~*~
“This is truly spectacular,” Taylor said to Larkin as they wandered through the Romeo Wines headquarters. The space was quickly filling with hundreds upon hundreds of guests, and Luca had offered to give them a tour before things got too crowded.
“I guess I should have shown you the medieval cellars in the palazzo just to have a point of comparison,” he said.
The two women shrugged. From where they hailed, they knew no difference between a wine basement from the Middle Ages and any old basement with a washer and dryer and beat-up old pool table.
“Sorry, sweetie,” Larkin said. “Perhaps it’s a touch of ignoramus American in us. But please, educate us. We’re all ears.”
“Okay, so you know Alessandro is the principle of the world-famous Cantine dei Marchesi Romeo, makers of some of the best Chiantis Italy has to offer,” he said.
“I believe we drank some of that last night, and I can attest to its unrivaled deliciousness.”
Luca rolled his eyes. “Not a wine term.”
The two women giggled. “Sorry, we’re sort of clueless this way. But we’re learning.”
“The architect’s plan was to build this low into the ground, barely visible from the surrounding area, to preserve the integrity of the natural beauty,” he said. “That means most of the structure is actually subterranean, which translates into better temperature control for production and storage of the wines. And the plan was to keep this as green as possible, using local materials such as terra-cotta, oak, weathered steel, and glass.”
“The architect did an amazing job,” Taylor said. “It’s absolutely gorgeous.”
“If you look, you’ll notice that the design features curves as smooth and natural as a woman’s body,” he said, pointing toward the exterior of the building. “And all this with a three-story spiral staircase that is itself a work of art and leads to a rooftop restaurant with breathtaking views of the countryside. All in all, a masterful plan.”
He led them inside the building, and they descended the staircase to see the cellars. The vaulted cellar conveyed the hushed tones of a cathedral and the intimacy of a church confessional. The terra-cotta walls and honey-wood floors visually warmed the subterranean facilities despite the cool temperatures, and featured cantilevered glass tasting rooms overlooking the barrels.
“I could hang out down here drinking wine all day,” Larkin said, and Taylor nodded.
“But the upstairs is not to be missed,” Luca said. “We’ll head there now so you can get a glimpse of the true genius of the place.”
As they returned to climb up the remaining flights of steps, they could see what he was talking about.
Patterned light streamed into the building from large circular cuts in the ceiling. The effect was a light-filled contemporary space that included a museum, an event space, an auditorium, a retail shop, and a museum filled with antiques, relics, and artwork from the collections of the twenty-five generations of Romeos who’d preceded Sandro and his siblings.
Taylor could really understand how very connected Sandro was to his past. The Romeos were a clan that was here to stay, and this place was all about paying homage to the family’s historic ties to the area. It was hard not to be impressed.
They climbed the steps again to the restaurant rooftop terrace where guests were congregating. White-gloved waitstaff passed gleaming crystal glasses of reserve Chianti to guests, and others passed canapés featuring locally sourced foods such as wild boar, truffles, pecorino cheese, and the celebrated Cinta Senese prosciutto.
Taylor and Larkin were busy chatting and enjoying the food, and Taylor didn’t even notice Sandro approach.
“Taylor,” he said, “I have a few people I’d like you to meet.”
Larkin looked at her, confused.
Taylor waved at her dismissively. “Don’t worry. I had just wondered where his family was. I guess he’s going to introduce me.”
It was sort of awkward to be introduced to them now, but she was a guest in their house, so when in Rome...
Taylor’s dress dipped low in the front and draped even lower in the back, so when Sandro rested his hand at the base of her spine, she could feel the warmth of his skin on hers, and it made her shudder at the memory of their night.
“My mamma, Fabiana,” he said, nodding at a beautifully well-preserved woman of about seventy-five with no-nonsense, short salt-and-pepper hair. She was dressed in a black chiffon dress with sensible shoes. She did not look like the matriarch of a wine empire but rather someone’s mother, with a warm smile and an even warmer hug.
