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Summer Romance With The Italian Tycoon
Jessica Gilmore


Could her Italian fling…become the love of a lifetime?Wedding planner Madeleine Fitzroy has already run from one marriage. But now she finds herself agreeing to pose as Conte Dante Falcone’s girlfriend! Could Conte be the love she has been searching for?







Could her Italian fling...

...become the love of a lifetime?

Wedding planner Madeleine Fitzroy ran from her own convenient wedding, vowing never to settle for anything less than true love. Until she finds herself agreeing to pose as Conte Dante Falcone’s girlfriend! Her overwhelming attraction to brooding single dad Dante is everything Maddie’s ever dreamed of. And soon, Maddie finds herself wondering if their temporary romance could be the love she’s been searching for...


A former au pair, bookseller, marketing manager and seafront trader, JESSICA GILMORE now works for an environmental charity in York, England. Married with one daughter, one fluffy dog and two dog-loathing cats, she spends her time avoiding housework and can usually be found with her nose in a book. Jessica writes emotional romance with a hint of humour, a splash of sunshine and a great deal of delicious food—and equally delicious heroes!


Also by Jessica Gilmore (#ulink_7c6a49f1-efe0-5f22-b4e7-f4abfe1b8845)

A Will, a Wish...a Proposal

Proposal at the Winter Ball

Her New Year Baby Secret

A Proposal from the Crown Prince

The Sheikh’s Pregnant Bride

Baby Surprise for the Spanish Billionaire

The Life Swap miniseries

In the Boss’s Castle

Unveiling the Bridesmaid

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


Summer Romance with the Italian Tycoon

Jessica Gilmore






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-07782-8

SUMMER ROMANCE WITH THE ITALIAN TYCOON

© 2018 Jessica Gilmore

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Thanks to everyone at Yorkshire Wildlife Trust for a lovely eight years—especially all the fabulous past and present members of the Development Team. Miss you all! xxx


Contents

Cover (#u4279983c-129c-5db5-bb54-95d2fd0eacac)

Back Cover Text (#u13f96b3e-e484-516d-935c-8e8def395520)

About the Author (#u8a5a47b5-0013-5388-8a07-c99d16a122f3)

Booklist (#ulink_a97054f1-692a-51b2-9060-2adb6d94444a)

Title Page (#u36db32ab-1d23-5aeb-aa38-001efc1d4ee5)

Copyright (#ub7f3bc6a-337d-5ffc-bdbd-14e228737022)

Dedication (#u4d7af8a5-c696-5005-89ec-53e15444ed76)

CHAPTER ONE (#u7094d598-b652-529e-b8a6-931981f864f7)

CHAPTER TWO (#ubc8ae6f2-c3e4-567b-9070-b2291e33a080)

CHAPTER THREE (#u0866ee61-ff67-50fe-a633-bd8f1625a4c6)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_c7c1f58f-fd21-5c77-bde2-f1c1fc9f1152)

MADELEINE PERCHED ON the edge of the small wooden jetty and slipped her bare feet into the cold lake, shivering at the first shock of icy water on her bare flesh. Cold as the glacier-fed lake remained despite the summer sun, the refreshing lap of waves against her hot feet usually soothed her, aided and abetted by the view. Even after nearly a year living in the Dolomites, the magnificent mountains soaring into the sky filled her with utter awe. The only thing marring her enjoyment of the landscape was the graceful castle on the other side of the lake, its delicate spires mirroring the mountain peaks. Madeleine was completely over admiring ancient, imposing seats of power; she much preferred the traditional chalets which populated San Tomo, the small village at the head of the lake.

But today she barely felt the water, hardly noticed the view. Pulling a crumpled envelope out of her pocket, she slipped the heavy cream card out of it and flipped it over, reading the engraved gold words yet again. Not that she actually needed to read it. By now she knew the brief contents off by heart.

Lady Navenby

requests the pleasure of the presence of

the Honourable Madeleine Fitzroy

at the wedding of her son,

Lord Theo Willoughby, Earl of Navenby,

and

Miss Elisaveta Marlowe

at Villa Rosa, L’Isola dei Fiori

31st August

RSVP to Flintock Hall

Madeleine turned the piece of card over and over, aware that she was frowning, her mother’s voice echoing in her head warning her that she would get frown lines. What, she wondered, was the point of an expensive Swiss finishing school if she didn’t know the correct etiquette when one was invited to one’s ex-fiancé’s wedding? Especially if one had made it all the way up the aisle and to the actual altar before said fiancé became an ex?

Not that she had any intention of actually attending this wedding. The last thing anyone really wanted was the groom’s last bride-to-be hanging around like a modern-day Miss Havisham, the ghost of weddings past. But should she send a gift? If so, of what value? Theo and Elisaveta had her blessing, of course. After all, she was the one who had actually halted the wedding, right at the iconic ‘Any persons here present’ part.

