Her life had been devoid of affection for so long, and she wanted desperately to be romanced. Even if it was only for tonight.
She gathered her pashmina firmly around her and squared her shoulders. It was impossible, she knew that. And caring for Luca as she did and still knowing he wasn’t for her gave even a simple farewell dinner a bittersweet taste.
She turned towards the marble stairs and her eyes fell on Luca, waiting for her at the top.
Her heart gave a single, satisfying thump, as if to say, “This is it.”
For a few seconds her feet refused to move as their gazes locked. It was something out of a bygone movie as she climbed each of the four stairs, her hand resting on the curve of the elaborate iron railing. The night of shared secrets ceased to exist; the tense atmosphere at breakfast and in the moments since drifted from her memory as she walked to him, her shoes making tiny clicks on the Italian veined marble, her breath catching at how very splendid he looked in evening wear.
At the top he took her hands and kissed each of her cheeks and her eyes slid closed before she could think twice. Pulling back slightly, he held out his arm, and she hesitantly looped hers through his elbow, awareness and something darker skittering along her nerve endings as he placed his hand over her forearm.
“You look…bellisima. Beautiful, Mariella. More beautiful than I can possibly describe.”
This was the Luca she remembered, not the practiced stranger from their breakfast, or the distant boss from this afternoon. Whatever had caused the change, it was gone and in its place was a man who exuded warmth and spoke to her as if she were the only woman in the world. She tried to push the hope down in her heart, yet a little of it remained. Her throat tightened as he led her to the door of the dining room. This was what he’d done to her, then. He’d made her hope where before there had been nothing.
Then the door opened, and her lips dropped open.
It was more than she’d dreamed, even though she’d seen the plans. Everything was gilded and regal, like stepping into a fairy tale with her prince on her arm. Chandeliers dripped with crystal and gold; pristine linens a backdrop for the cream and gold china and the distinctive tinkle of real crystal stemware. Candles flickered in clear, thick pots, covering everything with a luminous, peachy glow. Tuxedoed wait staff darted between tables amid the hush of opulence.
It was the royal castle Luca had envisioned from the beginning and it was perfect. She knew the end was growing near, yet that little seed of hope in her heart told her it felt like a beginning. “Oh, Luca. Look at what you’ve done.” Her feet stopped moving as she blinked rapidly.
“Not just me. You, Mariella. You inspired this the day you took me to the attic.”
“Me?” She turned to him in surprise, found his eyes on her steady and completely in earnest.
“You inspire me, Mariella. Is that so hard to believe?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her stomach lifting uncontrollably as his gaze dropped to her mouth. He wouldn’t dare kiss her here, would he?
And the moment held, suspended.
He’d been waiting. For her. Tonight she wanted to live the fairy tale. To grasp the few fleeting hours and pretend she was the princess. To believe she was chosen. She knew it would end soon enough. Tonight it was hers and she would not ruin it with doubts and fears.
Mari leaned forward slightly, her lips parting, close enough to feel Luca’s breath mingle with hers…
“Mr. Fiori? Your table is waiting.”
Mari stepped back, her cheeks heating. Luca’s arm tightened around her waist and the contact sizzled to her toes.
“Thank you.”
Mariella turned around, holding her breath. She was sure now that the gossip mill was probably running over time ever since she’d been in Luca’s suite at nine in the morning. But the hostess’s lips dropped open and her eyes lit. “Oh, Ms. Ross! Look at you! You look like a movie star.” Realizing her impertinence, she sighed. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
Mariella smiled, feeling it light from her toes. “Don’t be sorry,” Luca answered. “I agree with you. Shall we?”
The hostess led the way into the private dining alcove, the red velvet drapes held back by gold cord. Their table waited, champagne already chilled and ready to pour. As she sat, she beamed up at him. “Luca, this is amazing. I’ve never seen anything quite like it, you know. I certainly never expected it here. In what was the Bow Valley Inn.”
He poured the champagne, handing each of them a glass. “To remarkable transformations,” he murmured, touching his rim to hers.
Glasses clinked and Mari drank of the dry, fizzy champagne, feeling more with every moment that she was in a dream—a good one this time—and that at any moment she’d awake and the spell would be broken.
First courses arrived, then second; more champagne was drunk, and Mari made sure she put her glass down more frequently as things grew fuzzy and warm around the edges. Luca laughed as he recounted stories of his youth with Gina; escapades with each other and Luca’s winery-friend Dante who to all accounts sounded like hell on wheels and usually in the middle of any trouble. She alternated between feeling a beautiful sense of belonging at being privy to the memories, and an acute sadness of the sort of childhood she’d missed. She didn’t have any of the sorts of memories they did, of close times and scrapes and fun. Then Luca laughed and touched her hand beneath the table, and she shook off any lingering sadness. She’d learned to live in the moment a long time ago. This was no time to start having regrets or wishing for what had never been.
They were served dark chocolate terrine drizzled with raspberry coulis when Luca leaned forward and captured Mari’s hand.
Mari sat up straighter, startled at the sudden, personal gesture. But Luca
was completely sincere as he squeezed Mari’s fingers.