Summer Romance with the Italian Tycoon

by Jessica Gilmore

  Maddie tilted her chin defiantly. ‘Of course I’d be glad to show you around. If you’d like to follow me?’

  Maddie’s job revolved in and around the courtyard. The top two storeys of the old stables which made up two sides of the rectangle had been converted into guest accommodation, comfortably housing around sixty guests in comfortable en-suite bedrooms. The ground floor of one block was fitted out with a sitting room, a library and a games room, whilst the other block was home to the large dining room serving breakfasts and dinners throughout the week, as well as a drying room for walking boots or skis for the more adventurous wedding guests.

  The oldest part of the castle made up the third side of the quad. The medieval hall was often used for the wedding ceremony and reception, although in summer some guests preferred to hold the wedding al fresco. That was just one of the innovations Maddie had brought in when she had been appointed.

  Now she had to impress the Conte with the rest. Let him mock. Bookings were up and referrals at an all-time high. Her record spoke for itself.

  Maddie led the way into the grey flagstone entrance hall which linked the two stable blocks and paused by the comfortable leather sofas, cushions plumped up perfectly to welcome weary revellers. A coffee table between them was heaped with crisp new magazines and literature detailing walks and day trips. The sideboard held jugs of fresh mountain flowers and a chalkboard was propped against the wall opposite, the names ‘Tom and Nicky’ written in a swirly script, ready to welcome the next happy couple.

  ‘Although the castello is very beautiful, and architecturally sound, bookings were a little more intermittent than I would have expected,’ she explained, proud of how firm her voice was. But why shouldn’t it be? She had this.

  ‘This is why I wanted a dedicated wedding planner,’ Guido said. ‘We got many enquiries, but only a few converted into bookings. We are so remote here, and the winters can be harsh, so our summers were busy but the rest of the year not so much.’

  ‘It’s just a case of turning those perceived negatives into positives,’ Maddie said. ‘Positioning the castle as a winter wonderland through the colder months, making the isolation a strength by ensuring everything they could possibly need is right here, although we can organise trips to Garda or Verona or Milan. We organise airport pick-ups, help brides and their guests with travel itineraries either side of their stay with us.’

  She opened the door that led into the dining room. The wooden tables were set out café-style, each with small jugs of fresh flowers in the centre. ‘There is always coffee on the go in here, along with iced water, but guests can order any other drinks they need from the kitchens. Depending on the arrangements we have with the bride and groom, this might be free, or the guests might have individual tabs. We usually have some kind of cake or biscuits and bowls of fresh fruit available all day as well. Breakfast is always served as a buffet, dinner too unless the couple pay more for a more formal serving.’

  Maddie was aware of the Conte’s gaze, fixed firmly on her as she talked, but she blocked it out, determined that by the time her tour was concluded that sardonic gleam would turn to interest and the only expression on his admittedly handsome face would be approval.

  * * *

  Dante had to admit that the English girl had done wonders. The last time he had seen these rooms they had been furnished formally, antiques from the castle forming the bulk of the furniture, ancient mountain views and various ancestors framed in thick gilt decorating the walls. It had all been stripped away, plain white walls now livened with colourful abstract prints, and rooms filled with comfortable-looking brown leather sofas and chairs, heaped with bright throws and cushions. Shelving had been erected in both rooms, filled with books and board games. It looked clean, comfortable and homely, despite the size of the rooms.

  The same magic had been wrought upstairs. The bedrooms were also freshly painted in white, the wooden beds made up with white linen and cheerful silk cushions and throws, with matching rugs on the polished floorboards. ‘Sometimes a bride and groom like to decorate to a theme, so we’ve kept the accommodation neutral in case we need to dress the rooms up to match,’ Maddie explained. ‘There are still some of the castle antiques around—that huge vase, for example, but they’re accents now, not overshadowing the whole. What we haven’t stinted on is quality. All the toiletries, the linens, the chocolates are locally sourced. We want the stables to feel more like a high-end hotel, not like a hostel. All the rooms are Austrian twins so we can make them up as twins or doubles, depending on what we’re asked to do.’