No, it wasn’t the happy couple that worried her. They belonged together in a way she and Theo never had. Madeleine stared down at her morose reflection in the water. She just hoped that this new wedding of Theo’s, just a year after their own failed nuptials, wouldn’t resurrect the intense and intrusive press interest in Madeleine herself.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to push the panic back down to where it usually lurked, never quite quelled but never acknowledged. She was safe here, far away from the British press and a scandal which surely most people had forgotten about. It had just been so unexpected. She’d never been a tabloid headline before—and fervently hoped she never would be again.

All she wanted was the whole mess to be forgotten. To move on. To be simply Maddie, no longer the Honourable Madeleine with all that entailed.

Speaking of which—she glanced at the watch on her wrist—‘simply Maddie’s’ lunch break was nearly up. It took twenty minutes to walk around the small lake to the castle, where emails, to-do lists and myriad duties awaited her. Maddie shoved the envelope back into her pocket and scrambled to her feet, mentally calculating what she had to do that afternoon. Confirm numbers with the McKellans, finalise menu choices with the Wilsons and chat to the florist about the Shepherds’ desire to only have buttercups and daisies in all their floral arrangements. The florist considered herself an artist and Maddie wasn’t looking forward to conveying the bride’s wishes and the ensuing conversation about the barbaric taste of the English.

Maddie was fully aware that it was more than a little ironic that a woman who had officially Had Enough of weddings and ancestral stately homes had secured a job combining both these elements. Yet here she was, wedding and event planner at Castello Falcone, ensuring the mainly British brides—and their grooms—had the perfect Italian wedding experience. At least she was getting a salary for her labour. The first money she had actually earned in her twenty-six years, as opposed to working all hours for love, board and an allowance. It was liberating, literally and metaphorically.

And by the end of the year, she would have enough money saved to head off somewhere where nobody had ever heard of the Honourable Runaway Bride.

Just one more moment. Maddie turned back to the mountains, raising her arms in a silent commune with the sun, with the landscape, with the heady fresh air. Closing her eyes, she basked in the sensual warmth of the sun on her face, the scent of pine. She stayed still for several seconds, arms still raised high, head tilted back until the sound of the church bell, dolefully ringing out the quarter-hour, reminded her that she really needed to be getting back. She lowered her arms and opened her eyes, only to freeze in place.

A man was getting undressed on the other side of the lake.

It wasn’t a big lake, but long and skinny, the distance from one shore to the other widthways less than three hundred metres, perfectly swimmable if you didn’t mind the cold. Which meant Maddie had a clear view of the small cove on the opposite shore and of the man purposefully and neatly divesting himself of trousers, of shirt, of socks and shoes until he stood there in just a pair of swim-shorts.

Look away, her conscience bade her. He was perfectly entitled to his swim, whoever he was. And she had places to be and many, many things to do. She certainly shouldn’t be here ogling—because that, she guiltily admitted, was exactly what she was doing. Only she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

He was tall and perfectly sculpted. Long, muscular legs led to a slim, defined torso which broadened out into a strong set of shoulders. Maddie could make out tousled dark hair, although his features were blurred. Unexpectedly desire hit her, hot and heavy, swirling low in her stomach, weakening her knees. Nostalgia followed, equally potent. It had been so long since she had experienced anything this intense. If ever.

‘So you’re reduced to gawping at half-naked strangers,’ she muttered, half in self-disgust, half in self-deprecation as she made herself turn away. ‘Face it, Maddie, this journey of discovery of yours is going to have to include getting back in the dating game. You want someone to really, passionately love you? They’re going to have to get to know you first.’

Not that she had ever really dated. A series—a very short series—of monogamous, semi-serious relationships with suitable young men that she had eventually ended when she considered herself to be in real danger of dying from actual boredom, until she had allowed herself to get engaged to Theo Willoughby. Engaged even though he had never, not once, made her tremble with desire. Nor, she admitted, had she him. No wonder they’d both been content to drift through the two years of their engagement barely seeing each other—and barely touching when they did.

She took one last look back and stilled. The man was looking across at her, and even over the lake she could sense his predatory intenseness. Heat flickered through her veins as she stood there, trapped under the weight of his gaze, über-conscious of his semi-nudity, all that flesh so splendidly displayed, feeling, under the weight of his gaze, as if she were equally unclad. Her mouth dried, her limbs heavy, under his spell, as if he were some male Medusa, turning her into a statue with a look alone.

Somehow Maddie summoned up the resolve to turn away, to walk nonchalantly as if she didn’t know that he was still staring at her, as if his gaze wasn’t burning holes in her back. And then, just like that, the pressure lessened, and when she plucked up the courage to glance back he was in the water, cutting through the lake with single-minded, bold strokes.

She paused to watch him swim. She had no idea who he was, but the unsettling encounter combined with the wedding invitation had to be a sign. Theo had moved on—to be fair, he had moved on the second she had halted the wedding if not before—and it was time she shook off all those labels that had held her back for so long: dutiful daughter, the runaway bride, the Honourable Madeleine. It was time simply Maddie discovered the joys of falling in love as well as the joys of working for a living. She’d promised herself the chance to live, to have fun in this time of exploration. It was time she stopped hiding behind her work, behind her fear, and seized every opportunity.

