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The Bride's Awakening
Kate Hewitt
Hes going to teach her how to be a woman! Vittorio Ralfino, the Count of Cazlevara, is back in Italy to find a traditional wife. Anamaria Viale, a good local girl, loyal and scandal-free, is perfect. Anamarias stunned that her teenage crush is proposing to heran ugly duckling! Tall, voluptuous and awkward, shes stoically resigned herself to singledom.But Vittorio is persuasive and passionate! He offered marriage as a business proposition but very soon unlocks a deep, powerful need in Anas untouched body that only he can sate


I want you, Vittorio confessed raggedly, so much. Come back to the castle with me. Make love to me, Ana.
Love. Ana couldnt keep the smile from her voice. Again?
You think onceor twiceis enough?

She could hardly believe he wanted her so much. It shook her to her very bones, the heart of herself. No, definitely not, she murmured.

Come back

No. Not at the castle, Vittorio. Here.

He stared down at the dusty ground of the vineyard. Here? he repeated dubiously.

Yes, Ana said firmly, tugging on his hand. Here. Here, where hed found her desirablesexyeven in her work clothes with her wind-tangled hair. Here, where shed felt safe and heaven-bound all at once, and wanted to again, in Vittorios arms. Here, because among the grapes and the soil she was her real self, not the woman who wore fancy dresses and high heels and tried to seduce her husband with tricks she couldnt begin to execute with any skill or ease.

Here.

The Brides Awakening
By

Kate Hewitt



www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
KATE HEWITT discovered her first Mills & Boon
romance on a trip to England when she was thirteen, and shes continued to read them ever since. She wrote her first story at the age of five, simply because her older brother had written one and she thought she could do it too. That story was one sentence longfortunately theyve become a bit more detailed as shes grown older.
She has written plays, short stories, and magazine serials for many years, but writing romance remains her first love. Besides writing, she enjoys reading, traveling, and learning to knit.

After marrying the man of her dreamsher older brothers childhood friendshe lived in England for six years and now resides in Connecticut, with her husband, her three young children, and the possibility of one day getting a dog.

Kate loves to hear from readersyou can contact her through her website: www.kate-hewitt.com

Chapter One
VITTORIO RALFINO, the Count of Cazlevara, stood on the threshold of San Stefano Castle and searched the milling guests for the woman he intended to be his wife. He wasnt certain what she looked like for, beyond a single small photo, he hadnt seen her in sixteen years. Or if he had seen her, she hadnt made much of an impression. Now he planned to marry her.
Anamaria Viale wasnt readily apparent amidst the tuxedo and evening gown-clad crowd circulating through the candlelit foyer. All he remembered from when hed seen her at her mothers funeral was a sad, sallow face and too much dark hair. Shed been thirteen years old. The photo in the magazine gave little more information; she had good teeth. Still, her looksor lack of themdid not interest Vittorio. Anamaria Viale possessed the qualities he was looking for in a wife: loyalty, health and a shared love of this land and its grapes. Her familys vineyard would be an asset to his own; together they would rule an empire and create a dynasty. Nothing else mattered.
Impatiently, he strode into the castles medieval hall. Shadows danced along the stone walls and he felt the curious stares of neighbours, acquaintances and a few friends. He heard the murmur of speculative whispers travel around the ancient hall in a ripple of suppressed sound and knew he was their subject. He hadnt been back in Veneto for more than a day or two at a time in the last fifteen years. Hed kept away from the place and its memories and regrets. Like a hurt little boy, hed run away from his past and pain, but he was a man now and he was home for goodto find a wife.
Cazlevara! Someone clapped him on the back, thrusting a glass of wine into his hand. His fingers closed around the fragile stem as a matter of instinct and he inhaled the spicy, fruity scent of a bold red. You must try this. Its Busatos new redhes blended his grapes, Vinifera and Molinara. What do you think?
Vittorio took a practised sip, swilling the rich liquid in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. Good enough, he pronounced, not wanting to get into a detailed discussion about the merits of mixed grapes, or whether Busato, one of the regions smaller winemakers, was going to give Castle Cazlevara, his own winerythe regions largest and most selectany competition. He wanted to find Anamaria.
I heard the rumours. Youre home then? Youre going to make some wine?
Vittorio glanced at the man who had been speaking to him: Paolo Prefavera, a colleague of his fathers. His round cheeks were already rosy with drink and he smiled with the genial bonhomie of an old family friend, although his eyes were shrewd.
Ive always been making wine, Paolo. Castle Cazlevara produces nine hundred thousand bottles a year.
While youve been touring the world
Its called marketing. Vittorio realized he was speaking through his teeth. He smiled. But yes, Im home for good. Home, so he could rein his grasping brother Bernardo back in, before he squandered the rest of the winerys profits. Home, so he could keep his treacherous mother from taking what was hisand his heirs. At this thought, his forced smile turned genuine, even though his eyes remained hard. Have you seen Anamaria Viale? Paolos eyebrows rose and Vittorio stifled a curse. He was too impatient; he knew that. When he made a decision, he wanted it carried out immediately, instantly. Hed decided to marry Anamaria Viale nearly a week ago; it felt like an eternity. He wanted it done; he wanted her vineyard joined to his, he wanted her joined to him, in his bed, by his side, being a wife.
Paolo smiled slyly and Vittorio forced himself to smile back. Now there would be whispers, rumours. Gossip. I have a question to ask her, he explained with a shrug, as if it were no matter.
She was over by the fireplace, last time I saw her. Paolo gave a small chuckle, more of a guffaw. How could you miss her?
Vittorio didnt understand what Paolo meant until he neared the huge stone fireplace. An alarmingly large stuffed boars head was mounted above the hearth and a few men were gathered underneath, sipping wine and chatting quietly. At least he thought they were all men. Narrowing his eyes, he realized the tall, strong figure in the centre of the group was actually a woman. Anamaria.
His mouth tightened as he took in his intended wife, dressed in an expensive-looking but essentially shapeless trouser suit. Her long dark hair was held back in a clip and looked as thick and coarse as a horses tail. She held a glass of wine as most of the castles guests did; the evening was, after all, a wine-tasting for the provinces premier winemakers and guests. She had, Vittorio saw, strong, even features; pretty was not necessarily a word he would use to describe them. There was something too earthy and bold about her, he decided. He preferred the women he took to his bed to be more delicate, fragile even. Slim.
Not, he amended, that Anamaria Viale was overweight. Not at all. Big-boned was the word he might have chosen, although his mother would have sneered and called her grassa. Fat.
Vittorios mouth thinned at the thought of his mother. He could hardly wait to see the look on the old bitchs face when he told her he was getting married. Bernardo, her precious favourite, fool that he was, would never inherit. Her plansthe plans shed cherished since the moment his fathers will had been readwould come to nothing.
Vittorio smiled at the thought, little more than a bitter twisting of his mouth, and dismissed his brides looks as a matter of no importance. He didnt want a beautiful woman; beautiful women, like his mother and his last mistress, were never satisfied, always finding fault. Hed left his mistress in Rio pouting for more time, money, even love. Hed told her he would never set eyes on her again.
Anamaria, he was sure, would take what she was given and be grateful, which was exactly what he wanted. A wifea humble, grateful wifethe most important accessory a man could ever possess.
Surveying her tall, strong form, Vittorio was quite sure a woman like her was unused to male attention; he anticipated her stammering, blushing pleasure when the Count of Cazlevara singled her out.
He stepped forward, straightening his shoulders, and adopted an easy-going, self-assured smile whose devastating effect he knew well.
Anamaria. His voice came out in a low, suggestive hum.
She turned, stiffening in surprise when she saw him. Her eyes widened and a smile dawned on her face, a fragile, tremulous gesture of joy, brightening her whole countenance for the barest of moments. Vittorio smiled back; he almost laughed aloud. This was going to be so easy.
Then she drew herself upher height making Vittorio appreciate Paulos comment once moreand raked him with one infuriatingly dismissive glance, that amazed smile turning cool and evencould it be?contemptuous. He was still registering the change in her expression and moodhis smug satisfaction giving way to an uneasy alarmwhen she spoke.
Hello, Lord Cazlevara. Her voice was low, husky. Almost, Vittorio thought with a flicker of distaste, like a mans. Although, he noted, there was nothing particularly unpleasing about her features: straight brows and nose, dark grey eyes, the good teeth hed noticed before. She was not, at least, ugly; rather, she was exceedingly plain. He let his smile deepen to show the dimple in his cheek, determined to win this plain spinster over. A woman like Anamaria would surely appreciate any charm thrown her way.
Let me be the first to say how lovely you look tonight.
She raised her eyebrows, the flicker of that cool smile curling her mouth and glinting in her eyes. They had, he saw, gold flecks that made them seem to shimmer. You will indeed be the first to say so.
It took Vittorio a moment to register the mockery; he couldnt believe she was actually making fun of himas well as of herself. Feeling slightly wrong-footedand unused to itVittorio reached for her hand, intending to raise it to his lips even as he cursed the way hed phrased his flattery. For flattery it was indeed, and she knew it. She was not stupid, which he supposed was a good thing. She let his lips brush her skin, something darkening her eyesthose gold flecks becoming moltenbefore she quite deliberately pulled her hand away.
The crowd around them had fallen back, yet Vittorio was conscious of avid stares, intent ears and, even more so, his own mounting annoyance. This first meeting was not going the way hed anticipatedwith him firmly in control.
To what do I owe such a pleasure? Anamaria asked. I dont believe weve seen each other in well over a decade. Her voice caught a little, surprising him. He wondered what she was thinking of, or perhaps remembering.
Im simply glad to be back home, Vittorio replied, keeping his voice pitched low and smooth, among beautiful women.
She snorted. She actually snorted. Vittorio revised his opinion; the woman was not like a man, but a horse. You have learned honeyed words on your trips abroad, she said shortly. They are far too sweet. And, with a faintly mocking smile, she turned and walked away from him as if he were of no importance at all. She left him.
Vittorio stood there in soundless shock, his fury rising. Hed been summarily dismissed, and he, along with the little knot of spectators around him, was conscious of it. He felt the stares, saw a few smug smiles, and knew hed been put properly in his place, as if he were a naughty schoolboy being disciplined by a mocking schoolmarm. It was a feeling he remembered from childhood, and he did not like it.
Standing there, Vittorio could not escape the glaringlyand embarrassinglyobvious conclusion: as far as opening gambits went, his had been an utter failure.
Hed been planning to ask her to marry him, if not tonight, then certainly in the next few days. When he decided a thingeven to marryhe wanted it done. Completed. Over. He had no time or patience for finer emotions, and frankly hed considered the wooing of such a woman to be an easy exercise, a mere dispensing of charm, a few carefully chosen compliments.
After reading the article about herand seeing her photohed assumed she would be grateful for whatever attention she received. She was unmarried and nearing thirty; his proposal would be, hed thought, a gift. Maybe even a miracle.
Perhaps he had been arrogant, or at least hasty. The wooing and winning of Anamaria Viale would take a little more thought.
Vittorio smiled. He liked challenges. Admittedly, time was of the essence; he was thirty-seven and he needed a wife. An heir. Yet surely he had a weekor twoto entice Anamaria into marriage? He wasnt interested in making the woman fall in love with him, far from it. He simply wanted her to accept what was a very basic business proposition. She was the candidate hed chosen, the most suitable one he could find, and he wasnt interested in any others. Anamaria Viale would be his.
Still, Vittorio realized, hed acted like a fool. He was annoyed with himself for thinking a womanany womancould be charmed so thoughtlessly. It was a tactical error, and one he would not make again. The next time he met Anamaria Viale, she would smile at him because she couldnt help herself; she would hang on his every word. The next time he met her, it would be on his terms.

