Captivated By Her Italian Boss
Rosanna Battigelli
The boy she tried to forget is now the boss her heart won’t let go…Neve Wilder’s past comes flooding back when she meets her boss, Davide Cortese. Can he really be that boy who stole her heart and then disappeared? The intense chemistry between them hasn’t changed! But can she allow herself to be captivated by her gorgeous Italian again?
The boy she tried to forget...
Now the boss her heart won’t let go
Neve Wilder’s past suddenly comes flooding back when she meets her boss, Davide Cortese. Can he really be that boy who stole her heart and then disappeared all those years ago? The intensity of their attraction hasn’t changed, but everything else has... With so much at stake, can Neve allow herself to be captivated by her gorgeous Italian all over again?
ROSANNA BATTIGELLI loved Mills & Boon Romances as a teenager, and dreamed of being a romance writer. For a family trip to Italy when she was fifteen, she packed enough Mills & Boons to last the month! Rosanna’s passion for reading and her love of children resulted in a stellar teaching career, with four Best Practice Awards, and she also pursued another passion: writing. She has been published in over a dozen anthologies, and since retiring her dream of being a Mills & Boon writer has come true!
Also by Rosanna Battigelli (#ulink_ef7595d6-7a22-550f-96bd-5772ef3c9dd3)
Swept Away by the Enigmatic Tycoon
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Captivated by Her Italian Boss
Rosanna Battigelli
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07800-9
CAPTIVATED BY HER ITALIAN BOSS
© 2018 Rosanna Battigelli
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Calabria, a land of resilience and enchantment that continues to captivate me.
And to all my Calabrese relatives and friends worldwide, starting with those in Camini, where my heart first began to beat.
Contents
Cover (#u54dba2ad-fb8f-55d7-9473-1289d78f3c08)
Back Cover Text (#ue08083c6-0bfe-5fd0-ab37-ab6ce6164ad4)
About the Author (#u51707957-46c1-5ee9-aa2b-ae453ef13a4f)
Booklist (#ulink_753a46d2-32a0-5f8d-b4ca-6f77ce926e5a)
Title Page (#uba0aafbf-7b75-5aaa-9d88-7e3520dcfd10)
Copyright (#u7d6cf0ba-8f9b-5f53-a6b8-51e01d1ad28d)
Dedication (#u6a4fd9c4-a3b8-5836-a62b-cde9978c0018)
CHAPTER ONE (#uc56884cb-3ee4-56b8-9d27-bd978b218fac)
CHAPTER TWO (#u4f0d6b35-ecf1-5395-a425-661f6f27189d)
CHAPTER THREE (#u382c4013-0cad-5cb2-82db-bbc564bd2860)
CHAPTER FOUR (#uc273b5e6-0d2a-5bca-a146-decf92263b33)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_5d6a2f4f-fec0-581c-ad49-ec10d7a6c062)
WHEN NEVE SPOTTED the ad in the Vancouver newspaper in the second to last week of June, she felt a shiver of excitement run through her. It was an ad requesting applications from Canadian nannies for a position for the summer. In Italy. And Southern Italy, at that. A place she had visited with her mother when she was eighteen. Her parents had traveled through Calabria and Sicily on their honeymoon, and her mother’s nostalgia had drawn her back for what would have been their nineteenth anniversary.
Neve had loved the leisurely five-week tour through the seaside towns and mountain hamlets, culminating with the last week in Valdoro—Valley of Gold—on the southeast coast of Calabria. It was the town where Neve had been conceived. Neve could still envision the shimmering, color-changing waves of the Ionian Sea. And the dazzling sun that rose at dawn, its face an orange-gold orb that soon took dominion of the cerulean sky. By 8:00 a.m., the temperature would register over thirty degrees Celsius, and Neve couldn’t wait to head to the beach.