  ‘It’s very impressive,’ Dante admitted as they reached the final room on that corridor, a sunlit room with cheerful yellow and orange hints. It was, and he especially liked how Maddie had managed to ensure that no two rooms felt the same, her judicious use of pictures and ornaments giving each one its own identity. ‘But new sofas, new beds, new linen—it can’t have been cheap.’

  Not that he couldn’t afford it, but the wedding lets were just a tiny part of his business concerns. The Falcone fortune came from agriculture, from shipping, from olives and wine. He was glad the castle was more than a glorified summer residence, glad to provide legitimate employment for those villagers who needed it, but he wasn’t running a charity and the Castello Falcone needed to pay its way.

  ‘It wasn’t. But I believe the results speak for themselves. We’re already fully booked for next year and a third of the year after, and we managed to fill every spare week this year from April onwards.’ Maddie met his eyes with a cool gaze of her own, but Dante could see a swirl of uncertainty behind the grey depths.

  ‘Impressive,’ he said softly and watched, fascinated, as the uncertainty dissolved, her eyes lightening to silver, her diffidence disappearing until she was glowing with achievement and pride—deservedly so.

  The air stilled, thickened as their gazes locked. Guido and Toni, his accountant, had returned downstairs to look at something that needed replacing, leaving Dante alone with his new event planner. And suddenly that felt like a dangerous place to be.

  This was his home, his workplace—and more importantly his daughter was arriving in two days. There was no time for a discreet affair, even if Maddie was interested.

  No, better not to think about an interested Maddie, not with the two of them alone, with her eyes still fixed on his, her lips parted. Not with the memory of how she had watched him across the lake still crystal-clear in his mind.

  ‘I think that’s everything,’ she said a little huskily, colour mounting in her cheeks as she practically marched out of the bedroom and headed towards the stairs. ‘I’m sure Guido has already talked you through the strategy we put together.’

  ‘Have you also made changes to the master bedroom suite?’ Dante stayed as still a predator as Maddie stopped, one hand on the top of the stair rail.

  ‘A few.’

  ‘Show me.’

  Her eyes flashed at the order, but she didn’t speak, just nodded her head slightly before descending the narrow staircase. Dante followed, trying not to watch the sway of her hips, the way her hair moved as she walked. If he had any sense he would allow Madeleine Fitzroy to get on with her evening and check out the honeymoon suite by himself. After another dip in the freezing lake.

  Not that he had any interest in spending more time with Maddie. This was business, plain and simple. If she had made changes it made sense that she was the one to explain her rationale to him. His decision was completely unconnected to the knowledge that ever since he had seen her across the lake staring at him with such unabashed curiosity something dormant had woken inside him, running insistently through his blood. Not because describing his fake relationship to his sister had made him aware of just how cold his life really was.

  Intentionally cold, but when loneliness bit it did so with sharp intent.

  It only took a few moments to cross the courtyard to the big, arch
ed wooden door studded with iron which led into the oldest part of the castle. The wing where the staff quarters and offices were sat at a right angle to the ancient hall, with the more modern parts of the castle—a mere five hundred years old—complete with the famed turrets and terraces, faced the lake beyond that.

  ‘I changed nothing in here,’ Maddie said quietly as she preceded Dante into the vast room. ‘It’s perfect as it is.’

  It was, with its arched ceiling criss-crossed with beams, the stone floor and the leaded stained-glass windows shadowing the floor in colour. A dais stood at one end filled with flowers. Chairs were already laid out in neat rows, each one dressed in white linen, more flowers punctuating the end of each row on tall plinths.

  ‘Tomorrow’s couple are getting married the day after they arrive, so we’re all set up and ready,’ she said.