Of course, there weren’t that many opportunities for spontaneous romance in Castello Falcone or San Tomo, the tiny village which traditionally served the Falcone family. The pleasure spots of Lake Garda were twenty kilometres away, Verona and Milan further still. It was the peace and solitude which had drawn her here in the first place.

Lost in thought, Maddie barely noticed as she walked through the small, cobbled village square, with the church at one end and the magnificent wooden town hall at the other, passing through the narrow streets on autopilot. It wasn’t until she found herself back on the lake path that Maddie realised that she’d missed the turning, which took her around the back of the castle and in through the discreet staff exit, and instead she was heading towards the much grander—and private—gated driveway. She stopped, irresolute. It would take longer for her to turn around and go the right way and it wasn’t as if staff were actually forbidden from using the main entrance.

The fact this path would take her past the small cove where the mystery man was bathing had nothing to do with her decision to carry on. She focused on the path ahead, determined not to look to the right at any point, yet unable to stop her gaze sliding lakewards, just a little, as she approached the cove.

Nothing. No one. No piles of clothes. No bathers. Just a small curve of sand and the water.

That couldn’t be disappointment tightening in her chest, could it? Because that would be ridiculous. If things had come to such a pass that voyeurism was how she was getting her admittedly very few kicks then maybe she should just admit defeat and start creating memes of kittens.

Putting her head down, Maddie trudged determinedly on, only to stop with a shocked gasp as she ran straight into something hard. Something that emitted an audible ‘oof’ as her head rebounded off it. Maddie stepped back, embarrassed heat flooding her as she looked up, an apology spilling from her lips, only for the words to dry up as she looked into a pair of steely blue eyes. Eyes fixed directly on her.

‘Trovi bella la veduta?’ the owner of the eyes enquired sharply.

Maddie spoke fluent Italian, but every word she had ever known deserted her. ‘I... I’m sorry?’ She cringed as her words emerged, brisk and clear and so utterly English she sounded like Lady Bracknell opining on handbags.

‘I asked,’ and she cringed further as the man switched to perfect English, ‘if you were enjoying the view?’

Oh, no—oh, absolutely no way was this happening. Maddie stepped back and took in the man properly. Tall, dark-haired, looked as if he was sporting a decent pair of shoulders under the white linen shirt, hair ruffled and still wet. Still wet...

The swimmer.

* * *

Dante raised an eyebrow, but the slim, blonde woman didn’t say anything further, fixing her gaze firmly on the second button of his shirt. He raked her up and down assessingly—tall, with a willowy grace when she wasn’t running into people—her long, silky blonde hair twisted into a smooth ponytail. She didn’t look like one of the wedding guests who trooped through the castle gates with clockwork regularity to swill Prosecco and party into the early hours, rarely taking the time to notice the exquisite setting, but who else could she be? So few tourists found their way to the small San Tomo lake, most preferring the well-trodden loveliness of the more famous Garda and Como or to head deeper into the mountains.

The woman’s pale cheeks flushed a deep rose-pink as she finally lifted her head and met his gaze full-on. Her own gaze was steady, strengthened by a pair of cool grey eyes which reminded Dante of the lake on a winter’s day; almost silver, tinged with a darkness that spoke of hidden depths.

‘I wasn’t looking where I was going—please forgive me,’ she said, her voice clear and bell-like.

‘Distracted, maybe? The views can quite take one’s breath away.’ He allowed a knowing intonation to creep into his voice but, although her colour heightened, her expression stayed cool.

‘The mountains are magnificent, aren’t they? I can’t imagine ever taking them for granted, ever not being overawed.’

‘Glad to hear they’ve made an impression, signorina...’ He paused and waited, watching her torn between good manners and reluctance to prolong the conversation.

‘Fitzroy, Madeleine Fitzroy.’ She smiled then, the kind of polite smile which was clearly a dismissal. ‘I am so sorry again. It was nice to meet you.’ And with that she turned and walked away, back along the path. A calm, collected walk as if she was not at all flustered. Dante stayed still for a moment, enjoying the sway of her hips, the curve of her waist, set off by her neat linen shift dress.

The ping of his phone reminded him of his duties. He couldn’t stand here for ever, no matter how pretty the view. Tomorrow he would go for a long hike, up into the mountains, just as he had when he was a boy. But today he needed to catch up with paperwork, get to know any new staff who had started in the last few months, settle back into the castle after far too many months since his last fleeting visit.

The woman had disappeared around the curve of the lake path and Dante set off in the same direction. The path was as familiar as his own reflection, memories around every turn. Even now, after all these years, after all these regrets, he had to stop the moment Castello Falcone came fully into view. Had to admire the way the natural stream had been diverted to create a continuous cascade through fountains and ponds to fall down the terraced slopes. Appreciate how the natural and formal so seamlessly blended together in the landscaped gardens—and, rising above it all, the many spires of Castello Falcone. The setting was more fairy-tale than any movie-set designer could imagine, centuries of scandal and secrets locked up inside those walls. His own included.