Anamaria made sure she didnt look back as she walked away from the Count of Cazlevara. Arrogant ass. Why on earth had he approached her? Although they were virtually neighbours, she hadnt seen him in at least a decade. He hadnt had more than two words for her in the handful of times she had seen him, and yet now hed expressly sought her out at tonights tasting, had looked for her and given her those ridiculous compliments.
Beautiful women. She was not one of them, and she knew it. She never would be. Shed been told enough. She was too tall, too big-boned, too mannish. Her voice was too loud, her hands and feet too big; everything about her was awkward and unappealing to men like Vittorio, who had models and starlets and bored socialites on his arm. Shed seen the photos in the tabloids, although she pretended not to know. Not even to look. She did, on occasion anyway, because she was curious. And not just curious, but jealous, if she were honest with herself, which Anamaria always tried to be. She was jealous of those tiny, silly slips of womenwomen shed gone to school with, women who had no use for herwho could wear the skimpy and sultry clothes she never could, who revelled in their own femininity while she plodded along, clumsy and cloddish. And Vittorio knew it. In the split second before shed spoken, shed seen the look in his eyes. Disdain, verging on disgust.
She knew that look; shed seen it in Robertos eyes when shed tried to make him love her. Desire her. He hadnt. Shed seen it in other mens eyes as well; she was not what men thought ofor liked to think ofwhen they considered a woman. A pretty woman, a desirable one.
Shed become used to it, armoured herself with trouser suits and a practical, no-nonsense attitude, the best weapons a woman like her could have. Yet tonight, from Vittoriostupidlythat look of disdain had hurt. Shed been so glad to see him, for that split second. Stupidly glad. Shed actually thought hed remembered
Why on earth had he approached her with that asinine flattery? Had he been attempting some sort of misguided chivalry, or worse, had he been mocking her? And why had he sought her out so directly in the first place?
He was the Count of Cazlevarahe could have any woman he wantedand yet hed entered the party and made straight for her. She only knew that because shed seen him enter the castle, and felt her heart skip and then completely turn over. Even from afar, he was magnificent; well over six feet, he walked with a lithe grace, his suit of navy silk worn with careless elegance. His eyesas black as polished onyxhad narrowed and his assessing gaze had swept the hall as if he were looking for someone.
That was all shed seen before shed been pulled into another conversation, and now Anamaria wondered if hed actually been looking for her.
Stupid. Fanciful. Wishful thinking, even. Vittorio could have anyone he wanted. Why on earth would he bother with her for a moment?
And yet, for some reason, he had.
Anamarias cheeks burned and she took a hasty sip of wine, barely tasting the superb vintageshe was, ironically, drinking one of Cazlevaras own. It seemed, she acknowledged bleakly, far more likely that hed been mocking her. Amusing himself with a little easy flattery of a woman who would surely only lap it up gratefully. She knew the type. Shed dealt before with men who treated her with condescending affection, and acted surprised when they were rebuffed. Yet Vittorio hadnt been surprised by her rebuffhed been furious.
Anamarias lips curved into a smile. Good.
She knew very little about Vittorio. She knew the facts, of course. He was the richest man in Veneto, as well as a Count. His winerythe regions besthad been run by the Cazlevaras for hundreds of years. In comparison, her own familys three hundred year heritage seemed paltry.
His father had died when he was a teenager; she, along with several thousand others, had been at the memorial service at San Marco in Venice. The funeral had been a quiet family affair at the Cazlevara estate. As soon as he reached his majority, hed gone travellingdrumming up more business for the wineryand hardly ever came home. Hed been more or less absentgonefor nearly fifteen years. Anamaria could only imagine that a man like Vittorio needed more entertainment than the rolling hills and ancient vineyards Veneto could provide.
She pictured him now, remembering how hed looked at her from those gleaming onyx eyes. He was a beautiful man, but in a hard way. Those high, sharp cheekbones seemed almost cruelat least they did when his eyes were narrowed in such an assessing manner, his mouth pursed in telling disdain before hed offered her such a false smile.
Yet, even as she considered how shed seen him only a few moments ago, another memory rose up and swamped her senses. The only real memory she had of Vittorio Cazlevara. The memory that had made her smile when shed seen him againsmile with hope and even, pathetically, with joy.
It had been at her mothers funeral. November, cold and wet. Shed been thirteen and hadnt grown into her body yet, all awkward angles, her limbs seeming to fly out of their own accord. Shed stood by the graveside, her hand smeared with the clump of muddy dirt shed been asked to throw on her mothers casket. It had landed with a horrible thunk and shed let out an inadvertent cry, the sound of a wounded animal.
As the mourners had filed out, Vittoriohe must have been around twenty years old thenhad paused near her. It was only later that shed wondered why hed come at all; their families were acquaintances, nothing more. She hadnt registered the tall, dark presence for a moment; shed been too shrouded in her own pall of grief. Then shed looked up and those eyesthose beautiful eyes, dark with compassionhad met hers. Hed touched her cheek with his thumb, where a tear still sparkled.
Its all right to be sad, rondinella,swallowhed said, softly enough so only she could hear. Its all right to cry. Shed stared at him dumbly, his thumb still warm against her chilled cheek. He smiled, so sadly. But you know where your mother is now, dont you? She shook her head, not wanting to hear some paltry platitude about how Emily Viale was happy now, watching her daughter from some celestial cloud. He took his thumb, damp with her tears, and touched it to his breastbone. In here. Tua cuore. Your heart. And with another sad, fleeting smile, he had moved away.
Shed known then that hed lost his father a few years before. Even so, she hadnt realized another person could understand her so perfectly. How someonea strangerhad been able to say exactly the right thing. How later, when she wept scalding tears into her pillow, wept until she felt shed be sick from it and her mind and body and heart all felt wrung, wasted, shed remember his words.
Its all right to cry.
Hed helped her to grieve. And when the pain had, if not stopped, then at least lessened, shed wanted to tell him that. Shed wanted to say thank you, and she supposed shed wanted to see if he still understood her. Understood her more, even, than before. And shed wanted to discover if she, perhaps, understood him too. A ridiculous notion, when that passing comment was the only conversation theyd ever really shared.
Over the years, shed almostalmostforgotten about Vittorios words at her mothers graveside. Yet in that second when shed seen him again, every frail, childish hope had leapt to life within her and shed thoughtshed actually believedthat he remembered. That it had meant something.
Her pathetic foolishness, even if only for a second, annoyed her. She wasnt romantic or a dreamer; any dreams of romancelove, evenshed once entertained as a child had died out years ago, doused by the hard reality of boarding school, when shed been a picked-on pigeon among swans. Anas mouth twisted cynically. Perhaps not a pigeon, but a swallow, a plain and unprepossessing bird, after all.
Theyd flickered briefly back to life in her university days, enough so that she had been willing to take a risk with Roberto.
That had been a mistake.
And, just now, the moment Vittorio Ralfinos mouth had tightened in disdain and then uttered words Anamaria knew to be falsethe last faint, frail hope she hadnt even known shed still possessed had flickered out completely. Mockery or lies. She didnt know which. It hardly mattered.
Anamaria took another sip of wine and turned to smile at another winemakerBusato, a man in his sixties with hair like cotton wool and a smile as kind as that of Babbo Natale. As one of the few female winemakers in the room, she appreciated his kindness, as well as his respect. And, she told herself firmly, she would dismiss Vittorio Cazlevara completely from her mind, as he had undoubtedly dismissed her from his. A few words exchanged nearly seventeen years ago hardly mattered now. She wouldnt be surprised if Vittorio didnt remember them; it certainly shouldnt hurt. Hed merely been offering her a few pleasantries, scraps tossed from his opulent table, no doubt, and she vowed not to give them a second thought.
A light gleamed in one of the downstairs windows of Villa Rosso as she headed up the curving drive. Her father was waiting for her, as he always did when she went to these events; just a few years ago he would have gone with her, but now he chose to leave such things entirely to her. He claimed she needed her independence, but Anamaria suspected the socialising tired him. He was, by nature, a quiet and studious man.
Ana? His voice carried from the study as she entered the villa and slipped off her coat.
Yes, Pap??
Tell me about the tasting. Was everyone there?
Everyone important, she called back, entering the study with a smile, except you.
Bah, flattery. Her father sat in a deep leather armchair by the fireplace; a fire crackled in the hearth to ward off the nights chill. A book lay forgotten in his lap and he took off his reading spectacles to look at her, his thin, lined face creasing into a smile. You neednt say such things to me.
I know, she replied, sitting across from him and slipping off her shoes, and so I should, since I was the subject of a flatterer myself tonight.
Oh? He shut his book and laid it on the side table, next to his spectacles. What do you mean?
She hadnt meant to mention Vittorio. Shed been trying to forget him, after all. Yet somehow hed slipped right into their conversation before it had even started, and it couldnt even surprise her because, really, hadnt he been in her mind all evening?
The Count of Cazlevara has returned, she explained lightly. He made an appearance tonight. Did you know he was back?
Yes, Enrico said after a moment and, to Anas surprise, he sounded both thoughtful and guarded. I did.
Really? She raised her eyebrows, tucking her feet under her as she settled deeper into the armchair of worn, butter-soft leather. You never told me. She couldnt quite keep the faint note of reproach from her voice.
Her father hesitated and Ana had the distinct feeling he was hiding something from her. She wondered how she even knew it to be a possibility, when their relationshipespecially in the years after her mother had diedhad been so close, so open. It hadnt always been that way, God knew, but shed worked at it and so had he, and yet now? Was he actually hiding something from her?
She gave a little laugh. Well, Pap??
He shrugged. It didnt seem important.
Ana nodded, accepting, because of course it shouldnt be important. She barely knew Vittorio. That one moment by her mothers graveside shouldnt even count. Well, its late, she finally said, smiling. Im tired, so I think I shall go to bed.
Ana scooped up her shoes, letting them dangle from her fingers as she walked slowly from the library through the darkened foyer and up the marble stairs that led to the second floor of the villa. She walked past darkened room after darkened room; the villa had eight bedrooms and only two were ever used. They rarely had guests.
Vittorios few words had unsettled her, she realized as she entered her room and began to undress for bed. They shouldnt havewhat a meaningless conversation it had been! Barely two sentences, yet they reverberated through her mind, her body, their echoes whispering provocatively to her.
She hadnt expected to have such a reaction to the man when shed barely spared him a thought these last years. Yet the moment hed entered the castle, shed been aware of him. Achingly, alarmingly, agonizingly aware, her body suddenly springing to life, as if it had been numb or asleep, or even dead.
She slipped on her pyjamas and let her hair out of its restraining clip.
Outside her window, the moon bathed the meadows in silver and she could just make out the shadowy silhouettes in the vineyard that gave Villa Rosso both its name and fortunerosso for the colour of the wine those grapes produced, a rich velvety red that graced many a fine table in Italy and, more recently, abroad.
Ana sat in her window seat, her legs drawn up to her chest, her chin resting on her knees. The wind from the open window stirred her hair and cooled her cheeksshe hadnt realized theyd been heated. Had she been blushing?
And what for? If she had any sort of social life at all, that tiny exchange with Vittorio would have meant less than nothing. Yet the hard fact was that she didnt, and it had. She was twenty-nine years old, staring at her thirtieth birthday in just a few months, without even the breath of hope of a social life beyond the winemaking events and tastings she went to, mostly populated by men twice her age. Not exactly husband material.
And was she even looking for a husband? Ana asked herself sharply. Shed given up that kind of dream years ago, when it had been pathetically, painfully obvious that men were not interested in her. Shed chosen to fill her life with business, friends and familyher father, at leastrather than pursue romancelovethat had, over the years, always seemed to pass her by. Shed let it go by, knowing those things were not for her. Shed accepted ituntil tonight.
Still, she wished now that Vittorio hadnt come back, wished his absurd flatteryfalse as it so obviously washadnt stirred up her soul, reminded her of secret longings shed forgotten or repressed. Shed been ignored so longas a womanthat shed become invisible, even to herself. She simply didnt think of herself that way any more.
She leaned her head back against the cool stone, closing her eyes as the wind tangled her hair and rattled in the trees outside.
She wanted, she realized with a sharp pang, Vittorio Cazlevara to look at her not with disdain or disgust, but with desire. She wanted him to say the things hed said to her tonightand moreand mean them.
She wanted to feel like a woman. For once.

