Summer Romance with the Italian Tycoon

by Jessica Gilmore

  ‘A meeting sounds delightful.’ Maddie’s eyes narrowed at the amusement in the Conte’s voice. ‘But maybe a little formal in light of the situation? Let me take you out for dinner somewhere away from here and we can talk properly there. Where do you prefer? Riva? Milan? We could even make it to Verona for the evening if we leave soon. Or do you prefer the mountain restaurants? The trattoria in the next valley is very good, but we are more likely to be recognised there. We could go a few valleys over; have you been to the Russo Leone? It used to be very good and it’s a little more discreet.’

  ‘I haven’t been to any of those places. I actually haven’t left San Tomo yet...’ Maddie’s voice trailed off as Dante fixed her with an incredulous expression.

  ‘Scuzi?’

  ‘The food at the castello is so good, I usually eat here, or cook for myself. Occasionally I go out to the ristorante in the village. I just haven’t had a chance to explore further afield.’

  ‘But you’ve been here for, what, nine months?’

  ‘Ten.’

  ‘But what do you do on your days off?’

  She cringed a little inside at the shock in his voice. ‘I don’t really have days off.’

  Dante stared at Maddie, but she couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘We overwork you so much?’

  ‘No, no, I just like to make sure everything is okay. I may have a slight tendency to control-freakery.’

  ‘A slight tendency?’

  She scowled. ‘Okay. I am a complete control freak, but that’s what these brides need. Someone here all the time so every niggle is smoothed out straight away. They expect me to be on call twenty-four hours a day while they are here...’

  ‘And on the two days in between?’

  ‘The next bride usually needs a lot of reassurance in the forty-eight hours leading up to her wedding,’ she said defensively. ‘I’m not in the office all the time. I go for walks. Read a book...’

  ‘Madeleine, why are you here?’

  ‘I told you. To save up, to get away...’

  ‘You came to Italy for that, but surely you could have saved more and quicker if you’d stayed at home.’

  Of course she could have. Dante paid her well—but she had elected not to live in the castle and even with her frugal, hard-working lifestyle that made it harder to save enough to start her travels. The overtime and plane ticket she had agreed with Dante would be a welcome addition to her savings. Maddie lifted her chin and finally met his keen gaze. ‘I needed to get away, to be somewhere new, to be someone different.’

  His expression was all too understanding. ‘You want to be somewhere different. You want to start your adventures and yet, signorina, you hide behind your work, not exploring anything this place has to offer. I wonder if it’s the lack of a plane ticket holding you back from starting a new life, or whether it’s you?’ He inclined his head in a brief gesture of farewell. ‘I’ll pick you up in three hours. Dress smartly.’

  * * *

  Maddie didn’t say a word as Dante smoothly negotiated the car around the mountain curves; she was still hearing the echoes of his earlier parting shot.

  How dared he accuse her of holding back? He knew nothing about her.

  But the truth of his words stung. She was scared. Scared that if she stripped away the purpose that had always fuelled her then there would be nothing left. That no one would notice her at all.

  So maybe she should treat this week like an opportunity. At the end of it she would have her plane ticket and enough saved up to start her new life. Let this next week be a practice for her new life. Forget the old, dignified, playing by the rules Maddie and become the kind of person who saw every turn in the road as an opportunity.

  Starting with the man sitting next to her, lean hands carelessly on the wheel, the flex in his muscles effortless as he manoeuvred the car through hairpin bends. Because, painfully insightful as he may have been about her, he had also revealed an equal amount about himself.

  So his marriage had been no fairy tale? At least he had tried, had staked everything on love. The gamble might have failed, but as someone who had been about to walk, eyes wide open, into a marriage based on trust, friendship and convenience, how could Maddie blame anyone else for wanting more from their life? Better to risk it all and lose than never to risk at all.

  But when Dante Falcone lost he just walked away, closing himself off from love and hope like some mythical beast, hiding behind his castle walls. So afraid that his sister or that anyone would see his vulnerabilities that he preferred to pay for a temporary girlfriend than admit his fallibility.

