The Commanding Italian's Challenge Read online

  In the three weeks since her arrival she hadn’t quite decided whether she loved the inside, with its stunning baroque architecture and soul-stirring paintings and masterpieces, or the outside, where a combination of tranquil gardens, awe-inspiring stone terraces and gorgeous landscaped grounds resided in beautiful juxtaposition with the churning sea beating itself relentlessly against the stone cliffs.

  So far, she’d counted two dozen corridors and archways leading to intriguing courtyards, alcoves and neat little private gardens, each with its own unique mosaic or pedestal or fountain. Everywhere she turned she felt like a child, waiting to discover the next adventure.

  In the first few days, when the staff had been open and forthcoming, she’d discovered that not only had Maceo’s family lived here, Luigi and Carlotta had also made Villa Serenita their summer home, shortly after joining business forces with Maceo’s parents, Rafael and Rosaria Fiorenti.

  Faye wanted to dislike this place where Luigi had found happiness. Yet with each new discovery Villa Serenita worked its magic deeper into her soul.

  But of course, there was the obligatory serpent within paradise.

  Her thoughts reeled back to the morning after her arrival. Maceo had summoned her into his office at Casa di Fiorenti and laid down rules she’d apparently already flouted in the few hours she’d been under his roof.

  First, she wasn’t to distract the staff with unreasonable requests or overfriendliness. Second, she had free run of the villa but wasn’t to grill the staff about its history or past residents. Third, and most importantly, Pico, the gorgeous puppy with chocolate eyes who’d stared at her so soulfully from his place on the kitchen floor that first evening, was off-limits. Never mind that the dog had taken to following her around wherever she went, stationing himself beside her seat at mealtimes, obedient, but irresistible enough to tempt small treats from her.

  Faye had been perfectly content to flout that particular rule until Maceo had stopped her two days later, by simply keeping Pico in his private wing. Since then, her enquiries about Pico had met with guarded smiles from the staff.

  It was clear Maceo was possessive about his dog. But Faye had weightier things on her mind. She was no further forward in discovering why Luigi had abandoned her so abruptly. Whether he’d believed he was doing her a favour by callously rejecting her and then, like Matt, pretending she was invisible. Matt had ignored her whenever he saw her on their university campus after she’d been foolish enough to reveal her secret.

  The picture she’d found in the library a few nights ago, of a much younger Luigi and two other men, had thrown up even more questions.

  One of the men was clearly Maceo’s father; the resemblance was unmistakable. Equally striking was the third man’s likeness to Luigi. But, while the unknown man was laughing in the photo, Luigi and Rafael remained serious. Borderline angry.

  Rafael Fiorenti’s expression was a familiar one she’d glimpsed on his son’s face, but Luigi’s expression was alien to her. Which drove home just how little she’d known her stepfather and her complete unawareness of the man named Pietro, according to the inscription on the back of the photo.

  Who was Pietro? And why hadn’t Luigi mentioned him in the two years he’d lived with her and her mother in Kent?

  Because back then, every time you begged for stories of his homeland, he deftly changed the subject...

  The ploy hadn’t registered all those years ago, but it shuddered through her now. Pain gripped her again, threatening to settle inside her. Faye smothered it, dragging herself to the present. Namely, her meeting with Maceo this morning.

  Initially it had been slated as a two-week evaluation, but Maceo had cancelled every meeting except today’s. She remained on tenterhooks as to whether this meeting would go ahead but, judging from the butterflies buzzing in her stomach, Faye instinctively knew today was the day. So she couldn’t afford to ponder the identities of mysterious strangers in photos.

  With a sigh, she pulled her crimson sweater tighter over her pyjamas and made her way back through the garden. Letting herself into the villa by way of the large pantry and kitchen, she was met by the sight of Giulia, sliding a tray of pastries into the giant oven.

  ‘Buorngiorno, signorina. Signor has asked for breakfast to be served early in the Salone Bianco. He wants you to join him.’