Chapter Two
SIGNORINA VIALE, YOU have a visitor.
I do? Ana looked up from the vine shed been inspecting. It was the beginning of the growing season and the vines were covered in tiny unripened fruit, the grapes like perfect, hard little pearls.
Yes. Edoardo, one of the office assistants, looked uncomfortablenot to mention incongruousin his immaculate suit and leather loafers. He must have been annoyed at having to tramp out to the vineyard to find her, but Ana always seemed to forget to bring her mobile. It is Signor RalfinoI mean the Count of Cazlevara.
Vittorio? Ana bit her lip as she saw Edoardos surprised look. The name had slipped out before she could stop herself, yet she was hardly on intimate terms with the Count. Why was he here? It had been only three days since shed last seen him at the wine-tasting event and now hed come to Villa Rosso, to her home, to find her? She felt a strange prickling along her spine, a sense of ominous yet instinctive foreboding, the way she did before a storm. Even when the sun beat down from a cloudless sky, she could tell when rain was coming. She knew when to cover the grapes from frost. It was one of the things that made her a naturaland talentedwinemaker. Yet she had no idea if her instincts were right when it came to men. Shed hardly had enough experience to find out. Is he in the office? she asked, a bit abruptly, and Edoardo nodded.
The sun was hot on her bare head and Ana was suddenly conscious of her attire: dusty trousers and a shirt that stuck to her back. It was what she normally wore on her regular inspection of the Viale vineyards, yet she hardly expected to receive visitors in such clothingand certainly not Vittorio.
Why was he here?
Thank you, Edoardo. Ill be with him shortly. Disconcerted by the sudden heavy thudding of her own heart, Ana turned back to the vines, stared blindly at the clusters of tiny grapes. She waited until she heard him leave, and the rustle of vines as he passed, and then she drew in a long shuddering breath. She unstuck her shirt from her back and brushed a few sweaty strands of hair from her forehead. She was a mess. This was not how she wanted the Count of Cazlevara to see her.
Unfortunately, she had no choice. She could hardly walk the half-kilometre back to the villa to change if Vittorio was already waiting in the winery office.
Shed undoubtedly kept him waiting long enough. Vittorio Cazlevara did not, Ana acknowledged, seem like a patient man. Taking another deep breath, she tried her best to straighten her clotheshow had her shirt become so untucked and with a long streak of dirt on one sleeve?and, throwing back her shoulders, she headed towards the office.
The long, low building with its creamy stone and terracotta tiles was as much a home to Ana as the villa was. It was a place where she felt confident and in control, queen of her domain, and that knowledge gave her strength as she entered. Here, it didnt matter what she looked like or how she dressed. Here, she was Vittorios equal.
Vittorio stood by the sofa that was meant for visitors, a coffee table scattered with glossy magazines in front of it. His hands shoved deep in his pockets, he prowled the small space with a restless energy that radiated from his powerful body. He looked like a caged panther, full of contained power, dark and vaguely threatening.
Yet why should she be threatened by him? He was just a manbut what a man. He wore an exquisite suit made of Italian silk, perfectly tailored and hugging his powerful framehis tall frame, for he had at least four inches on her own five foot eleven. His hair was inky-dark and cut close, emphasizing those hooded onyx eyes, the slashes of his severe brows. He looked up and those knowing eyes fixed on her, making Ana realize shed been gawping like a schoolgirl. She straightened, managing a small, cool smile.
Count Cazlevara. An unexpected pleasure.
Vittorio, please. His gaze swept her in an instant, his mouth tightening in what Ana recognized as that now familiar disdain. He didnt even realize how he gave himself away, she thought with a strange little pang of sorrow. Was he going to try some more asinine flattery on her? She braced herself, knowing, no matter what, it would hurt. Im sorry if Ive interrupted you, Vittorio said, and Ana gestured to her dishevelled clothes, even managing a wry smile as if her attire was not humiliating, despite him being dressed with such exquisite care.
Im afraid I was not expecting visitors. I was out in the vineyard, as you can see.
How are your grapes?
Growing. She turned away from him, surreptitiously tucking in her blouse, which seemed determined on coming untucked at every opportunity. The weather has been good, thank God. May I offer you refreshment?
He paused, and she glanced back at him. His head was cocked, and he was studying her with a thoughtful thoroughness she decided she didnt like. Yes, thank you. It is a warm day.
Did his eyes linger on her heated face, her sticky shirt? Ana willed herself not to flush even more. If even the Count of Cazlevara was going to arrive unannounced, he would have to take her as she was. Indeed. Why dont we adjourn to the tasting room? It is more comfortable in there. Vittorio gave a terse little jerk of his head, and Ana led the way to the room at the back of the winery that was meant for public gatherings.
The room was light and airy, with a vaulted ceiling and large windows that let in the late morning sunshine. A few tables, made from retired oak barrels, were scattered around with high stools. Ana sat down on one of the leather sofas positioned in one corner, meant for a more intimate conversation. She sat down, smoothing her dusty trousers and offering Vittorio another smile, bright and impersonal. Safe. How may I help you, Vittorio? She stumbled only slightly over his Christian name; she wasnt accustomed to using it, even if she had been thinking it to herself.
He didnt reply, instead giving her an answering smile that showed the white flash of his straight, even teeth and said, Youve done well for yourself these last years, Anamaria. The Viale label has grown in staturenot to mention price.
Please call me Ana. And thank you. Ive worked hard.
Indeed. He steepled his fingers under his chin, surveying her with that knowing little smile that she now found irritated her. And youve stayed at Villa Rosso all these years?
She gave a little shrug, trying not to be defensive. It is my home.
You havent wanted to travel? Go to university? See a bit of the world?
Im happy where I am, Vittorio, Ana replied, her voice sharpening just a little bit. And I did go to university. I took a degree in viticulture at the University of Padua.
Of course. He nodded. I forgot. Ana almost asked him how he would have known such a thing in the first place, but she decided to hold her tongue. Your father must be very glad of your dedication and loyalty to Viale Winesand to him, of course. Youve lived with him all these years?
Yes. Ana tilted her head, wondering where these seemingly innocuous comments were coming from. Why did the Count of Cazlevara care what she had been doing these last ten or fifteen years? What interest could he possibly have in Viale Wines? I cannot imagine doing anything else, Ana said simply, for it was the truth. Viale Wines had become her life, her blood. Besides her father and her home, she had little else. Vittorio smiled, seeming pleased by her answer, and an assistant bustled in with a pitcher of iced lemon water and two frosted glasses.
Thank you, Ana murmured and, after the assistant had left, she poured two glasses and handed one to Vittorio. So, she said when theyd both sipped silently for a moment, youre back at last from your travels abroad. To stay this time?
It would seem so. I have, I realize, been gone too long. His mouth tightened, his eyes looking hard, and for a moment Ana was discomfited, wondering just what had brought him back to Veneto.
Are you glad to be back? she asked and his eyes, still hard with some unnamed emotion, met hers.
Yes.
Ana nodded. Still, it must have been nice to see so many places. Could she sound more inane? She resisted the urge to wipe her damp palms on her trousers. She wanted to demand to know why he was here, what he wanted from her. This was the second time hed sought her out, and she could not fathom why he was doing so. Why he would want to.
It was. He set his glass down on the coffee table with a quiet clink. And it was, of course, business.
Yes.
Vittorio still gazed at her in that assessing manner, saying nothing. His silence unnerved her, made her edgy and a little desperate. She wasnt used to feeling so at odds; shed become accustomed to being in control of her own life, especially here at the winery, her own little kingdom.
Sometimes business and pleasure mix, however, he finally said, his words seeming heavy with meaning, and Ana gave a little nod and smile although she hardly knew what he was saying, or why.
Indeed. Her nerves now taut and starting to fray, she forced another little laugh and said, I must confess, Vittorio, I dont know why youre here. It is good to have you back in Veneto, of course, but if I am to be frank, weve had very little to do with one another. There. It was said. If shed been rude, Ana didnt care; his presence, so confidentarrogantand supremely male, unsettled her. It made her heart jump and her palms sweat and, worst of all, it made some sweet, nameless longing rise up in her like a hungry tide. She swallowed and kept her gaze firmly on him.
He leaned forward to take his glass once more, and the scent of his colognesomething faintly muskywafted over her. Inadvertently, instinctively, she pressed back against the sofa cushions. He lifted his gaze to meet hers once more, yet she could tell nothing from those onyx eyes. They were as blank as polished marble. Actually, Ana, I came to ask you to dinner.
The words seemed to fall into the stillness of the room, and of her heart. Did he mean a date? she wondered incredulously, even as a sense of sudden fierce pleasure rushed through her. A date. When was the last time shed been on one of those, and with a man like Vittorio Ralfino? She felt her cheeks heathow easily she gave herself awayand to cover her confusion, she reached for her glass and took a sip.
I see Ive surprised you.
Yes. She pressed the glass against her hot cheek, lifting her gaze to smile wryly at him. We have not seen each other in years and, in any case She stopped, biting her lip, pulling it between her teeth and nipping it hard enough to draw a drop of blood. She tasted it on her tongue, hard and metallic. Vittorio smiled, his eyes on her mouth, and Ana knew hed witnessed that traitorous little display of her own uncertainty.
In any case? he prompted gently.
She gave a helpless little shrug. Im not exactly the kind of woman She stopped again, wishing she had not revealed so much. She didnt know how not to; she was terrible at lying, or even dissembling. She could only speak her heart, always had. It had never been dangerous before.
And it had been so longforeversince a man had asked her out. Since shed even hoped a man might ask her out.
The kind of woman I take out to dinner? Vittorio filled in. But how would you know what kind of woman I take out to dinner?
I dont, Ana said quickly, too quickly. But I know She stopped again. There was no way of saving herself or her pride, it seemed. I am surprised, thats all, she finally said, and pressed her lips tightly together to keep from revealing anything more.
Vittorio didnt answer, and Ana couldnt tell a thing from his expression. Surprisingly, she found she was not blushing now; instead, she felt cold and lifeless. Thisthis feeling of terrible numbnesswas why shed stopped looking for a man, for love. It hurt too much.
She put her glass back down on the table. Memories rushed in to fill the blank spaces in her mind and heart. The cruel laughter of the girls at boarding school, the interminable school dances where shed clutched a glass of lukewarm punch and tried to make herself invisible. It hadnt been hard to do; no one had wanted to see her anyway.
Stupid schoolgirl memories, yet how they still hurt. How another mans attentionand his disdainbrought it all back.
I see, he said finally and, on opening her eyes, Ana felt he saw too much. The last thing she wanted was his pity. Actually, Vittorio continued, watching her carefully, I want to discuss a business proposition with you. He waited, still watching, and Anas eyes widened in horror. Now the blush came, firing her body from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. Shed made such a fool of herself, assuming he was asking her out. And of course he hadnt corrected her, she realized with a vicious little stab of fury. Hed probably enjoyed seeing her squirm, relished her awful confession. Im not exactly the kind of woman He knew just what shed meant, and his expression told her he agreed with her. As many had before.
A business proposition, she finally repeated, the silence having gone on, awkwardly, for at least a minute. Of course.
It might not be the kind of business proposition youre expecting, Vittorio warned with a little smile and Ana tried for an answering laugh, though inwardly she was still writhing with humiliation and remembered pain.
Now you have me intrigued.
Good. Shall we say Friday evening?
Ana jerked her head in acceptance. Very well. It didnt seem important to pretend she needed to check some schedule, that she might be busy. That she might, in fact, have a date. Vittorio would see right through her. He already had.
Ill pick you up at Villa Rosso.
I can meet you
I am a gentleman, Ana, Vittorio chided her wryly. I shall enjoy escorting you somewhere special.
And where exactly was somewhere special? Ana wondered. And, more alarmingly, what should she wear? Her wardrobe of businesslike trouser suits hardly seemed appropriate for a dinner dateexcept it wasnt a date, had never been meant to be a date, she reminded herself fiercely. It was simply a business proposition. A trouser suit would have to do. Still, Ana was reluctant to don one. She didnt want to look like a man; she wanted to feel like a woman. She didnt dare ask herself why. For over ten yearssince her university daysshed dressed and acted not purposely like a man, more like a sexless woman. A woman who wasnt interested in fashion, or beauty, or even desire. Certainly not love. It had been safer that way; no expectations or hopes to have dashed, no oneespecially herselfto disappoint. There was no earthly reason to change now. There was every reason to keep as shed been, and stay safe.