His phone pinged again, this time telling him he had a call, and he pulled it from his pocket, frowning. He’d promised Arianna he’d try and take a break this summer, but he could never truly switch off. Too much rested on him. He flipped the phone over, his mood lightening when he saw his sister’s name on the screen, mentally calculating the time difference. It must be midnight in New Zealand.

‘Ciao, Luciana. E tutto okay?’

‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

Dante suppressed a smile at the familiar voice. After a decade on the other side of the world his sister had an accent that was a unique mixture of her native Italian and a New Zealand twang, and she usually spoke English, even to him, liberally strewn with Italian endearments and curses. His chest tightened. How he wished she were closer, were here to help him raise Arianna.

‘It’s late,’ he pointed out mildly. ‘I’m surprised to hear from you, that’s all.’

‘I just want to make sure that you’re okay, mio fratello. Are you at the castello?’

‘Arrived this morning,’ Dante confirmed as he resumed his walk up the sweeping driveway, reaching one of the sets of stone steps flanking the terraces. ‘Arianna’s au pair will bring her along in a couple of days when I’ve made sure everything is ready.’

‘Good; it’s time she returned there. It’s not healthy to keep away. For either of you.’

Dante did his best to bite back his curt reply, but the words escaped regardless. ‘Her mother died thanks to the treacherous mountain roads. I was on the other side of the world. Arianna was left all alone...’

‘The roads didn’t kill Violetta,’ his sister cut in. She knew her cue; after all, they’d had this conversation more times than Dante could remember. ‘The mountains didn’t kill her...not even the ice on the road was responsible. It was the driver of the car she was in. It was the drink and drugs. Arianna was safe enough with her nanny, with all the rest of the staff. Stop torturing yourself, Dante. It’s been over five years.’

Over five years? What did years matter when the end result was the same? His daughter left motherless, his wife’s death a dark stain on his soul.

‘I know how long it’s been, Ciana.’ How long to the day, to the hour. Just as he knew how unhappy his wife had been. How, once she’d got over the initial excitement at living in a castle, she’d felt caged in by the mountains, isolated by San Tomo’s remote location, how much she resented him for travelling so much, working so much—although that work paid for her extravagant lifestyle. That unhappiness, that resentment, that isolation had killed her—and Dante knew exactly who was to blame.

It wasn’t the ice, or the car, or her lover, or the drink or the cocaine that had killed his wife. He had. And no matter how hard he worked he would never be able to atone, never make it up to his daughter. ‘I’m fine, Luciana. Looking forward to spending the summer here. To getting away from Roma for a couple of months.’ He glanced back towards the lake. ‘I’ve already been for a swim.’

‘The first swim of summer? How I miss it. I always knew it was the holidays as soon as I was in the lake. No study, no etiquette, no expectations for two whole months.’ Luciana’s voice was filled with melancholic nostalgia. Dante rolled his eyes, glad she couldn’t see him. He knew full well his sister’s house had stunning mountain views on every side, that she could walk down to a lake ten times the size of San Tomo in less than five minutes and her three sons spent most of their time on the water.

‘There’s plenty of room if you want to come for a visit any time.’ The offer was genuinely meant, but Dante knew she was unlikely to make the two-day flight back to her native country any time soon, not with three boys aged between five and eight and the extensive vineyard she owned with her husband to manage.

‘Grazie—it’s been too long since I saw my niece. Now, Dante, I wanted to ask you a favour.’

Here it was, the reason for the call. ‘Mmm?’ he said noncommittally.

‘My amico, Giovanna, you remember her? She recently got divorced—her husband was not a nice man—and she’s moved to Milan. She could really do with a friend. Will you take her out? Maybe for dinner?’ Luciana’s voice was sly and Dante didn’t try and hide his sigh.

‘I’m not planning to spend any time in Milan this summer,’ he said as repressively as possible. He should have known this conversation was coming; after all, it was at least three months since his sister had last tried to set him up.

‘She has a villa on Lake Garda and spends all her weekends there. That’s not far away. You could do with some time out as well, Dante. Just a few dinners, no expectations.’

‘Perdonami, Luciana, but I’m not looking to make any new friends, to date anyone. I know you mean well, but please, stop trying to set me up with your friends.’

‘I just hate to think of you all alone, brooding away.’ Luciana sounded throaty, a hitch in her voice. Dante knew those signs all too well; his sister was going to cry.

It would be different if she was close by, if she could just see that he and Arianna were both well, both happy. But he knew how much she fretted about being on the other side of the world, how much she blamed herself for promoting Dante’s marriage to Violetta. She just wanted him to be happy. How could he be upset with her for that? If only he could stop her worrying...

‘I’m not alone...’ The words spilled out before he had a chance to think what he was saying. ‘I met someone, but it’s really early days, so don’t get excited.’

A little, teeny white lie. What harm could it do? If it made Luciana happy—and stopped her trying to set him up with any newly single friend then surely it was allowable? Maybe even the right thing to do.

‘You met someone? Who? Oh, you man, you, why didn’t you say something before?’