  But Maddie had seen a crack in his walls that day by the lake. Not just in the way he had responded, the way he had looked at her, but in the way he had needled her, provoked her afterwards.

  She had got under his skin.

  A smile curved her mouth. She had got under his skin. Of course she had. Why else would he have used her face, her name, for his imaginary girlfriend?

  And, she admitted, he had got under hers. Otherwise why would she have agreed to this insanity? The plane ticket and overtime would ensure she could leave at the end of the summer, sure. But was it really the money—or was it the game that had tempted her?

  She’d never had the opportunity to play before.

  Here was her chance and she had nothing to lose.

  Lost in her thoughts, Maddie barely noticed her surroundings until Dante manoeuvred the car around the last hairpin bend and the glory of Lake Garda was spread out below: impossibly blue, ringed with mountains, ancient villages perched high above or clinging to the water’s edge. Maddie was incredibly fond of their own lake, but, biased as she was, she had to admit that San Tomo paled into insignificance beside this awe-inspiring expanse of water. She sat forward, eagerly taking in every detail as they drove the last few miles towards the lake and the buzzing town of Riva, with its cobbled streets and cosmopolitan air. Why had she kept herself hidden away in her valley like some kind of lesser-tressed Rapunzel when all this was on her doorstep?

  To Maddie’s surprise, Dante bypassed the road to Riva, sweeping past the turn-off, heading instead towards a small harbour right at the very head of the lake. He pulled into a small car park and, before Maddie had a chance to even gather her thoughts, her car door was opened for her and a young man in a smart white nautical uniform inclined his head as he helped her step out of the low-slung sports car.

  She looked around, glad to be standing on her own two feet, her stomach a little uneasy after the fast, curving drive despite Dante’s expert handling of the vehicle. They were standing in a small glade. A short path cut through the trees leading to a wooden jetty where a beautiful small yacht was moored. Another young man in the same white uniform stood on the deck, busily coiling ropes in a way that looked competently nautical to her inexperienced eyes. She looked questioningly up at Dante as he joined her.

  ‘I didn’t want our conversation to be overheard,’ he said by way of curt explanation, and then he smiled, that same sudden smile which had so comprehensively disarmed her before. ‘Besides, you said you hadn’t explored the area. What better way to see the lake than to be on the lake? We have several hours before it gets dark yet. The sunset is incredible viewed from the water.’

  There was nothing she could say to this apart from ‘thank you’ and within ten minutes Maddie found herself seated on a comfortable padded bench on one side of a table set for two as the yacht cast off, edging out onto the still evening lake. Small flotillas were making their way into shore, pleasure cruisers processing in a stately fashion up and down the lake and other yachts and boats could be seen dotting the lake as far as Maddie could see.

  ‘This is lovely,’ she said, accepting a Bellini with a smile at the waiter and took the handwritten menu he was proffering her. And it was. Even with the artificiality and awkwardness of the situation, some of the cares Maddie carried wi
th her twenty-four hours a day seemed suddenly not to be quite so important. So the Hathaway dress hadn’t arrived yet? So the chef was threatening to take his leave during the Johnson nuptials, offended by the amount of dietary requirements emailed in? So the Lastinghams needed four-hour extra staff to ensure the bride’s warring parents were never left alone at any time during their five-day stay? It would work out. It always did. And after all, they were only weddings—it was the marriage that counted and only the couple at the heart of all the frivolity and flounce had any sway over that.

  For the first few moments they talked sparingly, comments confined to their menu choices, the beauty of the landscape and the elegance of the yacht, but once they had both ordered and the waiters had refilled their glasses and set olives and tiny bruschetta topped with fresh tomato, peppers and anchovies in front of them, Maddie knew it was time to step up a gear or two.

  ‘Okay,’ she said after she’d popped a bruschetta into her mouth, almost swooning at the perfect balance of garlic, salt, olive and tangy tomato. ‘Let’s do this.’