On Friday night she stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, gazing rather ruefully at her reflection. She wore a pair of fitted black trousers with a rather unfortunately boxy jacket; it had looked better on the rack. Her one concession to femininity was the cream silk beaded tank top she wore underneath, and that was completely hidden by the jacket. She piled her hair up on top of her head, wincing a little bit at the strands that insisted on escaping to frame her face and curl with surprising docility along her neck. She couldnt decide if the loose tendrils gave her a look of elegance or dishevelment. She didnt attempt any make-up, as shed never mastered the art of doing her face without looking like a child who had played in her mothers make-up box.
There. She nodded at her reflection, determined to accept what she saw. Wearing a sexy cocktail dress or elegant gown would have been ridiculous, she told herself. She never wore such thingsshe didnt own such thingsand, considering Vittorios business proposition, there was no reason to start now.
Her father was, as usual, in the study when Ana came downstairs. Most evenings he was content to hole up in the villa with a book or a game of solitaire.
Enrico looked up from his book, raising his eyebrows at her outfit. Going out, my dear?
Ana nodded, suppressing a little pang of guilt. She hadnt told her father about this dinner with Vittorio; she told herself shed simply forgotten, but she knew that wasnt true. She hadnt wanted him to know, and start reading more into this dinner than there was or ever could be.
Yes, she said now, dropping a kiss on the top of his thinning hair. Dinner.
A date? Enrico asked, sounding pleased. Ana shook her head and stepped away to look out of the window. Twilight was stealing softly upon the world, cloaking the landscaped gardens in violet.
No. Just business.
Always business, her father said a bit grumpily, and Ana smiled.
You know I love it. And she did love it; the wine, the grapes were in her blood. Her father loved to tell the story about when he had taken her to the vineyards when she was only two years old. Hed hoisted her up to the vines and shed plucked a perfectly ripe grape, deeply purple and bursting with flavour, and popped it into her mouth. Then, instead of saying how tasty it was, shed pronounced in a quite grown-up voice, Sono pronti. Theyre ready.
I worry you work too much.
Ana said nothing, for she knew she had no argument. She did work too much; she had nothing else. In the last few years her father had stepped back from the winery business, as hed never really wanted to be more than a gentleman vintner, tending the family grapes. Ana wanted more. She dreamed of the day when Viale wines were in every fine restaurant in Europe, and even America. When they were held in reserve for special customers, the bottles dusty and precious. When they rivalled Cazlevara Wines.
Just then she saw headlights pierce the growing darkness, and a navy Porsche swept up the drive. Ana watched from the window, her heart starting to thud with hard, heavy beats as Vittorio stepped from the car. In the lengthening shadows she couldnt see what he wore, yet she could tell he looked magnificent. She felt it in her own shivery response.
The doorbell rang.
Someone is coming for you? Enrico asked, his book forgotten in his lap.
Yes Ana started from the study.
Whoever it is, Enrico called after her, invite him in.
By the time she reached the door she was breathless and flushed, simply from nerves. Vittorio stood there, hands thrust deep into his pockets, looking as magnificent as Ana knew he would in an immaculately tailored suit of navy silk. His shirt was crisp and white and a tie of aquamarine silk was knotted at the brown column of his throat.
Ana swallowed, her mouth dry, her head empty of thoughts. She could not think of a single thing to say.
Hello, Ana. He smiled, a quick flash of white teeth. Are you ready?
Ana nodded, conscious of both how Vittorio had not complimented heror even commented onher appearance, and that her father was sitting in the next room, waiting for her to usher in her guest. She swallowed. Yes, but would you like to come in for a moment? My father She trailed off, hating how hesitant she sounded. My father would like to say hello, she said firmly, and then turned to lead Vittorio to the study without looking back to see if he followed.
Once in the study Ana stepped aside as her father looked up and smiled. He didnt, she realized with a jolt, look very surprised. Good evening, Vittorio.
Good evening, sir.
Enrico smiled, pleased by the sign of respect. You are going out for dinner?
In a manner of speaking. I thought we could eat at Castle Cazlevara.
Ana looked at him in surprise. Dinner in his own castle? Shed been to the castle once, for a Christmas party when she was a child. She remembered a huge Christmas tree, twenty feet high, in the castles soaring entrance hall, and eating too many sweets.
Uneasily, Ana realized Vittorio and her father had been talking, and she hadnt heard a word. Now Vittorio turned to her, smiling solicitously. We should go.
Yes, all right.
One hand rested lightly on the small of her backthe simple touch seemed to burnas Vittorio said goodbye to Enrico and then led her out to the softly falling darkness and his waiting car.

