CHAPTER TWO
VITO EASED THE throttle and settled down into a cruising speed along the autostrada. They’d just passed the Franco-Italian border at Mentone and were heading to his next stop, the Viscari San Remo, along the Riviera dei Fiori.
It had been a crowded morning, meeting with his managers at the Monte Carlo Viscari, outlining his strategy, addressing their specific issues, taking in their input and feedback. That had been followed by a working lunch, and only now, in mid-afternoon, were they travelling on. Heading back into Italy.
He was filled with mixed emotions. It was good to be back in his homeland after weeks out of the country, that was for certain, and yet he was all too aware that his extensive European tour—necessary though it had been—had been something he’d welcomed for quite different reasons than simply to make his mark as the new head of the company with his management teams.
It had got him out of Rome. Given him a lengthy break away from the city and the complications that it contained. Complications he could well do without.
Automatically, his mouth tightened. Those complications still awaited him, and in a couple of days they would be in the forefront of his life again. Somehow he would have to deal with them.
But not yet.
Deliberately, he shook them from his thoughts. No need to spoil these last few carefree days—not when he had Eloise at his side.
Eloise! He turned to glance at her, and as his eyes lit briefly on her beautiful profile he felt his spirits lighten. How totally and absolutely glad he was to have followed through on that first overpowering instinct that had speared him as he’d raised her to her feet from the concourse a
t Heathrow airport.
Of course it had been her glowing blonde beauty that had first captivated him—how could he possibly have resisted such a gift! He’d always had a passion for blondes, ever since he’d been a teenager, first discovering the enticements of the opposite sex, and as he’d looked down at the gorgeous, long-legged, golden-haired beauty who’d been gazing up at him with celestial blue eyes out of a face that was as gorgeous as the rest of her, he’d been instantly smitten.
The immediate desire he’d felt for her then had been richly fulfilled in Paris, and it had seemed the most natural thing in the world to continue his European tour with her at his side. With every new destination he’d reaffirmed how right he’d been. For it was clear to him that it was not merely Eloise’s stunning looks that were so captivating. Unlike so many of his previous inamoratas—the elegant Stephanie in Nice, for example—Eloise was possessed of a sweetness of nature he had not encountered before. She was never capricious, never demanding, never out of temper. Her sunny mood seemed constant, and she was always willing and complaisant, easy-going and smiling, happy to do whatever he wanted to do.
He had never known another woman like her.
His eyes went back to the road ahead. There was a slight question in his expression now. In a couple of days they’d be in Rome.
Will we still be together?
Or would it be time to end their affair? In his many previous love affairs it had always been he who’d moved on, bidding his lover a graceful farewell before waiting for the next beautiful blonde to cross his path and catch his interest. He’d enjoyed every affair, had been faithful and attentive during the course of each one, but when he’d ended them he’d had no regrets about knowing it had run its course.
A frown shadowed his eyes. Would it always be like that? One easy affair after another? Until—
Until what? What is it that I want?
It wasn’t a question he’d ever posed to himself so insistently. Yet he knew the answer to it all the same. Maybe he’d always known it.
I want to find a woman I can love as deeply as my father loved my mother!
That, he knew, was what had always been his goal. But was it attainable?
Maybe that’s why I play the field—because I don’t want to be disappointed in love. I fear the impossibility of making a marriage that was as happy as my parents’ marriage.
A shaft of sadness went through him. Yes, his parents had been supremely happy together, and he, their only child, had had the benefit of it—had been adored by both of them. Now there was a rueful expression in his eyes. Maybe even a little spoilt.
But Vito knew that knowing he was the apple of his parents’ eyes had also made him supremely conscious of his sense of responsibility towards them—to be worthy of their devoted love for him. That shaft of sadness came again...and something more. Since his father’s untimely death life had not been easy—not for his stricken mother. Her widowing had been cruel indeed, and Vito knew that the haunted look of grief in her eyes would never leave her.
But maybe when I marry—give her a grandchild? Then she might be happy again!
Who would be his bride, though? Again, his eyes flickered to Eloise, his expression questioning.
What is she to me—and what do I want her to be? Could she truly be the woman who will come to mean everything to me?
He did not know and could not tell. Not yet. Not until they reached Rome and there was an end to this constant travelling. For now, he would just continue to enjoy their time together.
‘Did you know,’ he said smiling, ‘that San Remo is renowned for its flower market? And that every year the city sends its finest blooms to Vienna, to adorn the annual New Year’s Day concert?’
‘How lovely!’ Eloise’s smile was as warm as ever. ‘I’ve always adored watching that concert on TV. All those Strauss waltzes! And I’ll never forget the night we spent in Vienna!’ Her smile widened. ‘Tell me more about San Remo,’ she invited.