  She froze in surprise. ‘Really?’ Maceo had yet to invite her to dine with him, either here in the villa or at work. In fact, he’d pointedly avoided her in both places.

  Giulia nodded. ‘Si. He wishes to have breakfast in half an hour.’

  So the third degree was starting at the breakfast table?

  She summoned a smile for Giulia and hurried to her room. She whizzed through her shower on automatic, only forcing herself to concentrate when she walked into the dressing room that was three times the size of her Devon bedsit.

  Three weeks on, Faye still couldn’t quite believe her suite’s opulence or size. Even more unbelievable was the personal wardrobe that had arrived by the boxful the morning after her arrival. When the HR director had informed her she was entitled to a new wardrobe as part of joining Casa di Fiorenti, Faye had expected to be handed a small allowance and pointed in the direction of the nearest high street boutique. Instead, what seemed like the contents of entire haute couture showrooms had arrived at the villa via speedboat. She’d chosen the designer who most suited her taste and returned the rest.

  Now, she selected a deep lilac knee-length dress, a fuchsia belt she’d embellished with embroidered flowers, and added the matching brooch handmade by her mother. The pops of colour eased her nerves, but her insides still quaked slightly as she stepped into her shoes, grabbed her bag and left the suite.

  The Salone Bianco lived up to its name in sun-splashed resplendence. The only thing that didn’t gleam white was the gold marble edging the walls of the octagon-shaped room. Every piece of furniture was white, including the lavish dining table, at the head of which sat Maceo, his head buried between the pages of an Italian newspaper.

  He didn’t remain that way for long.

  Faye’s throat dried as he slowly lowered the paper and speared her with dark tawny eyes. ‘Buorngiorno. I’m glad you could join me,’ he drawled, his voice low, deep and maddeningly invasive to her senses.

  She’d only caught brief glimpses of him in the past three weeks, and for the life of her she couldn’t drag her gaze from the play of sunlight on his hair, and his broad shoulders and impressive biceps, to which his pristine shirt eagerly clung.

  Several superlatives jumped into her brain, but the only one appropriate enough—the only one that effortlessly fitted him, as if coined especially for him—was magnificent. He was wasted, merely sitting at a breakfast table when he could’ve graced the cover of Italian Vogue or GQ or some other plush magazine strictly dedicated to cataloguing unique male beauty.

  If you were into that sort of thing.

  Which she wasn’t.

  So why was her breathing jagged? Her insides going into free fall with each second she spent staring at him? Why, amongst all the adverse emotions cascading through her, was there...anticipation?

  The sensation irritated her enough to make her reply crisp. ‘Was it an invitation? It sounded remarkably like a summons.’

  His gaze swept leisurely down over her dress. It lingered at her hips before returning to her face. Faye couldn’t quite read the look in his eyes, but whatever lurked there made her blood run hotter.

  ‘If pretending will stop either of us from getting indigestion, then by all means I’ll play along. Thank you for accepting my invitation to breakfast. Please sit down, Faye,’ he said.

  Her breath caught in her throat. The sound of her name on his lips still evoked such sensuality she wanted to request...no, demand he say it again.

  And what was that if not utter madness? Hadn’t she learnt her lesson with M
att, the one time she’d dropped her guard enough to contemplate an experience resembling normality, only to be ruthlessly reminded that she was nothing like normal? That she was an abomination?

  The reminder dredged up pain, but it also grounded her enough to ignore the cocked eyebrow that was telling her she risked humiliating herself by her deer-caught-in-the-headlights stasis. With stilted movements, she pulled out a chair and sat down.

  ‘Coffee?’ he offered smoothly.

  ‘Tea, please. Thank you,’ she tagged on, determined to wrestle some civility into this meeting.

  A butler glided forward, poured her tea and then, after offering a platter of fruit and an assortment of breakfast meats, melted away.