Vittorio opened the passenger door for Ana before sliding in the drivers side. She was nervous, he saw, and her clothes were utterly atrocious. Hed been about to compliment her when shed first opened the door and had just stopped himself from uttering what they both knew would be more unwanted false flattery.
He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as Ana fastened her seat belt. He felt impatient, as he so often did, and also, strangely, a little uncertain. He didnt like either feeling. He didnt know how best to approach Ana, how to court her, if such a thing could even be done. He doubted he could act convincingly enough. As intelligent and decent a human being as she obviously was, she was not a woman to take to bed. Yet if this marriage was to workif he were to have an heirthen he would be taking her to bed, and more than once.
Vittorio dwelt rather moodily on that scenario before pushing it aside. He could have chosen another woman, of course; there were plenty of prettygorgeous, evensocialites in Italy who would relish becoming the Contessa of Cazlevara. Women he would gladly take to bed but, ironically perhaps, he did not wish to marry them.
Their vineyards did not border his own; they were not dedicated to winemaking, to the region. They were not particularly loyal. They were not, any of them, wife material.
Ana was. When hed contemplated taking a wife, Ana Viale had ticked every box quite neatly. Experienced in winemaking, running her own vineyard, a dutiful daughter, healthy and relatively young.
And, of course, loyalty. Hed read of her loyalty to her family, and her familys vineyard, in that magazine article. Loyalty was a necessity, an absolute; he would not be betrayed again, not by those closest to him.
No, Anamaria Viale was the wife he wanted. The only wife he wanted.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he thought of the other reasonreally, the main reasonhe wished to marry at all. He needed an heir. God willing, Ana would provide him with one, and would keep his brothertreacherous Bernardofrom ever becoming Count, as his mother had so recently told him she wanted.
The conversation, as it always was with Constantia, the current Countess, had been laced with bitterness on both sides. Shed rung asking for money; had there ever been anything else she wanted from him?
I dont know why you hoard all your money, Vittorio, shed said a bit sulkily. Who are you keeping it for?
Hed been distracted by the business emails on his computer screen, her words penetrating only after a moment. What do you mean?
Shed sighed, the sound impatient and a bit contemptuous; it was a sound he remembered well from childhood, for it had punctuated nearly every conversation hed had with his mother. Only that you are getting on in years, my son, she had said, and he had heard the mocking note in her voice. Youre thirty-seven. You are not likely to marry, are you?
I dont know, hed replied, and shed laughed softly, the sound making the hair on the nape of his neck prickle.
But if you dont marry, Vittorio, you cant produce an heir. And then you know what happens, dont you? She sighed again, the sound different this time, almost sad. Bernardo becomes Count.
Hed frozen then, his hand curled around the receiver, his eyes dark with memory and pain. That was what his mother had always wanted, what his brother had wanted. Hed known it for years, ever since theyd first tried to steal his inheritance from him, his father barely in the grave.
He didnt forget.
And how could he have forgotten the importance of marriage, of children? Hed been so intent on improving Cazlevara Wines, of forgetting the unhappiness he knew waited for him back home. Hed never considered the future, his future. His heirs.
Now he did. Hed considered carefully, chosen his bride as he would a fine wine. Now he just needed to decide when to decant it.
Vittorio drummed his fingers against the steering wheel again and saw Ana slide him a wary glance. How to approach his chosen bride? She sat tensely, one hand clenched around the door handle as if she would escape the speeding car. The suit she wore looked like something pulled out of a convents charity box and it did nothing for her tall, generous figure. Not that there was something to be done for her figure, but Vittorio imagined that some decent clothes and make-up could go some way to improving his intended brides appearance.
His mouth twisted. What would Ana think if she knew he planned to marry herand as soon as possible? Of course, any woman should be thrilled to become part of the Cazlevara dynasty, yet he felt instinctively that Ana Viale might balk. He knew from the other night at San Stefano Castle that she would not be fooled by his attempts to flatter or romance her, and why should she? God knew, the women he usually had on his arm or in his bed did not look or dress or even talk like Ana Viale. Yet he didnt want to marry them. He wanted to marry Ana. It was a matter of expediency, of business.
And that, Vittorio decided, was how he would present the marriage to her. She appreciated plain speaking, and so he would speak as plainly as possible. The thought appealed to him. He wouldnt have to waste time pretending to be attracted to her. Most women would enjoy a little flattery, but he knew now that it would only annoy Ana, perhaps even hurt her.
A tiny twinge of something close to guilt pierced his conscience. Would Ana want some kind of real marriage? Was she waiting for love?
With him it was impossible, and she needed to know that from the start. Surely a woman like her was not still holding out for love? She seemed too practical for that, not to mention too plain. Besides, she could always say no.
Except Vittorio would make sure she didnt.

