The Italian's Unexpected Heir

PROLOGUE

It took almost losing everything...

to make peace with a troubling past

and embrace a loving future

Paris, France, July

“CONGRATULATIONS! I KNEW you could do it.”

Enzo Bartolini turned to the beautiful woman standing next to him. The excitement in her voice and the sparkle in her eyes let him know she was more excited about this evening’s crowning achievement than he was. And that was the exact opposite of how things should be.

He was supposed to be the excited one—the one who felt as though he was on top of the world. This win was something he’d dreamed of for years. And now that it was here—now that he was holding the plaque with his name on it—the victory felt hollow.

The exhilaration he’d envisioned for this auspicious moment eluded him. The feeling of accomplishment—of finally being worthy of his father’s praise—was not to be. Shadows of the past smothered the brightness of the moment.

Still, Enzo forced a bittersweet smile to his face. In truth, he hadn’t truly won anything—at least nothing he felt worthy of claiming.

He’d encouraged his father for years to start entering his wine in competitions. Enzo knew the worldwide recognition would increase the demand for the wine and in turn raise its value. But his father had been stubborn, as usual. He’d said it was enough for him that he got to work the land each day and make a sizable profit. He didn’t need awards or recognition, too.

However, Enzo needed it. He needed something to fill the huge gaping emptiness inside his chest. It had once been filled by the constant love of his parents, but they had been ripped from his life. In the time it took his parents to drive to the city for what? Groceries? Supplies for the vineyard? Whatever it was they’d set out to do that day, it had led to a horrific accident and forever changed the lives of their son and two daughters.

When Enzo had insisted on seeing the accident photos, his stomach retched. Perhaps he shouldn’t have insisted. Perhaps he should have just taken the word of the police. But he’d been in shock, unable to process a life without his very dynamic parents in it. He’d demanded proof.

And then he’d been shown the photos. He’d only needed to see the one—the photo of a tangled-up piece of metal. It hadn’t even resembled a car any longer. There was no chance his parents could have survived. None at all. Thinking there couldn’t be anything else to compare to that devastation, he’d been wrong.

Enzo pushed aside those troubling thoughts. Tonight was all about the win. At last, there was once again something good in his life. So then why didn’t it feel good? Why wasn’t he on top of the world?

He reached to undo his black bow tie as well as loosen th

e top button of his white dress shirt, when Sylvie said, “Don’t. Not yet. I need a picture of you first.”

His hand hesitated in midair before he lowered it to his side.

Over the past several months, Sylvie DeLuca had become a good friend. She had the brightest smile—like the one she was flashing him now. And she was a good listener—though he usually didn’t have much to say. However, tonight, beneath the Parisian moonlight, he noticed her incredible beauty. How exactly had he missed it all this time?

“This is it!” Sylvie tugged on his arm. “We can take the photo here. It’ll look amazing.”

He stopped and glanced around. The Eiffel Tower was all lit up against the dark sky. So clichéd. And yet so utterly stunning.