Whisked Away by the Italian Tycoon

by Nina Milne

  So in terms of friendships, assuming Jodi had been befriended by the younger royals, this narrowed it down on the Jalpuran side to Prince Rohan, Princess Alisha and Princess Riya and on the Talonosian side to Prince Carlos and Prince Juan.

  Obviously contacting royalty wasn’t straightforward but he had emailed the royal representative to ask for a meeting about an endorsement. At the meeting, what could be more natural than to mention Jodi? And the beauty of it was there would be no need to involve Emily at all, no need to use her name.

  So now he could go and enjoy his time with Emily with a clear conscience. The words replayed in his head. Enjoy his time? No. What he meant was he could focus on the ad campaign. This was business, not a date. He and Emily wanted diametrically different things from a relationship and he would not forget that. Would never risk hurting someone else, especially Emily, who had clearly been hurt badly before. The memory of the sadness in her stance and face brought a frown to his face. If it had been Howard who had caused such hurt, he would take great pleasure in kicking the man round Jalpura, globally renowned photographer or not.

  Once dressed in chinos and a T-shirt he left the cottage and headed to the outdoor restaurant area, which had been transformed from its night-time ambience. Now the sun shone on the grass-thatched canopy that trailed flowers down the stilted sides that propped it up. The air was replete with the smell of coffee and an aroma of spice emanated from the heaving buffet table set up to one side.

  He waved as he saw Emily emerge from her cottage and soon they were seated. He glanced at her, sensed a certain lightness in her mood and he smiled. Her return smile was so sweet he blinked, felt warmth touch his chest. ‘This looks sumptuous,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe I can even eat after last night, but I can.’

  They headed for the buffet and returned with heaped plates. ‘It’s strange to eat spicy food at breakfast but somehow here it works.’ Emily spooned tomato chutney onto a piece of her dosa.

  ‘Last time I came here I vowed I’d learn how to cook some of these recipes.’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘Unfortunately not.’ He’d got home and soon after that his world had imploded with the death of his father.

  ‘Do you cook a lot?’

  ‘A fair bit; I like coming up with new recipes, but nothing on this scale.’ He looked down at his plate with the idlis—rice flour cakes served with a spicy dal sambar.

  They ate in silence after that, both savouring the tastes until, once replete, Emily spread a map of the island on the table.

  ‘Right, the Royal Palace Gardens are here. I reckon we’ve got time for a couple of hours there before we head to the farm.’

  ‘Sounds good. Let’s go.’

  Half an hour later they approached the lush green hill and looked towards the apex where the palace sprawled in an ungainly beauty. The red-orange walls were dappled with flecks of sunshine and the multi-faceted windows reflected myriad motes of light.

  For a moment Luca wondered if Jodi’s friend was inside somewhere, a person who could give him the answers he sought, and then he was distracted as Emily made a sweeping gesture that encompassed lush landscaped meadows, flowering shrubs and bamboo thickets.

  ‘This definitely has potential.’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked down at her and for a bittersweet moment it seemed to him as though her words applied to them, that somehow in a different universe and time they had potential to be something more than business colleagues. But not in this one, for all the reasons they had enumerated only hours before.

  ‘Especially if you want the hint of royalty. Either way I’ll take some good focused shots of the palace and grounds.’

  He watched as she clicked away, camera shutter whirring. She paused, looked up at the palace. ‘I wonder what history those walls have seen. And what sort of life goes on in there now.’

  So, ironically enough, did he.

  ‘Anyway, I think I’ve got enough. Are there any particular angles you think I may have missed? Would you like a shot of you?’

  ‘No. I’m good, thank you. I’m sure you have it covered and I’m sure we don’t need a picture of me to sell chocolate.’

  Emily took a deep breath. ‘Actually, I want to talk to you about that. I...well, I’ve had an idea.’

  ‘Go ahead.’ He indicated a bench and they sat down.