Ana pressed back against the leather seat as the darkened countryside, rolling hills and clusters of oak trees, sped by. She sneaked another glance at Vittorios rather forbidding profile. He hadnt spoken since theyd got in the car, and he didnt look as if he was up for a chat. His jaw was tight, his eyes narrowed, his hands clenched around the steering wheel. What was he thinking? Ana didnt want to ask. She turned towards the window, tried to still the nerves writhing in her middle. They drove for at least twenty minutes without speaking, and then Ana saw the lights of Castle Cazlevara on a hill in the distance, mere pinpricks in the unrelenting darkness. Vittorio turned into the mile-long private drive that wound its way up the hill to his home.
Ana had seen photos of the castle on postcards, and of course shed been there the one time. Yet, even so, the sight of the huge medieval castle perched on jutting stone awed and even intimidated her. Its craggy turrets rose towards the darkened sky and an ancient-looking drawbridge was now lowered over the drained moat. At one point the castle had been an imposing fortress, perched high on its hill, surrounded by a deep moat. Now it was simply Vittorios home.
So your own home is the somewhere special? she asked lightly, and was rewarded with the flicker of a smile.
I must admit I find Castle Cazlevara rather special.
Gazing up at the castles soaring walls and towers, Ana could only agree. Special, and a bit scary.
Vittorio drove across the drawbridge and parked the car in the castles inner courtyard, now paved over with slate, providing a perfect backdrop for the Porsche. The building had been updated from the time it had served as a fortress against barbarian invadersand, if Ana remembered her history, the Popes own armyalthough it still retained much of its charm. Though charm was hardly the word, Ana thought as Vittorio came around to open her door before she could even touch the handle. It was darkly impressive, forbiddingly beautiful. Like its owner. Gaslit torches flickered on either side of the entrance doors as Vittorio led her up the stone stairs.
The huge entryway was filled with dancing shadows, a thick Turkish carpet laid over the ancient stones. Polished mahogany doors led to several large reception rooms, now lost in shadow, but Vittorio forewent these in favour of a small passageway in the back of the main hall. Ana followed him, conscious of the castle all around them, huge, dark and silent.
Have you ever wanted to build something else? she asked to Vittorios back. The narrow corridor was cold and dark. A palazzo somewhere, something modern?
Vittorio stiffened slightly, yet noticeable still to Ana. She was so aware of him: his powerful shoulders and long back, the muscles rippling under the smooth silk of his suit, even the faint musk of him. Aware of his moods, changing like quicksilver, even though he did not look at her or speak. It was strange, being so aware. So alive. She wasnt used to it.
The Counts of Cazlevara have always lived here, he said simply. And their families. Although my mother lives near Milan for much of the year, in a palazzo like you mentioned. There was a sharp note to his voice, a hint of something dark and even cruel, something Ana couldnt understand. He turned, his eyes gleaming from the light of the sconces positioned intermittently along the stone walls. Could you not imagine living in such a place as this?
In a flash of insightor perhaps just imaginationAna could see herself living there. She pictured herself in the gracious drawing rooms, presiding over a Christmas party like the one shed gone to as a child. Overseeing a feast in the ancient dining hall, as if she were the Contessa herself, inviting the citizens of Veneto into her gracious home. Such images caused longing to leap within her. Surprised by its intensity, she pushed the images away; they were absurd, impossible, and surely not what Vittorio meant.
There is certainly a great deal of history here, she said, once again to his back.
Yes. Many centuries. Yet your own family has been in Veneto a long time.
Three hundred years, Ana conceded wryly. No more than a day compared to yours.
A bit more than a day, Vittorio said, laughter in his voice. He stopped in front of a polished wooden door which he opened so Ana could enter. And now. Dinner.
Ana took in the cosy room with a mixture of alarm and anticipation. Heavy velvet curtains were drawn at the windows, blocking out the night. A fire crackled in the hearth and sent dancing shadows around the candlelit room. A table for two had been laid in front of the fire, with a rich linen tablecloth and napkins, the finest porcelain and crystal. On a small table to the side, a bottle of red had already been opened to breathe. It was an intimate scene, a romantic scene, a room ready not for business, but seduction.
Ana swallowed. She walked to the table, one hand on the back of a chair. When had she last had a meal like this, shared a meal like this? Never. The idea of what was to come filled her with a dizzying sense of excitement that she told herself she had no right to feel. She shouldnt even want to feel it. Yet still it came, bubbling up inside of her, treacherous and hopeful. This felt like a date. A real date. She cleared her throat. This all looks lovely, Vittorio. Somewhere special indeed.
Vittorio smiled and closed the door behind him. They were completely alone; Ana wondered whether there was anyone else in the castle at all. Do you live here alone since youve returned? she asked.
Vittorio shrugged. My brother Bernardo and my mother Constantia are in Milan. They come and go as they please.
His tone was strange, cold, and yet also almost indifferent. It made Ana wonder if he considered his brother and motherthe only family he had leftas nothing more than interlopers in his own existence. Surely not. Ever since her own mother had died, shed clung to her father, to the knowledge that he was her closest and only relative, that all they had was each other. Surely Vittorio felt the same?
He pulled back her chair and Ana sat, suppressing a shiver of awareness as he took the heavy linen napkin and spread it across her lap, his thumbs actually brushing her inner thighs. Ana jerked in response to the touch, a flush heating her cheeks, warming her insides. She had never been touched so intimately, and the thought was shaming. Hed just been putting a napkin in her lap.
She supposed it was her lack of experience with men that made her so skittish and uncertain around Vittorio, hyper-aware of everything he did, every sense stirring to life just by being near him. That had to be it; nothing else made sense. This aching awareness of him was just due to her own inexperience. She didnt go on dates and she didnt flirt. She did not know what it felt like to be desired.
And youre not desired now.
This dinnerthis roomwith all of its seeming expectations was going to her head. It was setting her up, Ana realized, for a huge and humiliating fall. Shed fallen before, she reminded herself, her would-be boyfriend at university had had to spell out the plain truth.
Im just not attracted to you.
Neither was Vittorio. He wasnt even pretending otherwise. She mustnt forget that, no matter what the trappings now, Vittorio was not interested in her as a woman. This was simply how he did business. It had to be.
And so it would be how she did business as well.
Wine? Vittorio asked and held up the bottle. With a little dart of surprised pleasure, Ana realized it was one of Viales labels. The best, she acknowledged as she nodded and Vittorio poured.
He sat down across from her and raised his glass. Ana raised her own in response. To business propositions.
Intriguing ones, even, Ana murmured, and they both drank.
Delicious, Vittorio pronounced, and Ana smiled.
Its a new blend
Yes, I read about it.
She nearly spluttered in surprise. You did?
Yes, in the in-flight magazine on my trip home. Vittorio placed his glass on the table. There was a little article about you. Have you seen it? Ana nodded jerkily. The interview had been short, but shed been gladand proudof the publicity. Youve done well for yourself, Ana, and for Viale Wines.
Thank you. His words meant more to her than they ought, she knew, but she couldnt keep the fierce pleasure at his praise from firing through her. Ana had worked long and hard to be accepted in the winemaking community, to make Viale Wines the name it was.
A few minutes later a young woman, diminutive and darkhaired, came in with two plates. She set them down, Vittorio murmured his thanks and then she left as quietly as she had come.
Ana glanced down at the paper-thin slices of prosciutto and melon. This looks delicious.
Im glad you think so.
They ate in silence and Anas nerves grew more and more taut, fraying, ready to break. She wanted to demand answers of Vittorio; she wanted to know just what this business proposition was. She wasnt good at this, had never been good at this; she couldnt banter or flirt, and at the moment even idle chatter seemed beyond her.
It was too much, she thought with a pang. Being here with a devastatingly handsome manwith Vittorioeating delicious food, drinking wonderful wine, watching the firelight play with shadows on his faceall of it was too much. It made her remember all the things shed once wanted that shed long ago accepted shed never have. A husband. Children. A home of her own. Shed made peace with that, with the lack in her life, because there was so much she had, so much she loved and enjoyed. Shed thought shed made peace with it, but now she felt restless and uncertain and a little bit afraid. She wanted again.
She had no idea why VittorioVittorio, of all people, who was so unbearably out of her leaguemade her feel this way. Made her remember and long for those things. Made her, even now, wonder if his hair felt as crisp as it looked, or if it would be soft in her hands. If she touched his cheek would she feel the flick of stubble against her fingers? Would his lips be soft? Would he taste like her own wine?
Ana nearly choked on a piece of melon, and Vittorio looked up enquiringly. Are you all right? he asked, all solicitude, and she nodded almost frantically.
Yesyes, fine. She could hardly believe the direction her thoughts had taken, or the effect they were having on her body. Her limbs felt heavy and warm, a deep, pleasurable tingling starting low in her belly and then suddenly, mischievously flaring upwards, making her whole being clench with sudden, unexpected spasms of desire.
Shed never thought to feel this way, had thoughthoped, evenshed buried such desperate longings. For surely they were desperate. This was Vittorio. Vittorio Ralfino, the Count of Cazlevara, and hed never once looked at her as a woman. He never would.
They ate in near silence, and when they were finished the woman came back to clear the plates and replace them with dishes of homemade ravioli filled with fresh, succulent lobster.
Have you missed home? Ana asked in an effort to break the strained silence. Or perhaps it wasnt strained and she only felt it was because her nerves were so fraught, her body still weak with this new desire, desperate for more. Or less. She was torn between the safety of its receding and the need for it to increase. To actually touch. Feel. Know.
Vittorio seemed utterly unaware of her dilemma; he sat sprawled in his chair, cradling his glass of wine between his palms.
Yes, he replied, taking a sip. I shouldnt have stayed away so long.
Ana was surprised by the regret in his voice. Why did you?
He shrugged. It seemed the right thing to do at the time. Or, at least, the easy thing to do. Vittorio took a bite of ravioli. Eat up. These ravioli are made right here at the castle, and the lobster were caught fresh only this morning.
Impressive, Ana murmured, and indeed it was delicious, although she barely enjoyed a mouthful for she felt the tension and the need building inside her, tightening her chest and making it hard even to breathe. She wanted to ask him what she was doing here; she wanted to reach across the table and touch him. The need to touch was fast overriding the need to know. Action would replace words and if she had just one more glass of wine she was afraid she would do just what she was thinkingfantasisingabout and actually touch him.
She wondered how Vittorio would react. Would he be stunned? Flattered? Repulsed? It was too dangerous to even imagine a scenario, much less to want itcrave it
She could stand it no more. She set down her fork and gave Vittorio as direct a look as she could. As lovely as this meal is, Vittorio, I feel I have to ask. I must know. She took a breath and let it out slowly, laying her hand flat on the table so she didnt betray herself and reach out to touch him. Just what is this business proposition you are thinking of?
Vittorio didnt answer for a long moment. He glanced at the wine in his glass, ruby-red, glinting in the candlelight. He smiled almost lazilymaking her insides flare with need once moreand then set his glass down on the table.
Well, he said with a wry little smile, if you must know, it is simply this. I want you to marry me.