‘It’s not serious. I didn’t want to get your hopes up.’ Plus, the tiny point that he’d only just thought up his imaginary girlfriend.

‘So? Details?’ Luciana demanded and Dante stopped dead. Details? Of course his sister would want details. He swivelled, looking out over the lake for inspiration. His gaze fell on the jetty almost directly opposite, on the woman he had seen standing there, on the intense way she had watched him, as if he represented something she needed, something she yearned for.

Despite himself the blood began to heat in his veins, his heart thumping a little louder. He’d been annoyed, sure. His coming-home ritual interrupted, the sheer intentness of her stare intrusive. And yet... There had been something almost sensual about the moment. The two of them separated by hundreds of metres of water and yet connected by something primal. He’d felt a little like a stag in the prime of his life, preening for attention. She the doe, unable to look away, waiting to be claimed.

‘She’s English,’ Dante said slowly. ‘Tall, blonde.’

‘English? Okay. And? What does she do? Where did you meet? What does Arianna think?’

Dante seized on the last question gratefully, his inventiveness already giving out. ‘Arianna doesn’t know yet, so don’t say anything when you video-call her. Like I said, it’s early days. Luciana, I’ll call you later this week; I have only been here a couple of hours and I need to meet the new staff and look over the new event planner’s business plan.’ Hopefully by then he would have thought up a story that would pass muster. Planned out a summer-long romance, followed by a regretful breakup in the autumn and his sister off his back for a good few months.

‘Okay, but I want to know all about her,’ Luciana threatened. ‘Ciao, Dante.’

‘Ciao. And, Luciana? Thank you for calling. For always calling.’

‘Stupido,’ she murmured and hung up.

Dante slipped his phone back into his pocket, for once the smile playing on his lips unforced. He did appreciate every phone call; he just wanted Luciana to stop worrying about him. Now, thanks to the stroke of genius that was his imaginary girlfriend, he’d achieved that.

For now.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_425bae33-e134-5cae-bae4-1db9414592e4)

‘THAT’S GREAT. I look forward to meeting you in two weeks’ time.’ Madeleine replaced the phone handset and leaned back in her chair. There was no need for her to speak to Sally Capper again, but—she made a private bet with herself—there would be at least another four conversations before the bride arrived in San Tomo.

Of course, every bride put a lot of trust in Maddie’s hands. She organised their pick-ups at the airport, she allocated rooms to their guests, sometimes ensuring that larger parties were also accommodated in the village. She arranged ceremonies at the church, at the town hall and in the small chapel in the castello—always reminding the couples to have a legal ceremony at home first to cut through the extensive Italian red tape. She advised on menus, she organised the decoration of the hall or the courtyard. She booked hairdressers and make-up artists. She received wedding dresses and made sure they were pressed and stored properly. In fact she had four hanging in the cedar closet behind her right now.

She soothed tears and tantrums, listened to diatribes about selfish relatives; she was counsellor and advisor. Some brides fell on her as if she were their best friend when they finally met. Others treated her as if she were there to do their every bidding, with no thought of pleases and thank-yous. Maddie didn’t much care either way. She was here to do a job, that was all.

The truth was, most of the weddings left her cold, their very perfection unsettling. The only times she felt a glimmer of any emotion was when the bride and groom didn’t care if the playlist was disrupted for a song or two, laughed if it rained, smiled benevolently when a great-uncle rose to his feet to make a long, rambling speech—because in the end all they cared about was each other. Maddie would watch those couples swaying later in the evening, eyes locked, and her heart would ache. Would anyone ever look at her that way—or would she always be practical, helpful Madeleine with the right name, the right upbringing and the right can-do attitude?

All she wanted was someone, some day to look at her as if she was their whole world.

Maybe she should get a dog.

She turned at the sound of voices in the courtyard behind her office. She’d waved off the last party yesterday and the rooms had all been cleaned and made up ready for the next, so no one should be out there. Maddie stood up to see better, but couldn’t see anybody.

Stretching, she snapped her laptop shut, deciding she wasn’t going to get much more done today; another wedding party would be arriving tomorrow and the exhausting cycle would begin again. Technically she was supposed to take the two days between bookings off, but she rarely did. There would be plenty of time for leisure and adventure when she finally had enough saved to begin travelling properly.

Picking up her bag, she stepped over to the little oval door which took her onto the covered balcony walkway with stone steps leading down into the courtyard. Her office was at the very back of the castle, overlooking the beautiful, cobbled courtyard with its gracious arches, flower-filled pots and imposing marble fountain which marked the centre.

Madeleine had been offered a room in the castle, but she had taken a small apartment in a chalet on the outskirts of the village. She had grown up surrounded by the old and grand at Stilling Abbey. She knew all about graceful arches and medieval halls and battlements. About draughty corridors and smoking chimneys, about slippery, steep stone steps and tiny windows which let in hardly any light. About furniture older than most people could trace back their family trees and dirty oil paintings featuring disapproving-looking ancestors.