  Dante leaned back in his seat, one hand curved elegantly around his glass, eyes gleaming with amusement—and an interest that Maddie could feel zapping right through her body all the way down to her toes. ‘Bene. Why don’t you start? Tell me about yourself.’

  Maddie took a long sip of her drink before setting her glass down and regarding Dante. ‘A one-woman monologue on the origins of Madeleine Fitzroy? That doesn’t sound like much fun for either of us. Let’s make this a little more interesting. How about we play twenty questions? I ask you five questions, anything I want. And you can ask me five in turn. But we have to be prepared to answer our own questions...’

  ‘Any questions?’ The gleam in his eyes had intensified and Maddie reached for her glass, needing the support of a task, any task, to give her a reason to break eye contact, which seemed suddenly more intense than she could handle.

  ‘As long as you’re prepared to answer the same question honestly,’ she said as coolly as possible.

  For an impossibly long moment the Conte simply looked at her, his blue eyes unreadable, and then, just as the tension had risen to an almost unbearable pitch, he nodded. ‘Si. I agree. So, my first question. Have you ever been in love?’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MADDIE STARED. HAD she what?

  First off, this was an unfair question because hadn’t Dante Falcone already told her that he’d been besotted with his wife, so he was one up on her already? Secondly, she’d expected that they would start off with where they were born and favourite colours—innocuous warm-up questions; not go straight in for the million-dollar round.

  And, thirdly, she wasn’t sure of the answer.

  ‘I...’ She stopped and took another sip of the Bellini, her mind racing. She was twenty-six years old; she had been engaged to be married. But had she ever been in love? Infatuated? Besotted?

  But she knew she was prevaricating. There was only one honest answer.

  Maddie put the drink down and looked over at Dante. ‘No. I’ve never been in love. The nearest I came was a crush on my ski instructor when I was at finishing school—but we all had crushes on our ski instructors; it was a rite of passage. Actually Daisy Anstruther-Jones married hers. It was a fearful scandal, but they’re still married, she had twins last year and they run a ski school just outside Geneva, so really it all worked out for the best for her.’

  She tried not to sigh. Lucky Daisy. Maddie had envied her even then, despite the gossip and thinking eighteen was very young for such a commitment. Daisy hadn’t cared that Matt didn’t have a trust fund or a title or connections—she had ignored all her family’s pleas and threats and followed her heart. If only Maddie’s heart had ever felt so sure about anything or anyone.

  ‘And did your ski instructor return your feelings?’

  Maddie raised her eyebrows. ‘Is that one of your questions? Either way I don’t reply to another question until you answer yours. Have you ever been in love?’

  She thought she knew the answer, but Dante didn’t reply and the silence went on and on until he said just one, bleak word. ‘No.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I thought I was. But the woman I loved didn’t exist. I had no idea who Violetta was, not truly. I fell for a face and a façade. So, no. Never. And yet...’ He took a sip of his drink. ‘It felt real. A reminder that romantic love can’t be trusted. I won’t make that mistake again.’

  Maddie was beginning to regret her impulsive suggestion of a game; it was all getting too dark far too soon. Too real. With a relief she looked up and saw the waiter approaching, their first courses on a gleaming silver tray, and she waited until her risotto al funghi had been placed before her before speaking.

  ‘I’m sorry. I know what’s it like to be engaged to someone you’re not in love with—but I can’t imagine how much more difficult it is to be married and in the same situation. It must have been very lonely.’

  Dante’s eyes met hers, surprise and relief mingling in their depths. ‘That’s exactly what it was. Very lonely—loneliness compounded with the knowledge that I was a fool.’

  ‘You were twenty-two, weren’t you? If you can’t make mistakes in your early twenties, when can you? And at least you have the excuse of thinking you were in love. You were brave enough to make the leap. That has to count for something.’

  ‘And you? How did you manage to get engaged without love? And yes, this is my second question.’

