Uncovering the Correttis

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‘Can I ask why?’

‘My career’s just been shot.’ Emily was honest. His presence was just so consuming that there wasn’t the room in her mind to fathom lying or watering down the truth. ‘Well, slowly strangled.’ She looked at him and saw just a hint of a small smile lift the edge of a very beautiful mouth, and so she proceeded on. ‘Prolonged suffocation.’

‘What do you usually work on?’

‘I’m an investigative journalist.’ Emily sighed. ‘Or I thought I was till I was sent here. Still, this wedding sounds pretty interesting.’ He did not respond to her probe. ‘I heard there was a lot of rivalry between the families.’

‘Heard?’ Anton checked.

‘Read,’ Emily admitted.

‘Read what exactly?’

She breathed out through her nostrils, feeling as if she was being tested. She was unsure just whom she was speaking to, but she so badly needed to know more. ‘That Antonioni Battaglia is the minister of trade and industry.’ She watched as from behind his glasses one perfect eyebrow raised. ‘That his backing is needed for the regeneration of the docklands.’ She was aware he could be a member of either family, but it was all or nothing and Emily chose to push on. ‘And I read that the Correttis want the docklands project.’

‘Do you really want to cover more than just the wedding?’ He made her a little nervous, or was it just that he made her breathless?

‘Yes.’ Emily nodded. ‘Are you related to them?’

He gave a small, mirthless laugh and shook his head in clear distaste.

‘Do you know them, then?’

‘Very well, though sometimes they would prefer that I did not.’

Emily blinked.

‘Tomorrow Antonioni will see his daughter, Alessia, married into the Corretti dynasty. Unlike his father and grandfather, Antonioni could never amass his own fortune. He’s an embittered politician and only too happy to buy into power.’

‘So, how do you know all this?’

‘Because I make it my business to know.’

Emily was used to getting information from others, but she knew full well that Anton was revealing this by choice, not because of her excellent interviewing skills. She just didn’t know why. Yet she wanted more from him, more insight and information and... Emily swallowed. She didn’t want their conversation to be over. She wanted more time with this intriguing man.

‘Scusi,’ he said, and she stood waiting as he took a phone call, feeling a bit awkward when he glanced over to her and then proceeded to make another.

‘I’ll go....’

‘Wait,’ he said, reaching out and taking her wrist, and Emily stood there, terribly aware of the contact but choosing to wait as instructed. Clearly he knew the families. It might be her only way in.

‘Do you want to know more about them?’ Anton asked.

‘Of course.’ Emily nodded. ‘Would you be happy to answer a few of my questions?’ She found she was blinking, only rather rapidly. Oh God, she was flirting, which she hadn’t done in forever.

‘Over dinner?’

‘That would be lovely.’ She gave a small swallow. There was this strange charge to the air and she decided to make it very clear that this would be a working dinner. ‘If you’re willing to be interviewed, then the paper can pay.’

‘Good.’ There was a twist of a smile on the edge of his mouth. ‘I just booked us a table for eight p.m.’

Had he been so sure she’d say yes?

‘I’ll meet you in the hotel foyer just before that.’

There was a flutter in her stomach that wasn’t just from nervousness as he continued speaking. ‘Wear something nice.’

‘Nice?’

‘Formal.’

Emily frowned. She didn’t want formal; she wanted a small cafe where they could properly talk. She didn’t have time to shop for something nice for some fancy restaurant. But already he was gone.

Emily heard the bells of the church and realised she had less than an hour to get ready. She headed back to the hotel and dashed up to her room. The only formal item of clothing she had was the dress she had brought in the vague hope of squeezing into the wedding, but surely it was far too much for dinner?

She really didn’t have much choice.

Emily was used to getting ready at a moment’s notice, but as she did her hair and make-up, there was a slight tremor to her hand at the prospect of dinner with Anton.

Why hadn’t she pushed for his surname before agreeing to dinner with him? She could have looked him up and found out whom she was dealing with.

Emily pulled on the silver dress and strappy sandals she had brought with her and piled up her hair, pinning it in place. A couple of long blond curls kept falling out, but glancing at the clock, she knew there wasn’t time to fix it. She looked in the mirror for one final check before heading down to the foyer, worried that she was ridiculously overdressed.

She need not have worried.