No. Let the brides and grooms exclaim over the romance of it all from their four-poster bed while she went home to her little one-bedroom apartment with its glorious view of the lakes and its humble furnishings chosen for comfort alone. There wasn’t a single antique, nothing worth more than a handful of euros in the apartment, and Maddie liked it that way, although she knew her mother would wince at the clashing bright colours of the throws and cushions with which Maddie had personalised her little home.

She started down the old stone steps, mentally totting up all the things she needed to do the next day, not registering the small group in the corner of the courtyard until she reached the ground. The sound of her heels on the cobbles must have advertised her presence because the three men all stopped talking and turned as one. Maddie paused, smiling automatically, registering her boss, the castle general manager, Guido, and an older man she recognised as one of the accountants from the Falcone headquarters in Rome.

Her heart stuttered to a stop as her gaze moved on to the third man. What was the bather from the lake doing here? By the flare in his blue eyes he was as surprised to see her as she him—but then, it was a tiny valley, one small village, where everyone knew each other. The chances of the mystery man not being connected with the castle were far less than running into him.

After the first flare of surprise his expression smoothed into neutrality as he stepped forward. ‘Nice to meet you again, signorina.’

Guido looked from one to another. ‘You know one another?’

‘We ran into each other at the lake, but we haven’t been formally introduced,’ he said.

Maddie clenched her fists at the mocking tone in his voice, but managed to twist her mouth into a smile. ‘Literally ran into each other. My fault.’

‘I believe the signorina was transfixed by the view.’

Maddie’s fists tightened as her smile widened. ‘My mind was elsewhere,’ she agreed, trying her best not to let him see how easily he riled her.

‘Maddie is one of our hardest workers. We are very lucky to have her.’ Guido stepped in, to Maddie’s profound relief. ‘Dante, this is Madeleine Fitzroy; she looks after all the weddings here at the castello. Maddie, let me introduce you to Conte Falcone.’

Maddie had already started to extend her hand and continued the motion automatically, even as her mind raced with the new information. It wasn’t the dark-haired man’s title that threw her—most of Maddie’s family had titles—it was the realisation that he was her employer. The first employer she had ever had and he’d seen her ogling him down at the lake. Was that an automatic disciplinary?

‘You’re the events planner?’ He sounded as surprised as Maddie felt as he took her hand. It was just a brief touch, but a jolt shocked up and down her arm, her nerves tingling from the encounter.

‘I... Yes. I...’

Nicely done, Maddie; pull yourself together.

After all, she’d had tea with the Queen three times and managed to make polite conversation over the finger sandwiches just fine. There was no way this tall man with the sardonic smile was more intimidating than meeting the Queen of England. ‘I’ve been here nearly a year now; I started last September.’ A couple of months after her non-wedding, desperate to get away from the limelight she had found herself in, away from the camera lenses and the headlines, from her mother’s disapproving and palpable disappointment. A friend of a friend had mentioned that she knew of a job somewhere remote in the Italian Dolomites for someone with good organisational skills and fluent Italian, and Maddie had jumped at the opportunity.

‘You approved her appointment before you went back to Roma at the end of last summer,’ Guido said. ‘Maddie managed events at two similar venues in England.’

So her CV had carefully omitted that one of those venues was her own ancestral home and the other belonged to her ex-fiancé? The blatant nepotism and lack of a salary didn’t change the fact that Maddie had managed them both expertly, and she had had no qualms about using that experience to get herself a real paying job.

‘Si, I remember. I was expecting someone a little older, that is all. I seem to remember at least eight years’ experience at the highest level...’

‘I started working young,’ Maddie said, lifting her bag higher onto her shoulder, signalling clearly that, lovely as this encounter was, she had somewhere else to be.

‘Obviously.’ His smile didn’t reach his eyes and Maddie shifted, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

‘Are you in a hurry?’ Guido asked her. ‘I was planning to show the Conte some of the changes you have made to the accommodation. But you can explain your thinking much better than I can, if you have time to accompany us.’

Maddie shifted again. Usually she would jump at the opportunity to showcase some of her work; she was proud of what she had achieved over the last few months. But she felt uneasy spending any more time under Dante Falcone’s all too penetrating glance.

‘I’m sure the signorina has more inspiring things to do with her evening; a walk around the lake perhaps?’ the Conte drawled, his eyes gleaming at her.

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, arched 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 (#ulink_86f4bfb7-dcac-5ecb-9f2d-e3330fe26a39)

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?’

Of course he hadn’t—and Dante knew his sister was fully aware of that fact. ‘I don’t believe so.’ He sat back even further, legs outstretched, grinning as his sister narrowed her eyes at him.

‘Dante, don’t be tiresome.’

‘Early days, remember?’

‘Si, I know. But I’ve been so worried about you, mio fratello, I just want to share in your happiness that’s all. Tell me a little about her, about how you met.’

Damn. Now what was he supposed to do? He’d never been very good at this kind of thing even when the object of his supposed affections wasn’t made up. Dante glanced towards the lake, hoping for inspiration. A group of young people, armed with kayaks and paddleboards, were on the beach just outside the castle gates—probably wedding guests. Guido mentioned that Maddie had introduced water sports for the summer months.