“Cara mia,” she said, hugging her as she kissed each cheek. “We are honored to have you in our home.”
Taylor wondered what all she knew of her presence here but hoped it was the bare basics. She didn’t even know if anyone was aware of the snake episode, so she kept quiet.
“I’m delighted to meet the wonderful woman who raised such a kind son,” Taylor said, laying it on thick. Of course he had been kind to her, so she wasn’t lying. She just wasn’t talking about those he had been less than kind to.
“And this is my sister, Valentina,” Sandro said, pulling her hand gently toward his sister.
Valentina was strikingly beautiful with long, rich, luxuriant black hair and large, coal-black eyes that reminded her of a wet seal.
“Ciao, Taylor,” she said, kissing her on both cheeks as well. “So lovely to meet you. My brother has told me so much.”
Well, crap. How much could he have told her? Most of their interactions to date had been pretty X-rated, nothing you’d confide to your sister with.
She looked over at Larkin, who was standing behind Fabiana and mouthing, “He told her all about you?” with a very quizzical look on her face.
Taylor just shrugged. She was getting in too deep.
“I trust my brother is being the perfect gentleman with you,” Valentina said, grinning. “If not, just say the word and Mamma and I will straighten him out.”
They all laughed at that, and Taylor mentally squirmed because, well, what a lovely family she was never going to see again. She felt like a tease even having a conversation with them at this point.
“He’s been nothing but an impeccable host,” she said. And freaking amazing in bed, but that won’t be an issue down the road, so we just won’t go there.
“Please, if we can be of any assistance,” Fabiana said. “We want you to feel at home.”
Sadly, this place did feel like home. In such a short period of time, it had gone from a stranger’s house to a place she could feel like she belonged, snakes and all.
For the first time Taylor noticed a band playing in the background.
Sandro reached out a hand to her. “May I have this dance?”
Well, what was she going to do—shut him down in front of his sweet mamma and little sister?
“Of course,” she said, and she extended her hand to his as they walked toward the makeshift dance floor.
It didn’t take but a few notes for her to notice the song. “You remembered.”
“‘Begin the Beguine,’” he said. “How could I forget?”
He pulled her in tightly, and for a minute she was the one who forgot—all about the dark side of Sandro, the part he didn’t want her to know about, the stories the Uber driver had told her. And clearly it was true if it was in the gossip magazines. She nestled into the crook of his neck, and his hands settled at the base of her back, so low they were almost cupping her bottom.
He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Are you ready to tell me what I’ve done to anger you? Because whatever it is, I’m sure we can work it out. Please. Whatever it is we were starting was really good, Taylor. Please don’t let some misunderstanding get in the way of that.”
“Can we please not talk about it now? There’s really nothing you can do, so let’s just enjoy the evening. In fact, I see someone over there I need to talk to, so, well, thanks for the dance.”
And before the
song even ended, she walked far away from Sandro with no intentions of returning.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sandro was vexed by the woman. What could have happened between lunchtime and the start of the party? Absolutely nothing. He’d sent her to the village to pick up Elisabetta, but that was it. He wondered: Elisabetta, would she know something?
He left the terrace and worked his way to the main restaurant level, trying to avoid lengthy conversations as he went, but everyone wanted a piece of him: it was his night. He politely begged out of conversation after conversation till he reached the kitchen, where he pushed open the door and queried several of the catering staff until someone pointed him in the direction of the head chef.
“Ciao, Sandro. You should be out there with your guests, not in here in the hot, messy kitchen.” She tugged on his lapel, adding, “You look magnificent.”
“Grazie, Elisabetta. I was wondering if you might be able to help me with some information. Today I sent Taylor to get you in town. She had my car.”
“Oh no, no, no,” she said, wagging her finger. “She picked me up with an Uber driver.”
“But I gave her the keys to my car.” He’d done it as a symbolic act of faith because he knew he had to get past issues with his car after Crazy Gia.
“Maybe she didn’t know how to drive it,” Elisabetta said. “I know I wouldn’t want to take that thing out. It’s like driving a jet. Who knows how to do that sort of thing?”