Chapter Three
THE words seemed to ring in the empty air, filling the room, even though the only sound was the crackle of the fire as the logs settled into the grate, scattering a bit of ash across the carpet.
Ana stared, her mind spinning, her mouth dry. Once again, she couldnt think of a single thing to say. She wondered if shed heard him correctly. Surely shed imagined the words. Had she wanted him to say such a thing? Was she so ridiculous, pathetic, that shed dreamed it?
Or had he been joking? Common sense returned. Of course he was joking. She let her lips curve into a little smile, although she knew the silence had gone on too long. She reached for her wine. Really, Vittorio, she said, shaking her head a little bit as if she actually shared the joke, I want to know why.
He leaned forward, all lazy languor gone, replaced with a sudden intentness. Im serious, Ana. I want to marry you.
She shook her head again, unable to believe it. Afraid to believe it. He must be joking, even if it was a terrible joke. A cruel one.
Shed known cruel jokes before. Girls hiding her clothes after gym, so she had to walk through the locker rooms in a scrap of a towel while they giggled and whispered behind their hands. The boy who had asked her to dance when she was fifteenshed accepted, incredulously, and hed laughed and run away. Shed seen the money exchange grubby adolescent hands, and realized hed only asked her as a bet. And of course the one man shed let into her life, had wanted to give her body to, only to be told he didnt think of her that way. Roberto had acted affronted, as if shed misunderstood all the time theyd spent together, the dinners and the late nights studying. Perhaps she had misunderstood; perhaps she was misunderstanding now.
Yet, looking at Vittorios calm face, his eyes focused intently on hers, Ana slowly realized she hadnt misunderstood. He wasnt joking. He was serious. And yet surely he couldnt besurely he could not possibly want to marry her.
I told you the proposition was an intriguing one, he said, and there was laughter in his voice.
Thats one word for it, Ana managed, and took a healthy draught of wine. It went down the wrong way and for a few seconds her eyes watered as she tried to suppress a most inelegant cough. A smile lurked in Vittorios eyes, in the upward flick of his mouth and he reached out to touch her shoulder, his hand warm even through the thick cloth of her jacket.
Just cough, Ana. Better out than in.
She covered her mouth with her hand, managing a few ladylike coughs before her body took over and she choked and spluttered for several minutes, tears streaming from her eyes, utterly inelegant. Vittorio poured her a glass of water and thrust it into her hands.
Im sorry, she finally managed when she had control over herself once more. She wiped her eyes and took a sip of water.
Are you all right? She nodded, and he leaned back in his chair. I see Ive surprised you.
You could say that. Ana shook her head, still unable to believe Vittorio had actually said what shed thought he had said. And if he had said it, why? What on earth was he thinking of? None of it made sense. She couldnt even think.
I didnt intend to speak so plainly, so quickly, Vittorio said, but I thought youd appreciate an honest business proposition.
Ana blinked, then blinked again. She glanced around the room with its flickering candles and half-drunk glasses of wine, the fire burned down to a few glowing embers; the desire still coiled up inside her, desperate to unfurl. What a fool she was. Ah, she said slowly, business. Marriage must, for a man like Vittorio, determined and ambitious, be a matter of business. Of course. She heard the note of disappointment in her own voice and cringed inside. Why should she feel let down? Everything shed wanted and feltthat had been in her own head. Her own body. Not Vittorios. She turned to gaze at him once more, her expression direct and a little flat. So just how is marriage a business proposition?