Maddie. Of course. He had already based his fictional girlfriend on her physically. What harm in borrowing a little bit more?

Crossing his fingers, he attempted a casual tone. ‘She works here at the Castello Falcone. I met her when we had a planning meeting last month.’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘Did you like her immediately? Was there chemistry?’

Dante thought back to the moment when he had glimpsed Maddie across the lake, gazes holding, blood thundering. To the way he had been aware of every inch of Madeleine while she showed him around the stable block, the way he had tried to get under her skin, repayment for the way she seemed to get under his. The way he had assiduously avoided every place she might be in the three days since they’d met, working from the office in his suite of rooms in the main part of the castle instead of setting up in the main offices at the back as he usually would. ‘I don’t know about like,’ he said slowly. ‘But there was definitely chemistry.’

‘And now you’ll be working together all summer! Just promise me, Dante, don’t try and sabotage this out of some ridiculous sense of loyalty to Violetta. It’s been five years. It’s time to move on.’

Dante didn’t answer. He had moved on, but he had learned his lesson; his heart couldn’t be trusted. If he was ever to consider marriage again it would be to someone practical, someone who could help him run his business empire and wouldn’t be overawed by the social demands his title still commanded even in republican modern-day Italy.

‘So you met, there was chemistry and now you and...what’s her name, did you say?’

Dante knew when he was beat. ‘Madeleine. Maddie.’

‘Now you and Madeleine get to spend the summer together. It couldn’t be more perfect. I can’t wait to meet her.’

Hang on, what? ‘Meet her?’

‘Si; oh, silly me, that’s the whole reason for the call. I’ve been so tired, Dante, not at all like myself—Phil even made me go and see the doctor, ridiculous, overbearing man.’ Luciana’s voice softened as she said her husband’s name, just as it always did.

Dread stole over Dante’s heart. He hadn’t been imagining the dullness in Luciana’s eyes, the shadows darkening them. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Apart from having a dozen tests and goodness knows how many needles stuck in me? Si. At least, the doctor wants me to slow down for a while, but nothing worse than that. But how can I, with the boys and the vineyard and my fundraising and everything else I have to do? The truth is I’m just run-down. So Phil is insisting I take a good, long vacation. That I come home for a few weeks and let the Italian air revive me.’

‘You’re coming here? To San Tomo?’

‘Isn’t it wonderful?’

‘Yes.’ And it was. Of course it was. If only he hadn’t just lied to her.

‘I thought I’d spend a few days with you and then head to Lucerne to see Mama. I can get to know Arianna properly all over again and meet your Madeleine, plus get away from this dreary winter. My flight leaves in three days, via a stopover in Singapore. I’ll be with you on Thursday!’

‘Thursday?’ Dante mechanically took down his sister’s flight details, promising someone would be there at the airport to pick her up; all the while his brain was whirling, trying to work out a plan. Luciana would land in Rome in less than a week. She may choose to spend a few days in the apartment she had inherited from their father there, but knowing his sister she would be straight onto the high-speed train which would whisk her up to the north of the country in a matter of hours.

He had four days to work out a plan.

Maybe he could say his girlfriend had had to return to England?

Only he had not only named her and described her, but he had also given the name and description of someone here in the castello.

Maybe he could send Maddie back to the UK for a few weeks—or to his Rome office or Milan?

Only she had a summer’s worth of weddings lined up and ready to go.

He could admit the truth. Break his sister’s heart in the process—and find himself dating half of her friends in order to make it up to her.

He was in trouble whatever he did.

Unless...

Maybe, just maybe, he could salvage this situation after all.

* * *

Maddie hadn’t felt like taking her usual lunchtime walks around the lake over the last few days. Her whole body still flushed when she thought about the moment she realised that her mystery bather and the Conte Falcone were one and the same—and when she remembered the peculiarly charged feeling permeating the air when he’d turned his whole focus onto her.

Instead Maddie had been exploring the vast gardens at the back of the castle. The formal walled gardens and flower gardens gave way to woodland and there were plenty of paths to wander through, plenty of interesting sights to discover, from little stone summer houses to statues, all relics of a nineteenth-century Falcone with a taste for whimsy. She had a similar ancestor; he had installed a gothic folly by the Capability Brown designed lake. It was a popular wedding spot now, which probably made her Byron-idolising ancestor turn in his equally gothic grave.

Maddie stopped when she reached the carved stone bench she’d discovered yesterday, sitting down in the pretty flower-strewn glade to eat the small picnic lunch she carried with her. She’d soon learned that if she didn’t leave her desk she wouldn’t get a chance to eat. There was always some crisis. At least this current crop of wedding guests seemed sensible; they were, in the main, a cheerful outdoorsy lot and today most of the party had headed into the mountains for a trek, some of the younger contingent taking kayaks onto the lake instead.

Unwrapping her sandwich, Maddie stretched her legs out, tilting her head to the sun. Bliss.