“I didn’t even know we could get Uber out here.”
“Ah, we have precisely one person driving it in the area,” she said. “You remember Liliana, right?”
“Liliana Verducci?”
“No, Liliana Quattrocento,” she said. “You should know her. She was friends with that pazzo woman you dated.”
Pazzo, indeed. Everyone referred to Gia as crazy.
“So Gia’s friend Liliana had Taylor’s ear for a good twenty minutes before you were with them?”
She shrugged. “I’d say so, yes.”
“And what was Taylor like when she arrived?” he said. “Normally she’s very outgoing and friendly.”
“I’d say she was a little cold, sort of aloof,” she said. “Not the warmest of human beings.”
He sighed. “Grazie mille, Elisabetta. Ciao, ciao.”
He turned and returned to face the hordes, hoping to find Taylor somewhere amidst the over five hundred guests who by now had congregated in the place. He had to set her straight.
~*~
Taylor was working the crowd hard, handing out business cards and giving her usual elevator pitch to anyone she recognized from the guest list, which she’d studied earlier in the day. She hated to admit the men were far easier to persuade than the women. Not that women weren’t supportive of one another, but perhaps just women in this crowd weren’t keen on parting with their—or their husband’s—wealth. Which was a shame because the place was not lacking in one-of-a-kind couture fashions. She knew because she’d worn some of them in last season’s fashion shows in Milan and Paris.
One particularly flinty-eyed dowager glared Taylor down as she tried to appeal to the woman’s gasbag of a husband.
“Yes, of course it’s tax deductible,” Taylor said. I can send you brochures with more information if you’re willing to commit fifty thousand.” She used to hate hitting people up for money, but she knew these people could well afford it and wouldn’t even notice the money missing from their bank accounts.
An hour later, she was back down in the cellars. Most people seemed to be congregating upstairs, especially as it was a lovely evening out. But she was looking for an American hedge fund manager she had been told would be down here who had crested the billionaire threshold ages ago. Surely he could pony up some money for her cause.
She wandered through the casks, first relatively crowded with people, then she turned toward another room with casks from the reserve Chianti she had enjoyed so much, and there in a far corner was the man, Edgar Whittington. She’d heard he was pompous, loved to be told how marvelous he was, with an ego that exceeded his bank account totals even.
“Ah, Mr. Whittington,” she said. “So lovely to see you here.”
He eyed her up and down like a woman on a thousand-calorie-a-day diet would a slice of pie. His large belly betrayed his fondness for excess in food and drink. He kept dabbing his sweaty face with a cocktail napkin. She was going to have to make this quick.
“Even lovelier to see you,” he said, moving closer to her and wrapping his arm around her shoulder.
“Mr. Whittington, sir,” she said. “I was hoping I could put you down for a contribution to my charity, Rags to Riches. We help provide clothes for children in poverty who can’t afford them.”
He lifted a brow and lowered his hand so that it was tucked beneath her arm, encroaching toward her breast. She squirmed to shift his grip farther away. He was downright vile. But she wanted his money.
“Well, if they can’t afford them, maybe they should find a job to help pay for them,” he said. “Teach a man to fish.”
Taylor wrinkled her brow. “But they’re children, sir.”
“And what better time to learn the benefits of a hard day’s work? Start ’em young, maybe then you keep them off the public dole.” He placed his hand back where it had been and literally slipped it beneath the metallic bodice of her halter dress.
She swatted his hand away. She so wanted to slug the man for his arrogance. What a bastard. “Huh. Isn’t it true that you made your first fortune in big agriculture?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. Seeds, pesticides, all sorts of chemicals. The whole world uses them now. They have no choice in the matter.” He gave her an exaggerated wink.
“And isn’t it true that big ag is one of the biggest benefactors of corporate welfare? Far, far more than poor children in an inner city might get.”
“I’m not sure where you get your information from, but I’m a hardworking individual who earned my money through blood, sweat, and toil.”