Vittorio felt the natural vibrancy drain from Anas body, leaving the room just a little bit colder. Flatter. Hed made a mistake, he realized. Several mistakes. Hed gone about it all wrong, and hed tried so hard not to. Hed seen her look around the room, watched her take in all the trappings of a romantic evening which hed laid so carefully. The fire, the wine, the glinting crystal. The intimate atmosphere that wrapped around them so suggestively. It was not, he realized, a setting for business. Fool. If hed been intending to conduct this marriage proposal with a no-nonsense business approach, he should have done it properly, in a proper business setting. Not here, not like this. This room, this meal promised things and feelings he had no intention or desire to give. And Ana knew it. That was why she looked so flat now, sodisappointed.
Did she actually wantor even expectthat from him? Had she convinced herself this was a date? The thought filled Vittorio with both shame and disgust. He could not, he knew, pretend to be attracted to her. He shouldnt even try. He shouldnt have brought her to this room at all. He needed to stop pretending he was wooing her. Even when he knew he wasnt, he still fell back on old tactics, old ploys that had given him success in the past.
Now was the time for something new.
Vittorio leaned forward. Tell me, Ana, do you play cards?

Ana looked up, arching her eyebrows in surprise. Cards?
Yes, cards. Vittorio smiled easily. I thought after dinner we could have a friendly game of cardsand discuss this business proposition.
She arched her eyebrows higher. Are you intending to wager?
Vittorio shrugged. Most business is discussed over some time of sport or leisurewhether it is golf, cards, or something else entirely.
How about billiards?
Vittorios own eyebrows rose, and Ana felt a fierce little dart of pleasure at his obvious surprise. You play billiards?
Stecca, yes.
Stecca, Vittorio repeated. As a matter of fact, the castle has a five pins table. My father put it in when he became Count. He paused. I played with him when I was a boy.
Ana didnt know if she was imagining the brief look of sorrow that flashed across Vittorios face. She remembered hearing, vaguely, that hed been very close to his father.
Its all right to be sad, rondinella.
She pushed the memory away and smiled now with bright determination. Good. Then you know how to play.

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