Only...she had the sense that someone was watching her. She gave the glade a quick glance around. Nothing. But Maddie couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was definitely not alone. Had one of the castle dogs followed her out, looking for a bite of her sandwich? ‘Ciao,’ she called out and waited, feeling a little foolish as she was answered with nothing but silence, until a branch rustled and a small, slim girl stepped into the clearing.

Maddie had had very little to do with children, and to her eyes the child could have been any age between five and ten. Her long, dark hair was in two messy braids, wisps escaping at every turn, and there were smears of dirt across her face, but Maddie noticed the cut of her torn shorts and the quality of her T-shirt. This urchin was expensively dressed—and didn’t care about keeping her clothes neat.

‘You look like you’ve been through the wars,’ Maddie said in Italian.

The girl gave her a tentative smile. ‘I’ve escaped.’

‘Where from?’

‘From the castello. My au pair wanted me to take a siesta. Sleep! On a day like this.’ The girl looked scornfully up at the sky and Maddie had a moment’s sneaking sympathy for the hapless au pair tasked with taming this wild child.

‘It does seem a shame,’ she agreed, breaking her sandwich in two and holding half out to the fugitive. ‘Here, you must be hungry. I know adventuring always gave me an appetite when I was your age. I’m Maddie.’

‘Arianna Falcone.’

Of course she was. Now Maddie could see the Conte in the proud tilt of the girl’s chin, in the blue of her eyes. ‘Nice to meet you, Arianna.’

‘So this is where you’re hiding?’

They both jumped guiltily as a stern voice echoed through the glade and Maddie felt her treacherous body jump to attention as the Conte strode into view. He looked cool despite the heat of the day, in well-cut linen trousers and a short-sleeved white shirt.

He took in the situation with one cool glance. ‘Aiding and abetting my daughter, signorina?’

‘Only with half a sandwich.’ Maddie smiled at the unrepentant child.

‘That’s half a sandwich more than she deserves. Piccola, poor Isabella is looking everywhere for you. Go, find her and make your apologies.’

‘But it’s too lovely a day, Papa. I don’t want a siesta.’

‘Then, my child, you shouldn’t have got caught. But, as you were, go and take your chastisement like a Falcone. Then, if you’re good, we can go sailing this afternoon.’

The mutinous expression lightened and Arianna threw her arms around her father before taking off and running back in the direction of the castle, her half of Maddie’s sandwich still clasped in her hand. To Maddie’s surprise, and no little apprehension, the Conte made no move to follow his daughter, remaining in the glade and fixing Maddie with an inscrutable look.

With an inward sigh she put her own half-sandwich back in its bag. The cook had stuffed it full of mozzarella, rocket and sun-dried tomatoes; there was no way of eating it in any kind of dignified way, and Maddie needed all the dignity she could muster in front of this man.

‘It’s a lovely day.’

Small talk? Seriously. ‘Yes.’ Not the most articulate of responses, but all that expensive education teaching Maddie etiquette hadn’t prepared her for how to answer when a man said one thing, but his body language said something quite different. Dante Falcone was ramrod-straight, gaze fixed firmly on her, looking more as if he was about to deliver a lecture rather than discuss the weather.

Deliver a lecture or devour her whole. Maddie curled her hands into fists, refusing to give in to the urge to smooth her red skirt down, but she couldn’t help recalling what happened to girls in red who talked to wolf-eyed strangers in the woods.

Oh, what big eyes you have...

‘Would you be kind enough to accompany me on a short walk? There is something I would like to discuss with you.’

Maddie tried not to give her half-sandwich a longing look. She wanted to sit, eat and just be, not go for what was bound to be an excruciatingly uncomfortable walk. She had spent less than two hours in Dante Falcone’s company and in those two hours he had deliberately embarrassed her, she had embarrassed herself, she’d been borderline rude several times. Why would she put herself through a second dose of that?

‘Please,’ he added. And then he smiled. And that changed everything.

The smile transformed Dante Falcone’s face, softening the sharp, lean edges, transforming the saturnine look into something warmer, something Maddie wanted to get close to, his good looks no longer remote, statue-like, but flesh and blood and all the more attractive for that. Desire, new, hot and heavy, flooded through her, drying her throat and taking all capacity to think and reason away.

She reached for words, any words, but found none. Instead she nodded as he turned away towards a path she hadn’t yet explored, supremely confident that she’d follow him. And she did, her feet powerless to disobey.

‘You speak Italian very well.’

That was ironic; right now she could barely manage English. ‘I went to a finishing school near Geneva. We spoke mostly French and Italian there.’

Maddie sensed rather than saw the rise of his elegant brows. ‘And what brought you into event management?’

‘I kind of fell into it,’ she said carefully, but the Conte didn’t react, merely waited for her to carry on and reluctantly she did. ‘I grew up in a house a little like the Castello Falcone.’

‘I see.’

There was no condemnation in the words, but Maddie couldn’t help bristling. People often assumed that she’d spent her time floating around like some Jane Austen heroine, arranging flowers and making calls and considering it work. She straightened her shoulders, matching her pace with his. She was proud of what she had achieved. It would be nice if someone else was too.




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