Whisked Away by the Italian Tycoon

A few minutes later Emily surveyed the two glasses, tipped her head to one side. ‘They look beautiful,’ she proclaimed and, no surprise, she pulled out her phone and took a picture. ‘Now how about we taste them?’

He led the way to the small square table in the corner and placed his drink down on the mosaic top, moved round to pull her chair out before sitting down. ‘Cheers,’ he said and she raised her glass, full of the dark rich liquid. Carefully she tasted it and closed her eyes in sheer delight. ‘It’s incredible. I can taste the hint of grapefruit but it’s not overpowering, just the teensiest bit astringent.’ She took another sip. ‘The world of chocolate may have benefited but the land of cocktails definitely missed out.’

She smiled as a waiter approached and her eyes widened as a wooden platter was placed on the table between them. Cold cuts of salami and thin slices of Parma ham, bowls of plump olives, sliced rustic bread, cheeses, were all laid out beautifully.

‘This is incredible. I hadn’t even realised how hungry I was until I saw this.’

‘Usually this would be a pre-dinner snack. Aperitivo originated years ago when a man in Turin invented vermouth. He claimed it was a good thing to drink pre-dinner. Then it all evolved and now all over Italy people have pre-dinner drinks and snacks and most bars serve something. Today I asked Matteo for enough for a meal.’

‘No wonder you love this city,’ Emily said as she picked up a piece of bread. ‘When did you move here?’

‘When I was eleven.’ A shadow crossed his face as he recalled the reason for the relocation from England. For the previous six months his life had been made a living hell by a gang of schoolyard bullies. The daily rituals of taunts and humiliations, pain and misery still occasionally populated his dreams. Worst of all had been his anger at his own weakness, the soul-churning knowledge that he couldn’t stand up for himself. A weakness he had refused to reveal to anyone.

But eventually the situation had escalated and his mother, once alerted to the problem, had gone into characteristic action. Had changed their name to her maiden name of Petrovelli and whisked the family to Italy to live, away from England where Dolci and the new Casseveti family continued to flourish. ‘Mum said it was a new start. She got a job here and we never looked back.’ The words sounded hollow even as he said them; in truth you could argue he had spent his whole life looking back.

As if she sensed the demon on his back she reached out and placed her hand over his. The warmth of her touch, the sense of her fingers shivered a small shock through him. ‘It’s hard not to look back,’ she said gently. ‘And there is nothing wrong with looking back, staying close to the past. There are some things we should never forget.’

And he saw such sadness in her eyes that pain touched his chest and he covered her hand, so it was sandwiched between his. Wondered what demons populated her past. ‘You’re right. Because what’s behind us is what shapes our present. We make decisions based on what has happened to us. Learn from it. But you shouldn’t dwell on it. You need to focus on the future, on your goals and dreams.’ Yet that hadn’t worked for him. Because now the dream, the goal he had worked towards, was out of his reach for ever. And that sucked.

‘What happens if you fail?’ Now her voice held a bitter undertone and her fingers curled around his palm; the touch shivered through him.

‘Then you try again or you reset the goal.’

‘That’s not always possible.’

‘No. It isn’t.’ His plan could never now be fulfilled and, it seemed, neither could hers.

They sat silent and he se

nsed a shared frustration, an instant of empathy he knew he had to dispel. He had no wish to get embroiled in anything emotional, yet the urge to do just that was nigh on overwhelming, told him to ask, to delve, to offer comfort. Stop. That was not his way and he could not let Emily under his skin. Instead perhaps it would be better to try to distract her, bring back the smile to stave off whatever it was in her past that had brought such sadness to her face.

‘How about we set ourselves an easy-to-achieve goal? Let’s walk the streets of Turin in moonlight.’

His reward a small smile and a decisive nod, the downside the bereft feeling as she gently pulled her hand away. ‘That sounds wonderful.’

CHAPTER SIX

AS THEY EMERGED into the dusky streets of Turin, Emily glanced up at Luca’s broad outline next to her, and curiosity surfaced as she wondered at the complexity of the man. He’d been the perfect host, charming and fun, but at the end she had sensed the depth of emotions that lay behind the charming façade, wondered what had brought shadows to darken his silver-grey eyes.

As if he sensed her gaze he turned and her breath caught—he looked ridiculously handsome. Moonlight glinted his dark hair, his chiselled features etched with strength, and for a crazy moment she wanted to hurl herself against the breadth of his chest, hold him, talk to him, kiss him.

But she wouldn’t. This wasn’t a viable attraction. Luca’s emotions were his to guard and she sensed he guarded them as fiercely as she did her own. That he too held a hurt, a dream unfulfilled, a failure he had to live with as she lived with hers. Her failure had led to tragedy, the loss of the baby she had wanted so much. Pain hurt her heart as the image of her lost baby hovered.

But she knew tonight he didn’t want to dwell on it or look back, and for now neither did she. Instead she’d absorb this city with its life and laughter and traditions, focus on getting the ideas she needed.

As if his thoughts walked with hers, he gestured around. ‘It’s beautiful by day but it’s a different sort of beautiful by night.’

Emily nodded agreement. ‘A city is different by night, by day, by season...by weather. Sometimes it’s happy, sometimes it’s sad—I think places are fascinating and capturing different images of them is a hobby of mine. You can show such different facets—the tourist haunts and sometimes the grittier undersides.’

‘I see what you mean but it would never occur to me to take a picture.’

‘Of anything?’ She turned to look at him, aware that incredulity had pitched her voice high. ‘When is the last time you took a photo?’

‘Um...’ Luca frowned. ‘I scanned a business document on...’

‘Doesn’t count.’ Emily came to a halt in the middle of the street. ‘Seriously, I genuinely want to know. I mean, you must take photos—nowadays you don’t even need a camera. Surely you take pictures of...something. When you look around you and see such beauty don’t you want to record it?’

But Luca didn’t look round. Instead he looked at her; his gaze held a molten spark that tugged desire in her tummy. ‘Perhaps you are right,’ he said, his voice deep and decadent, and she felt a delicious sizzle of knowledge that he was saying she was beautiful. ‘But sometimes I prefer to simply look at beauty. Absorb it.’