  Dante watched her as she stopped and surveyed the room, her sharp gaze sweeping every corner, making sure nothing was missed, pulling a notebook out of her bag and scribbling a few words. It was like watching a dance, or listening to finely read poetry, she was so in tune with her surroundings, oblivious to her companion as she wrote, paced a few steps, frowned and wrote again. Dante wasn’t used to being forgotten, especially by women. It was a novel sensation—and it brought out a deeply buried, animal wish to make her notice him, the way a bird must feel as he preened to attract a mate.

  He pulled out his phone and began to scroll through his messages, ruthlessly clamping down on any animal instincts.

  ‘Sorry, I just noticed a couple of things.’ Maddie put the notebook back in her bag and gestured towards the spiral staircase at the end of the hall. ‘Shall we?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The staircase led directly into the honeymoon suite. Last time Dante had set foot in it, it had been a dark, richly decorated suite of rooms, little light able to penetrate the stone walls through the window slits. Ancient tapestries had hung on the walls, the flagstones covered with antique rugs, and dark, heavy furniture had dominated the space. It had felt baronial, grand and imposing—more like the lair of a medieval seducer than a romantic getaway.

  He stopped as he reached the top of the room and swivelled, unable to believe his eyes. How could this be the same space? ‘Where have the walls gone?’ he managed to say eventually.

  ‘They weren’t original, don’t worry. In fact they weren’t even Renaissance like the rest of the castle, but a nineteenth-century addition, according to the architect I consulted,’ Maddie said hurriedly, her gaze fixed anxiously on him. ‘What do you think?’

  The apartment was now one huge room, much lighter thanks to the clever use of mirrors picking up the faint light and reflecting it back into the room. The same imposing four-poster—a bed that legend had it Dante’s great-grandfather times several greats had used to seduce women away from their husbands, until he had foolishly turned his wandering eye on a Borgia wife—was still in situ, but, placed at one end of the room and heaped with cushions, it looked inviting rather than intimidating. The matching wardrobe and chest of drawers also looked more fitting, now they no longer dominated the space.

  The fireplace had been opened out and was, despite the summer’s day, filled with logs ready to be lit. A comfortable chaise, loveseat and sofa were grouped around it. A small dining table, already laid for two, sat on one side of the room, low bookshelves lay opposite it and thick rugs covered the cold stone floor.

  Dante stood stock still, taking it all in. How could such a dark, stately space feel so welcoming just because a couple of walls had been removed?

  It wasn’t just the walls though. It was the mirrors, it was the choice of painting, the cream rugs with the hint of gold, the dainty china on the table, the...hang on, the what?

  ‘Why is the bathtub in the middle of the room?’ Dante blinked again, but sure enough it was still there. Mounted on a tiled dais, the antique cast-iron bath that had used to reside in the bathroom now sat slap bang in the middle of the room. A freestanding wooden towel rail stood on one side; a slender console table on the other held candles and bath oils.

  ‘We turned the bathroom into a wet room.’ Maddie glanced at him, long eyelashes shielding her expression. ‘Guido offered to email you the plans, but you said you trusted us to do the details.’

  ‘Si.’ Dante was still transfixed by the bathtub. Noting how it was in every possible eye line. How a man could lie in bed and watch his bride bathe, the candlelight casting a warm glow over her skin. ‘And this is the kind of detail you like? The idea of watching someone bathe?’

  ‘I...’ She stopped.

  Dante waited, lounging against the wall, eyes fixed on her as intently as hers had been fixed on him.

  ‘Many luxury rooms have the bath in the main space.’ Maddie turned away, but Dante had already spotted the red on her cheeks, on her neck. ‘It’s nothing new.’

  ‘I’m quite aware of that,’ Dante said silkily. ‘It can definitely add a certain intimacy to an evening.’ He deliberately took his time over the word ‘intimacy’, drawing out every letter as he spoke. ‘That’s not what I asked, Madeleine. I asked if you like to watch people bathe.’

  ‘I...’ she began again, then paused, before turning and determinedly fixing her gaze on his, head high, as proud as a young goddess. ‘I owe you an apology. I intruded on a private moment earlier today and I...’ She paused again, her eyes darkening. Dante watched, fascinated.

