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‘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.’