“Funny,” she said, turning to face him. “I thought it came from seed money from your wealthy father.”
He smiled an oily smile, the type you might see from a deranged killer before he plunged a knife in. “Why don’t you cut to the chase, Miss McFarland.” He reached out with his pointer finger and slowly dragged it down along the outline of her breast. “I’ve got something you want, and you’ve got something I want. So let’s talk about how we’re both going to end up happy.” He slipped his fingers beneath the inside edge of her gown, and she was prepared to wind up and hit him.
“I beg your pardon,” she heard a voice from behind her say. “Exactly what are you doing here?”
She turned her head to see Sandro walking toward them. He glanced down to see Whittington’s fingers moving along her breast, and he reacted on impulse, coldcocking him just as Taylor reared up and kicked him in the balls. Doubled over in pain, Whittington staggered backward into the hard terra-cotta wall.
“Sandro,” Taylor said, her voice shaking. “Oh, that was just awful.” Tears sprang from her eyes as she looked back and forth between the two men. “And I can’t decide who is worse between the two of you. All I know is I’m disgusted with men. You’re both horrid.”
With that she stormed off, sobbing.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Seriously, he saved her from some son of a bitch who was so rich and so used to getting what he wanted that he didn’t think twice before forcing himself on a woman who wanted nothing to do with him, and instead of thanking him, she accused him of being equally repugnant and fled the place. He almost wondered if Taylor had a twin, like a really demented one, and she had replaced the sweet Taylor he’d made love to that morning. He couldn’t make sense of the transition that had occurred.
In the meantime, his knuckles hurt from hitting the asshole, and he had a guest—soon to be ex-guest—crumpled and bleeding on the floor. He reached for a walkie-talkie in his pocket and summon
ed a bodyguard.
“Giovanni, I need you to get rid of the vermin that has apparently infested my pristine cellars,” he said. “You’ll find him curled up on the floor, looking for his lost nuts. Be sure to show him outside the gate and let the police know he’s not allowed to intrude.”
Sandro kicked Whittington aside as he left, closing the door off to keep guests from wandering in until Giovanni took care of things.
For a day that started out near perfect, things had certainly taken a precipitous turn for the worse. He looked at his watch. Dammit. He needed to be upstairs to make a speech and a toast in minutes. He’d have to pursue Taylor afterward and hope she was still on the premises. Knowing her, she’d be on the first flight out. But family obligations came first.
As he approached the stage set up for him to address the crowd, he saw Luca and Larkin dancing. He glanced over the nearby railing to see a woman in a familiar metallic silver evening gown racing from the building toward the palazzo.
He grabbed Luca’s shoulder and the couple stopped dancing. “Dude, I need your help. It’s Taylor.”
“Ohmygod, is she all right?” Larkin said.
He nodded toward the shiny figure below.
“Wait a minute. Isn’t that Taylor?” she said, pointing at her friend’s diminishing figure. “Where’s she running to? What is going on? I don’t know what’s gotten into her, but she took a turn toward the strange sometime this afternoon. And now it looks like she’s fleeing a fire.”
“It’s a long story,” Sandro said. “But I need you to stop her please.”
Luca and Larkin looked at each other. “Uh, if you say so, mio cugino,” Luca said to his cousin. “But I’m starting to wonder if you’ve got some issues you might need to talk out with a specialist.”
Sandro softly smacked his hand upside the back of Luca’s head. “I don’t need a shrink. I need that woman. Now.”
~*~
Taylor was so confused. Just completely off center and couldn’t figure out quite how to right herself. In a few short days, she’d gone from strongly disliking Sandro to craving the next moment she could be alone with the man to detesting the very ground he walked on. Then he went and did something chivalrous when that scummy man was assaulting her—even though she was perfectly capable of handling herself, but still. It was so sweet of him. Nevertheless, that simply meant he was a sweet man who could be a coldhearted bastard. He could get in line behind plenty of those types. And those types were not for her.
Red Hot Romeo (The Royal Romeos, #1) Page 11