  ‘No, actually I don’t apologise,’ she said, head even higher. ‘You were bathing on a public beach—anyone could have seen you. If anyone should apologise, you should for trying to embarrass me.’

  Dante stayed stock still, torn between amusement at her indignation—and shame. She was right; he was trying to embarrass her. Why? Because of the thrill that had shot through him when he noticed her watching him, had realised how enthralled she was, how safe it had been to retaliate, to look back with a lake between them?

  He was her employer, had power over her. It was beneath him to indulge in these kinds of games.

  ‘Mi scusa, you are right. It was wrong of me. It won’t happen again. Thank you for your tour, signorina; enjoy your evening.’ With a nod of his head Dante turned and left, vowing as he did so to keep every interaction with Madeleine Fitzroy professional and brief. They might be sharing the castello for the rest of the summer, but it was a big space. There was really no need for them to interact at all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  DANTE LOOKED OUT of the window. The lake was calm, the sun reflecting off it in myriad dancing sparkles, the mountains rising behind in a majestic semicircle. His chest tightened with the all too familiar mixture of longing and loathing. Once the castello had been his home, the place he loved more than any other. Now it was a constant reminder of his marriage. His greatest failure.

  He resolutely turned back to his computer screen, but as he did so his gaze fell on the framed photo on his desk; a black and white portrait of a young woman cradling a baby. Violetta with a newly born Arianna.

  If Dante had had his way all pictures of Violetta would have been destroyed the day after her funeral, but he knew that their daughter needed to grow up seeing her mother around her house, to know her face, to hear her name spoken. So he had gritted his teeth and kept Violetta’s photos and portraits on walls and desks in Rome and here in the castello—and if he felt the bitterness of guilt and self-loathing each time he saw her face then wasn’t it simply what he deserved?

  He couldn’t regret a marriage which had brought him his daughter, but he could excoriate himself for being the kind of fool to fall for a beautiful face and to project his own hopes and dreams into the woman who wore it. If he’d been older, wiser, had actually bothered to look behind the mask, then he would have seen that all Violetta wanted was the title and the castello—and the second of those had palled soon enough. She was bored, he worked too hard, was away too much. He thought
motherhood might soothe and focus her. He’d been tragically wrong.

  Wrong and blind. Too caught up in his own narrative. He’d never make that mistake again. How could he trust himself when love had proved nothing but a lie? Violetta had loved the title. He had loved a façade.

  The tragedy was he had really fallen hard for that façade. Loved it truly and sincerely. Part of him mourned it still.

  ‘Al diavolo,’ he muttered. It was a beautiful summer’s day; somewhere in the castello grounds his daughter was playing. Work could wait, especially on a weekend. He’d learned that lesson at last. But as he pushed his chair back his computer flashed up a video-call alert. Dante hovered, uncertainly, before lowering himself reluctantly into his seat and pressing ‘accept’. Only a few people had his details. It must be important.

  ‘Ciao!’

  Dante leaned back as the screen filled with his sister’s beaming face. Luciana was ageless, five years older than him, mother of three, but no wrinkles marred her olive skin, her hair as dark and lustrous as it had ever been. Only her eyes, he noted, seemed dull with fatigue, her smile maybe a little more forced than usual. ‘Twice in one week. To what do I owe the pleasure?’

  ‘Is that any way to greet your only sister?’ Luciana asked, not giving him time to answer. ‘Where’s my niece? Did she arrive safely?’

  ‘She’s out playing and yes, she’s already familiarised herself with every corner, just like we used to do.’ Luciana and Dante had been heartbroken when their parents moved from the castle to the austere townhouse in Milan when Luciana hit her teens. Dante had sworn then that when he was the Conte he would never live anywhere else.

  For four years he hadn’t. He’d thought they were happy years. Had he been wilfully blind or simply ignorant?

  ‘And? How are things with your mystery girlfriend?’ Luciana’s gaze sharpened. ‘Did you tell me her name?’