  Silence throbbed between them. Maceo was seemingly content to devour one cup of espresso after another while perusing his paper. At last, with perfect timing, just before she gave in to the urge to fill the silence, he spoke.

  ‘You’ve spent a few weeks now at Casa di Fiorenti. What’s your verdict? Do you still consider it the very heartbeat of the monster that deprived you of your stepfather or have you revised your opinion?’ His voice dripped cynicism.

  Despite the unfair assessment, she found herself flushing, because there was a kernel of truth in his words. Luigi had been in her life for only two years, but they’d been formative years that had given her a glimpse of what a family could be like. Maybe she would have got over his leaving them if she hadn’t been confronted with Casa di Fiorenti confectionery and the memory of his desertion with every supermarket she’d walked into. That ever-present evidence had done nothing to heal the hurt of her loss, but she’d tried to cope with it. Until Matt.

  She tried for a diplomatic answer not steeped in anguish. ‘I never considered it monstrous. I just—’

  ‘Wanted so very much to dislike it?’

  She shrugged, sipped her tea to delay answering. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘And now?’

  She couldn’t hold back the truth. ‘So far as I can tell...it’s not so bad.’

  ‘Damned with faint praise,’ he said drily. ‘Tell me what you really think, Faye.’

  Again her name on his lips sent a frisson down her belly, and then shamelessly between her thighs. ‘Why? What does it matter?’

  He didn’t answer for a long spell, drawing her attention to his face in a vain attempt to see behind his enigmatic façade. ‘Because I made a promise.’

  The answer was unexpected enough to widen her eyes. ‘You did?’

  He gave a brusque nod. ‘Si.’

  ‘To who?’ she demanded, her heart beating for a different reason.

  ‘Who do you think?’

  ‘Your...your wife?’ Why did that word continue to lodge a dart of unease inside her? What did it matter to her one way or the other that he’d been married?

  Because thinking of him belonging to someone else unsettles you.

  And not because of Carlotta’s connection to Luigi.

  He shrugged. ‘For some reason she seemed to want you to form a good impression of the things she cared about.’

  That surprised Faye. ‘She said that?’

  His eyes speared into hers before they flicked away. ‘She said many things. I’m yet to conclude if they were the result of facing her own mortality or what she truly believed.’

  She gasped. ‘How can you say that? Who are you to decide?’

  ‘If not someone in a unique position to sort fact from fiction without the inconvenience of frothy emotion, then who?’ he bit out.

  ‘And you would dishonour her by discarding her wishes as you please?’

  His face hardened, his eyes growing flat and hard. ‘She trusted me to do the right thing because she knew I wouldn’t be swayed by...what do you English call it?...flights of fancy. And that trust is what I will honour.’

  She bit her lip to stop another hot, condemning retort from slipping out. She even tried to eat, despite her throat threatening to clog. After a few bits of toast and scrambled egg, she set her cutlery down. ‘If you want me to form a good impression then why instruct your staff to stop talking to me?’

  Faye wasn’t aware of quite how much his edict had hurt until she blurted the question. He froze, his eyes turning that unique tawny shade and filling with an icy fury that sent shivers down her spine.

  ‘Because there’s gossip and there are facts.’

  ‘Do you trust your own staff so little?’

  Again he shrugged. ‘Carlotta was beloved by everyone, and they’re in mourning. I didn’t want you to be swayed by superfluous emotion.’

  ‘And you? Aren’t you in mourning?’

  His face closed up. ‘My emotions are none of your concern.’

  ‘Are you sure? I think your emotions directly affect our interaction. You can’t seem to look at me or speak to me without attaching unsavoury labels. Which is curious, because I’ve discovered a few things about you, signor.’

  ‘Have you?’ His tone was bored in the extreme.

  ‘For someone who demands propriety from others, you certainly like notoriety. Some would even think you’ve gone out of your way to court it.’

  Faye could’ve sworn he stiffened at her remark; that something resembling wariness twitched in his face. But he shrugged. ‘My relationship with the paparazzi is—’

  ‘None of my concern?’ she finished, smiling mockingly.