Anton had changed into a suit, and though still unshaven, with his hair brushed back he looked elegant and expensive. Yet there was an edge to him, a touch of the untamed as he watched her approach, and his eyes told her he approved as to her outfit choice.

Navy eyes, Emily noted, and smiled as she added another detail to tonight’s dream.

‘I didn’t get your surname?’ Emily said as he took her elbow and they walked out into the street and to his waiting car.

‘I did not give it,’ Anton responded. ‘Do you really think I want you quoting me?’

‘No....’ She was more than a little nervous now. His low black sports car was as expensive looking as he was, and as the door closed on her and he climbed in, she knew he could be taking her anywhere. ‘I do like to know who I’m dealing with, though. You could be anyone.’

‘So could you,’ Anton pointed out, starting the engine. ‘Do you usually go out for dinner with men you have only just met?’

‘In my line of work, yes,’ Emily said in a rather hopeless attempt to remind him that she was here only for business, except she knew she was fooling herself.

Despite what Adam might think, Emily was, in her own way, tough. She kept her wits about her at all times. She had to in her line of work. Yet around Anton she was struggling to keep her head. From the second he had stepped into the elevator, he had been heavily on her mind.

Emily sneaked a look at his strong profile. He was easily the sexiest-looking man she had ever been out with, but it wasn’t just his looks that attracted her to him; it was the mystery and the intrigue that she found intoxicating. She could not read him. He handled the car with ease. He was far from tense in the heavy traffic. If anything he seemed a little bored by the roadblocks set up for the coming wedding. The crowds gathering and spilling out onto the streets did not faze him either. Yet there was an edge to him she could not place, a guardedness in his responses that told Emily he did not readily welcome intrusion.

‘You have a question?’ As if he could feel her scrutiny, he turned to her.

‘I have many,’ Emily said as he turned his attention back to the traffic.

‘Go ahead.

‘Who are you?’

‘I thought you wanted to find out about the Correttis.’

‘I do, but—’

‘Keep your questions to them.’

They pulled up outside a very smart restaurant. People were lined up outside and Emily was glad that he had booked ahead—Anton wasn’t exactly liberal with small talk. The car door was opened for them, and it was clear the doorman knew him because there was a brief greeting. As she walked into the restaurant, Emily blinked. The place really was sumptuous, the guests elegant. The smell of herbs and garlic had Emily’s mouth watering.

Instead of being led through to the main restaurant, though, they were taken upstairs. Emily assumed it was because they were a last-minute booking. Only as she rounded the bend on the stairs did she realise that this section was the most exclusive, and she was terribly grateful for the prompt from Anton to dress formally. The jewels on the elegant guests glittered more than the candles on the beautifully dressed tables. One wall was glassed, French windows leading out to a balcony where the guests ate to the stunning backdrop of the Mediterranean at sunset.

Anton had better have some good information. Otherwise she was going to have hell to pay when she put in her expenses.

He spoke with their host as they walked through the restaurant, and when they reached their table, Emily frowned as instead of sitting opposite her, Anton took a seat to her side, their waiter hastily rearranging the place settings.

‘I like to face the view,’ he said. He was sitting so close that their knees briefly brushed and Emily pulled hers away.

‘You are nervous,’ he commented.

‘Do you blame me?’ Emily asked, and then it happened. The man who had given her nothing suddenly gave her the first thing her mind had begged for on meeting him—she was treated to his smile. His full mouth moved slowly and she saw his white, perfectly straight teeth. But more than that, his face lightened as his smile reached right to his eyes and claimed Emily’s ability to breathe in the process.

‘You have nothing to be nervous about,’ Anton said. ‘You are with me.’

‘Which tells me nothing,’ Emily responded with a wry smile, but yes, despite her nervousness around him, she did not feel unsafe.

‘Wine?’ he asked, but Emily shook her head.

‘Not while I’m working.’ This was, perhaps, a poor excuse. Normally Emily would be the one ordering it in the hope that whoever she was interviewing might open up a touch further, but she felt terribly aware that she needed to somehow stay in control here. ‘Speaking of work...’ She went to her bag to pull out her recorder but as she did, his hand closed over hers.

‘Not here.’ There was a slightly ominous note to his voice, and she looked at the hand closed over hers. ‘Why would you draw attention to yourself?’