Whisked Away by the Italian Tycoon

She popped the first sample in her mouth and closed her eyes as she savoured the flavour. Luca couldn’t help himself, he allowed his gaze to rove over her beautiful face, the length of her dark lashes, the slant of her cheekbones, the hue and glow of her skin. And, of course, the lips that had joined his in that explosive kiss just hours before.

Her eyes snapped open and he instantly dropped his gaze. ‘What do you think?’

‘These are freaking amazing. Why can’t I buy your products in the UK?’ She picked up the next one and took a bite. ‘You are missing an enormous opportunity.’

The question was a reminder of his plan, thwarted for ever now by the finality of death. Now he would never visit Dolci headquarters, march into his father’s office and issue a personal invitation to the opening of the Palazzo di Cioccolato flagship London store. Satisfy his need for revenge.

A dish best served cold and now a dish he would never get to serve at all. His dad had died and now he’d never get the chance to tell him anything. And without the idea of vengeance to fuel him the whole idea of a London store seemed pointless, filled him with a sense of flatness. Not the excitement and drive he needed to launch.

‘I am planning to open in the UK. I am looking for premises in London and then I will expand to regional high streets. It’s a balance between being a bit more exclusive and boutique and reaching a wider market.’ He also had to summon up the enthusiasm from somewhere.

‘Sure. You have already achieved so much.’ She gestured towards the door that led to the factory. ‘This is a massive operation. You made this happen. How? What’s your story? I did look on the website but there’s nothing there. What inspired you?’

Revenge. That was not an answer he would share. That he had been inspired, driven, by the need to outdo his father.

‘I’ve always understood the importance of chocolate.’ Keep it light. Give a little, but not too much. ‘My mum was pregnant with Jodi and she craved chocolate. But only very good quality, expensive chocolate. I used to watch her savour the tiny squares and even then I could see that good quality chocolate was the answer.’ And so the first seed of becoming a chocolatier had been planted in the close aftermath of his father’s desertion, when all he’d wanted was to provide his mother with what she craved. At a time when affording basic food was a problem, and Luca could remember the gnawing pain of hunger in his belly.

Sometimes they had imagined a feast and always in that illusory meal had been chocolate; the two of them would sit and imagine the taste of it, list the ingredients, savour the imaginary taste on their tongues. The memory unsettled him and he shifted on his chair, aware of Emily’s eyes on him, saw a questi

on in hers.

‘I went on a tour of a chocolate factory with school and I decided then and there that this was what I wanted to do.’

He’d looked round and wondered if the Dolci factory looked like this, full of the smell of sweetness and the churn and grind of machinery. Known he didn’t want to copy his father or follow in his footsteps, he wanted to rival him.

‘I managed to get a meeting with Lucio Silvetti, one of Turin’s foremost chocolatiers, and he agreed to train me. I worked hard, at the cocktail bar and various other jobs, and in the end I started small and then grew the business.’

‘You make it sound easy, but I know it can’t have been.’ Her frown deepened and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘In fact, you’re making it sound boring. I don’t get it. When you talk about your products and your company ethos you are full of enthusiasm. And pride. Surely you’re proud of how you achieved such success. Your story?’

‘Of course, I am. But there isn’t much to say about it.’

‘There’s loads to say about it.’ A quick sideways glance at him as she picked up a crumb with her fingertip. ‘Plus you don’t have a photo of you on your website. I could take one now, if you like. Maybe you on the factory floor, a hands-on CEO surveying your domain.’

‘No need. But thank you.’ After their conversation last night he felt stupidly vulnerable, as if all his mixed feelings about his company would show in his face, in his stance, in his eyes. And maybe he could fake a smile, but Emily would know it was fake and he wasn’t willing to show that to her discerning eye. For her to pick up the nuance and emotion he’d rather remain hidden. Hell, that he’d rather not feel at all. ‘I prefer for my products to speak for themselves. I am more of an invisible presence.’ For a moment he thought she’d protest but then she gave a small rueful smile.

‘Fair enough. I guess I get that.’ She placed the last piece of chocolate in her mouth and her eyes widened.

‘This is absolutely amazing. I’ve never tasted anything quite like this.’

‘That’s the idea,’ he said. ‘I wanted to make this different—I know some people may hate it but I’m hoping lots of people will love it.’

‘I am definitely in the latter camp. It somehow combines decadent richness with refreshing lightness. How have you done that?’

He smiled and gave a mock bow. ‘I told you. I’m a Zen master, remember?’

Now she laughed. ‘How could I forget? But do you also think it tastes different because of the actual cocoa bean? Because it’s from Jalpura and the others aren’t?’

The question with its mention of Jalpura jolted him, a stark reminder of Jodi and that for the past twenty-four hours he’d barely given his sister a thought. Guilt straightened his lips into a grim line. What the hell was wrong with him? Yes, the ad campaign mattered, but not as much as Jodi. He had to keep his eye on the goal.

‘I think Jalpura is definitely part of it,’ he said firmly. ‘So I think it’s time to go there.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

EMILY SNAPPED HER seat belt on and took a deep breath as she glanced around the aeroplane. The first-class section was relatively empty of passengers so she and Luca were effectively alone, which at least meant that if her panic returned she would be free from observation. For a moment she wondered if he had deliberately orchestrated their privacy, told herself not to be foolish.

‘You OK?’ As he spoke he reached down into his briefcase. ‘I got you this from the airport. Just in case you needed it.’

She accepted the paper bag he handed over and peered inside and a trickle of warmth touched her as she saw the content—a red squishy stress ball. ‘Thank you. That is really thoughtful.’ The kind of thing that would never have occurred to Howard in a million years and for some reason the gesture prickled her eyes with tears. Pulling it out, she squeezed it as the plane took off, held on tight and focused on her breathing, told herself that the sooner she got to Jalpura, the sooner she would get back.