  ‘I think you would sell your chocolate.’ She pulled her phone out of her pocket and quickly scrolled down to a photo of him in the factory in Turin. ‘This would look great on your website. It could be part of your story. It shows how much you care, your passion for what you create. I think that will make people buy your products. People like the personal touch. You could have a photo of you with your mentor, the famous chocolatier, pictures of you mixing ingredients, on the cocoa farm. I’m happy to do it.’

  He watched her expression, the way the light played on her skin, her excitement at the idea, the expressive wave of her hands and he wanted to encourage that, wanted to agree, but he couldn’t. He had always vowed never to do what his father had done—bind his product to his name. ‘I told you, Emily, I don’t want to be on the website. I prefer being an invisible presence.’

  ‘But why?’ Now she twisted to face him, her brown eyes studying his expression as her forehead creased in puzzlement. ‘You have achieved so much, Luca. It’s...incredible and, damn it, I bet loads of people want to know how you did it, want the personal touch. The Petrovelli brand. The Petrovelli story.’

  ‘I prefer to remain out of the public eye,’ he said.

  She shook her head and he could see hurt dawn in her eyes. ‘It’s OK. Obviously you have your reasons and you don’t want to share them. I thought it would be a good idea. Sorry I overstepped.’

  Damn it. Luca tried to tell himself he hadn’t asked Emily to waste her time on this, that this wasn’t his fault. But as she stood up and hitched her camera onto her shoulder he knew he wanted to erase the hurt from her gaze. He suspected she’d been hurt enough recently, knew she’d taken the rejection personally as a slur on her ability.

  ‘You didn’t. And I truly love your ideas. But I can’t do it—tell the Petrovelli story. You think I should do what my father did, and I understand that it’s a great marketing strategy.’ Dolci’s success had been part founded on marketing the Casseveti name, the entrepreneur husband, the aristocratic beautiful wife, the cute Casseveti heiress, the celebrity lifestyle. ‘But the whole Casseveti fairy tale was built on a foundation of betrayal, on my mother’s misery and abandonment. The Petrovelli story is the flipside of the Casseveti coin. When my father left we had nothing.’ His mother had refused to take anything, had too much pride, ‘Then my mother realised she was pregnant. That chocolate I told you about that she craved—do you want to know why she was so restrained when she ate it? Because there was only one small bar, and even that I begged from the shop owner. When it was gone, we sat and listed the ingredients together, closed our eyes and imagined the taste. That’s how my love of chocolate started. And I’ll be damned if I put that on the website.’

  She sat back down on the bench, turned towards him, her focus now solely on him. ‘I’m sorry. I assumed your father supported you, or at least made some sort of settlement.’ The compassion on her face was almost painful and he didn’t want it. This was exactly why he didn’t share his background. He did not want pity, remembered it etched on the man who owned the chocolate shop all those years ago, on the faces of anyone who ever discovered they were Cassevetis, the pauper outcasts of the Dolci brand. Remembered the bullying, all brought about because a playground thug had seen an article on the Cassevetis.

  But all that was over. ‘There is no need to be sorry. It doesn’t matter any more. It is best forgotten.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. Because it makes your story all the more amazing. You built Palazzo di Cioccolato from nothing, built it on a foundation of guts and de
termination. And I bet your mum is proud of you.’

  Now he was on easier ground. ‘She is amazing; I couldn’t have done it without her. She didn’t let what my father did make her bitter. And she always put us first. Looking back, I know how terrified she must have been, how lost and lonely. I do remember her crying a lot but always when she thought I couldn’t hear her. And somehow she picked herself up and supported us. Found a way to put food on the table. She worked in some terrible places, but she also studied, did evening courses and now she is a high-flying lawyer. And somehow through all of it she was always there for us, to help with homework, to talk to us, to support us.’

  ‘She sounds wonderful.’

  ‘She is. Jodi and I are lucky.’