  ‘Exactly so. Carlotta found baiting the media amusing. So I indulged her.’

  ‘Why?’ From what she’d read about Carlotta, the woman had been the epitome of class and poise. Faye struggled to picture her dallying with the tabloid press.

  ‘Because it was either let them continue to print hurtful things about her or control the narrative by giving them something specific to print,’ Maceo replied, then looked almost bewildered by the truth he’d divulged.

  ‘So it was all a game to you?’

  ‘Isn’t life one form of game or another?’ he queried cynically, but she saw the muscle ticking in his jaw, his fingers tightening on his cup.

  There was more to this than merely taunting the press for laughs.

  The picture she’d discovered in the library, now tucked into a book on her bedside table, rose to her mind. But instinct warned her now wasn’t the time to ask about it.

  Faye shook her head, her insides tightening with bitterness, sadness and shame. ‘Not to me. To me life is very real and very serious, signor.’

  His gaze rose to linger on her hair, then the bright spots on her attire. ‘And yet your outward appearance implies otherwise.’

  ‘Don’t judge me because I prefer not to dwell in sombreness, like you.’

  To her utter surprise, he smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes, of course, but the startling radiance of it was enough to make her forget to breathe. When she did suck in a breath, his gaze fell to her breasts.

  A different sort of atmosphere charged the air. Like the start of a firework display in the far-off distance, growing closer, more seismic, by the second.

  It was the same sensation that had permeated their interaction in his office three weeks ago. One steeped in sexual awareness that still made her hot and restless and twisty inside, especially at night, long after she’d gone to bed, curiously fighting sleep until she heard the distinct sound of his helicopter landing.

  That maddening awareness had driven her to her bedroom’s arched windows once, to catch a glimpse of him. She’d regretted it deeply when Maceo had caught her in the act, halting mid-stride as he crossed the lawn. For an eternity he’d stared up at her, paralysing her in place with those piercing eyes, before icily dismissing her and sauntering into the villa.

  ‘I don’t hear your denial that this is all camouflage for what you’re really like underneath the...gaiety.’

  Faye was glad she’d set her cutlery down because she’d have dropped i
t and given herself away as a mini earthquake moved through her. As it was, she took the altogether cowardly option of not meeting his gaze, unnecessarily straightening her napkin as she willed her panicked heartbeat to slow.

  Because the truth was, she was hiding. Covering up the dark stain of her existence. Tuning out the dark, menacing voice that declared her circumstances would never be normal. That the formation of intimate bonds, physical or emotional, while carrying the burden she did was impossible.

  Matt had proved that with his raw and callous rejection.

  ‘Once again we seem to have avoided the subject at hand. Or did you really invite me to breakfast to discuss my wardrobe?’

  He stared at her for a beat longer, then sat back. ‘I’m meeting with my R&D department today to discuss your evaluation. This is a chance for you to warn me of any...irregularities.’

  Returning to firmer ground, she smiled. Learning how Casa di Fiorenti went about selecting new flavours for their exclusive brand had been enlightening. And unexpectedly thrilling. ‘Thanks for the heads-up, but I’m not worried in the least about my performance.’

  ‘Bene. I hope that “performance” holds up under more rigorous scrutiny next Saturday.’

  ‘What’s happening then?’

  ‘Casa di Fiorenti holds a pre-summer party for its top executives and their families, and its business partners. Two hundred people will spend the afternoon here at the villa. You will be required to attend.’

  ‘But...I’m not an executive.’

  ‘No, you’re not. But while I’m perfectly happy for you not to attend, it was one of Carlotta’s wishes for you see the famiglia side of the company. The party is a tradition she started. We haven’t missed one in twenty years.’ There was a definite bite in his tone when he used the Italian word, but again his face was devoid of emotion.

  ‘Why did she want me there?’ Faye asked, something tugging in her chest.