  Maddie picked up a fork and prodded her risotto, the rich aroma a little less enticing than it had been a few moments ago. ‘If I was ever in love with anything it wasn’t a person—it was a place. My home. It’s like nowhere else, hidden in the middle of the rolling Downs, surrounded by forests and gardens and fields—most of the abbey was torn down by Henry VIII, but the old refectory is part of the house and the ruins can be seen all about the gardens. I spent my childhood playing on them the way other children play on swings and climbing frames. But, as I told you, my brother is to inherit even though he was never interested in running a big estate, and when I turned twenty-three my mother made it clear that I needed to find a home of my own, even after I’d turned the estate around, started to make a profit for the first time in decades.’

  She fell silent as she scooped up a portion of the risotto, the rich, aromatic flavours going a little way to unravel the knot in her stomach. ‘Anyway, to cut a long, dull story short, I went to stay with my godparents—my godfather had just been diagnosed with severe heart problems and his wife was finding it hard to cope—and so I just took over there. Flintock Hall is set on a large estate just like the abbey and even though they didn’t open to the public there were still tenants and staff and estate managers to deal with. And I did. It meant Lady Navenby could concentrate on her husband and their son, Theo, could stay in London and work. He came back at weekends though and we spent a lot of time together.’ Her voice trailed off and she summoned up her best social smile as she glanced over at the silent Dante.

  ‘I’m not sure who thought of marriage first, although I know Theo’s mother was very keen on the match. And as Lord Navenby’s health weakened he began to worry about the succession. He wanted to know Theo was safe and happy before he died, that there would be an heir to the Earldom, that his name would continue. Somehow it just became common knowledge, became assumed that I would marry Theo, provide the heir, and in return I would get the home I needed. That’s how it’s done, right? We trade our fortunes, our lineage for a title and a home. Tale older than time. Then, one night, when Lord Navenby was in hospital and fading fast, we were told he only had days, not weeks. We were in shock. He’d seemed to rally a little, so we weren’t expecting... Anyway, emotions were running high and when Theo drove me back to the hall he kissed me for the first time. For comfort, I think. If there were no fireworks, well, it wasn’t horrid either. And then he asked me to marry him. I w
asn’t coerced into it. It made so much sense; the fact we didn’t love each other seemed irrelevant. We liked each other well enough.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘We got right to the wedding day. I was in a white dress, the marquees were set up, guests had arrived—we got all the way to the altar. And it hit me. Just what I was doing. That my whole life would be one long, even plane. No passion. No huge unhappiness either, possibly, but no huge joy. Every day the same. That I was selling myself short. I just couldn’t do it. No house, no security was worth a lifetime of polite existence with someone who merely liked me. I’d spent my childhood living like that. I knew I wanted more. And,’ she added, forking up another scoop of risotto, ‘it turned out he was in love with someone else anyway; he was just too much of a gentleman to jilt me so close to the wedding.’

  ‘You got all the way to the altar and called it off?’ Dante’s expression was full of admiration and it warmed Maddie through to see it. She was so used to being an object of pity or amusement. No one had ever admired her impulsive action before. ‘That took some courage.’

  The hard shell with which Maddie had encased herself ever since her wedding cracked a little and she blinked back sudden, hot tears. ‘I just couldn’t say vows I didn’t mean, pledge myself to a man who wanted what I was, not who I was. Even though I think it was the only time my mother had ever really been proud of me...’ She stopped, embarrassed at having revealed so much. ‘Anyway. There was quite a lot of publicity—Theo is an Earl and successful in his own right, and my dad is a Baron; the family has links going back to the Norman Conquest. It doesn’t mean anything, not really, but the gossip papers and blogs loved the whole blue-blooded nonsense. They called me the Runaway Bride and followed me everywhere until I came here.’

  ‘So that’s why you came here? Why you’ve barely left the valley?’

  ‘I know it seems silly. I wasn’t that famous. The publicity was more of an inconvenience, an embarrassment, than anything really serious. But I liked the anonymity I found here. Liked being out of sight and out of mind. The only thing is, Theo is getting married in a few weeks—and this wedding will definitely go ahead. It might stir things up again. That’s why I want to get on with the next stage in my plans and leave Europe altogether sooner rather than later. Just disappear for a while.’