  ‘Yes, you are. Truly lucky.’ For a second she looked away into the distance and her wistful voice made him wonder what her own relationship with her mother was like. ‘So why not put that on your website? A tribute to your mum, a picture of you and her, part of your story to honour her strength.’

  ‘No. I won’t do that; I won’t do what my father did, spin a sugary story of love and devotion and family. I do love my family—I would do anything for my mother, for Jodi. Anything. But I will not use that love and turn it into a publicity stunt to sell my product. Our family life is private.’ Even now he wasn’t sure he understood what his mum had gone through, but he knew he wouldn’t expose her or Jodi in any way to the public eye.

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’ Emily’s voice was small and he realised he’d sounded harsher than he meant. ‘I meant I truly think your mum is fantastic. Not all mums put their kids first.’

  He recalled her words from yesterday, the allusion to her mum’s multiple marriages, her desire to have the type of arrangement where she put her family first, and he spoke without thought, ‘I guess yours didn’t?’ He shook his head. ‘Sorry. Now I have overstepped.’

  ‘It’s OK. You’re right. Don’t get me wrong, my mum loves me, she does, but she didn’t put me first. Not when it came to her relationships—she seemed to always fall for men who had no interest in children. So I became a nuisance; she was worried I’d get in the way, drive them away, and she wanted to focus her whole being on her new man.’

  ‘That can’t have been easy.’ The idea of a young Emily being shunted out of the way, made to feel like an unwanted impediment, made him both angry and sad.

  As if she sensed this, she gave a quick shake of her head. ‘It wasn’t, but it wasn’t the end of the world either. In all fairness to Mum, she had never planned on being a parent, and she does her best. When she isn’t pursuing love or getting over a broken heart Mum is loads of fun to be with. I have plenty of good childhood memories.’ She met his gaze, her chin jutting out. ‘So there is no need to be sorry,’ she said, echoing his own words of a few minutes before, and he realised she wanted pity as little as he did.

  ‘I understand that, and I am glad you and your mum do have a positive relationship.’ He admired the way Emily took the good and didn’t bemoan the bad.

  ‘And I am glad that you succeeded and now you can provide your mum with as much chocolate as she wants. You started a business off your own back with strength and resolve, not helped by family friends or inherited wealth. And you should be proud of that.’ She tilted her head to one side. ‘But you aren’t, are you? When you talk about your company, your passion and pride is unmistakeable. But you must be equally proud of yourself.’

  Her words jolted through him. ‘Of course, I am.’ But the words lacked conviction even to him. Even if that didn’t make sense. He’d been driven all his life to be a success, to rival his father, and until this moment he’d have sworn he was damn proud of his journey. Just because he didn’t want to publicise his story didn’t mean he wasn’t proud of it. Did it? Emotions began to swirl inside him, triggered by the sincerity of Emily’s gaze as she continued to speak.

  ‘What you have achieved is...superlative. You’ve built your company up on talent, guts and determination.’

  Luca listened to the words, saw admiration in the depths of her brown eyes and the truth hit him: the realisation that he didn’t deserve admiration or accolades from this woman. From anyone.

  His voice was harsh as he spoke. ‘Palazzo di Cioccolato isn’t built on guts and determination and talent. It’s built on revenge. All I wanted was to outdo my father.’ The whole raison d’être of this company was to defeat James Casseveti.’ And now bitterness pervaded his voice as he realised that, whilst he’d prided himself on getting over his dad, in truth his whole life’s work had been governed by James. Frustrated anger roiled through him.

  ‘Then you made something positive out of something negative.’ She leant forward, placed a hand on his arm, and he caught his breath; her touch diminished the anger as warmth entered the mix. She looked up at him and his heart twisted at the serious look in her eyes, the depth of belief. ‘What your father did to your mother, to you, was wrong. You could have taken that negativity and desire for revenge and done something bad with that. Instead you did good. You found a talent inside yourself and you have made a success of your life. Of your company and yourself.’

