers.

  The scent of her hair wound itself around his senses. The curve of her breast brushed against his arm. Fire shot through his body but he ignored it and forced himself to deliver a chaste kiss to the top of her head.

  From now on he was going to focus on her, he vowed. ‘You’ll enjoy the party. It’s a chance for everyone to get together.’ Gently, Santo eased her away from him and brushed her hair back from her face so that he could look at her. ‘My family always makes an enormous fuss about birthdays. Chiara will be six. Brace yourself for balloons and an indecent quantity of cake.’ Still holding her hand, he threw the bags into the back of the car. ‘The party is in their home in Taormina so we’ll fly there because there is no way I’m negotiating Friday night traffic.’

  ‘We’re staying with Laurel and Cristiano?’

  ‘Is that a problem?’ He opened the door for her, trying not to focus on her legs as she slid into the passenger seat. ‘Your grandfather seems to have made a good recovery and we still have a nurse there at night. If you’re worried about the day, I can arrange something.’

  ‘I’m not worried. Gina will be around.’

  But Santo coul
d tell she was lying and he searched for the cause. ‘Are you finding the whole Ferrara family thing overwhelming?’

  ‘No. I think you’re all very lucky. You have a wonderful family.’ She spoke as if she wasn’t part of that and Santo breathed deeply as she fastened her seat belt without looking at him.

  ‘Fia—’

  Horns blared, interrupting his attempt to question her further, and he scowled and paced around to his side of the car. ‘Dani and her brood will be there, too. And Laurel, of course. She’s looking forward to getting to know you better. But she’ll really appreciate us coming. It helps Chiara. She’s only been with them a year.’

  ‘A year?’

  ‘Chiara is adopted. And don’t ask me to tell you her history because it makes me want to punch a hole through something.’ Santo started the engine and pulled into the fast moving traffic, driving as only a Sicilian could. ‘When she first came to live with them she wasn’t really used to people. She certainly wasn’t used to people being kind to her. They were very patient, but it was little Elena who broke through that wall she’d built. Try telling a two-year-old that her new big sister just wants to be left alone—it doesn’t work. And now they’re the best of friends, as siblings should be.’ He spoke without thinking and then saw a flicker of something in her eyes and cursed himself. Here he was, talking about siblings, and her brother was dead. ‘Mi dispiace. Cristo, I’m truly sorry, Fia.’ He reached across and curled his fingers over hers. ‘That was unbelievably insensitive of me. Forgive me.’

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive. I didn’t have that sort of relationship with my brother and there is no sense in pretending that I did. My family is nothing like yours. And I don’t want you to feel you have to tread carefully around the topic.’

  Without releasing her hand, Santo took a sharp right turn and pulled into a narrow street. His fingers tightened on hers. ‘My family is your family, tesoro. You are a Ferrara now.’