  How he wanted to believe her, but emotions twisted his gut. How could he be proud? Because in the end he’d failed. Death had robbed him of the revenge he’d dreamed of and he was left knowing his life’s purpose could never now be achieved.

  Her hand moved from his arm and slipped into his and she squeezed gently. ‘Be proud of your story, Luca. I would be.’

  ‘Even if it ended in failure. In the end I never had my chance to show my dad that I made it. Without him. He’ll never see me set up my flagship London store. I’ll never send him an invite to the opening party.’ He gave a small mirthless laugh. ‘It sounds stupid, does it not? That was my life goal.’

  ‘No. It doesn’t sound stupid. But you didn’t fail. The very act of living your life as you have, of being a true family with your mum and Jodi, all you have achieved despite what he did to you all—that is success and you mustn’t let anything take that away from you.’ She continued, ‘Set up your London flagship store and dedicate it to your mother, to your own success. Full stop.’

  As he saw the conviction on her face for the first time in a long time he felt a small buzz of enthusiasm about a London launch, a faint sensation, but it was there, and he took her hand in his, squeezed it gently. ‘Thank you. I will think about it.’

  ‘I’m glad.’ Her smile was so warm it seemed to envelop him with a sense of well-being, a lightness that prompted him to lean forward and brush his lips against her cheek. Her closeness, her scent, the tickle of her hair all combined to whirl his head, the impact somehow equal to when he had really kissed her.

  He heard her intake of breath, knew he had to break this spell, had to change the dynamic to one he actually understood. Pulling away gently, he rose to his feet, made a show of glancing at his watch. ‘We’d better get going. The farm awaits.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE JOURNEY TO the farm held Emily speechless; the sheer verdant lushness of the landscape took her breath and all her energy as she frantically tried to capture it on film, relieved to have something to do, something to focus on other than Luca. Something had happened back there—somehow they’d both ended up sharing and she wasn’t sure how or why.

  ‘Don’t forget to also look and take it in,’ Luca recommended from beside her and after a while she did just that. Hills gently undulated against a background of majesty where mountains loomed in the distance, the rush of water from a waterfall vied with the cacophony of the wildlife and in the end she simply watched as the vivid, vibrant scenery flashed past. Forest dark and thick with deciduous green, the dip and rise of dense valleys spun her head with the sheer force of nature.

  Until they reached the farm itself, where she took in the sweet fragrant scents of coconut and the rich smell of soil and earth. She walked with L
uca to the whitewashed house where she knew Samar lived and worked.

  Before they could knock the door swung open and a man emerged. Grizzled salt-and-pepper hair, dark, weather-beaten skin and deep-set eyes creased with laughter lines, he stepped towards Luca, a smile on his face.

  ‘Welcome, Luca.’

  Luca moved into a quick embrace, stood back and the two men clasped hands, and instinctively Emily held her camera up, snapped the picture even as she asked permission.

  ‘No problem.’

  Luca gestured to Emily. ‘This is Emily. Emily, Samar.’

  ‘I am happy to meet you,’ Samar said, his English fluent and his smile wide.

  ‘Me too. I am so excited to see your farm; from everything Luca has told me, I understand that your beans inspired his new brand and I am stoked to see where it all started.’

  ‘I am happy for Luca to show you around and then please come back here for tea and cakes.’ Samar turned to Luca. ‘All the staff have been told of your coming and your requirements.’

  Emily frowned. Had there been some sort of secret message, an emphasis on the word requirement, or was it simply because Samar spoke English as a second language?

  Luca smiled easily. ‘Thank you. Is it OK for Emily to take photographs anywhere or are there any areas we should stay away from?’

  ‘Feel free to go anywhere. Many of the workers do not speak English but I can answer any questions you have later.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Emily smiled, instinctively liking the middle-aged farm owner, his face weathered from the sun and the callouses on his hands indicating that he did his fair share out in the fields. She followed Luca back to the car and they drove down a dusty track that led to the farm itself and groves of trees.