Her imagination had gone wild as they explored the ancient places she had read about in the works of British authors who had traveled to the area over a century earlier. Because of Greek colonization a thousand or so years ago, the area had become known as MagnaGrecia, or Great Greece. Neve had read the books her parents had discovered about the South, including George Gissing’s By The Ionian Sea and Norman Douglas’s Old Calabria. She had particularly enjoyed Edward Lear’s Voyages in Southern Italy. Lear had traveled to the South with another artist to paint landscapes. As he traveled from hamlet to hamlet, he had written about his experiences in a journal. His accounts of peculiar townsfolk and the places they had stayed had put Neve in stitches, like the story of a pig running out from under a table as they were feasting on a dinner of macaroni. As an adolescent, Neve had dreamed of returning to Italy one day to rediscover the places that had so enchanted her.
Reading the details in the ad, Neve’s jaw dropped. What were the chances of coming across a job opportunity in Valdoro for the summer? And one that she could easily apply for, since her job as a kindergarten teacher meant she had summers free. The ad read:
Canadian Nanny wanted to prepare child for Kindergarten.
Summer Position.
Only highly experienced applicants will be considered.
Skills in Behavioral Management and Modification a must.
Child has experienced trauma and requires a special caregiver.
Three nannies have been recently dismissed; please do not apply if you believe this will be a vacation.
Position is full-time, with one day off per week.
Send a letter including your CV to my assistant, Mrs. Lucia Michele, email address below.
Do not inquire as to the status of your application.
You will be contacted within one week for an interview if I am interested.
Neve read the ad over several times. The prospective employer obviously wanted to make it quite clear to the applicant that this job was not going to be an easy one. She wondered at the trauma of the poor child. A death? Divorce? Abuse? Her stomach twisted. She had a special place in her heart for children; she always had, even as a teenager. She had babysat regularly in her neighborhood, and she had decided early on that teaching would be the career for her. She had been teaching now for three years, and maybe that didn’t make her highly experienced,but she had dealt with a few difficult and sensitive situations, and as a result, had taken specialized courses to help children who had experienced trauma of some kind.
She herself had experienced the loss of her father as a child. He had succumbed to a sudden stroke when she was eight, and it still made her heart twinge when she remembered the day she had come home from school and had found her house filled with relatives and family friends, some gathered around her mother. Bewildered, she had run toward her mother, who had sobbed the news to her before collapsing. Sadly, over the years, her mother had been more preoccupied with her loss and less over Neve’s trauma of losing her father.
Neve’s eyes prickled. She squeezed them shut, then focused on the ad.
Who was the sender? The most logical answer was that it was a parent who couldn’t stay at home and needed someone to help the child deal with the trauma and help prepare him or her for the challenge of another transition: school.
A tall order. Especially since progress so far had been limited. At least that was what she had inferred from the terse statement: three nannies have recently been dismissed. She felt a twinge in her heart at what the child must be going through and the poor, desperate parent. A thousand thoughts swarmed her mind about the sad possibilities, and then one thought pushed the others away: I’m going to apply.
And why not? She had the sensitivity required for such a position, given her own personal history. And she had dealt with behavioral and trauma issues in her three years of teaching, everything from stubbornness and aggression to grief over the loss of a parent or pet.
Yes, she would have loved to return to a vacation in Valdoro, but just being there and knowing she would be helping a child in distress—or attempting to help—was enough to motivate her. She would be content with reacquainting herself with the area on her day off. Of course, that was if she was hired for the position.
Neve had been ready to go to bed when she had picked up the newspaper, but now she was too excited to sleep. She reached for her laptop and typed up a letter. She read it over twice, added a section, read it over again and then attached her most recent CV. Taking a deep breath, she typed in the email address and pressed Send before she could change her mind.
With a shiver of anticipation, Neve ran a bath, her imagination sparked. As she stepped into its bubbly warmth, her floral-scented body wash reminded her of the jasmine and other flowers blooming in the pots on the balconies at Villa Morgana, where she had stayed with her mother in Valdoro. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, her memories reactivated.
Visions of the villa came rushing back: the spacious, elegant rooms with their sparkling marble floors; the colorful glazed pots on the balcony, bursting with blooms of every color; and the scent of the nearby bakery wafting up to her when she stepped out on her balcony—
Neve’s eyes flew open. She blinked. There was something wrong with this picture. Well, not wrong, exactly. It was just missing one thing. One person. The guy walking down the road. The guy whose intense gaze had seemed to blaze across the street to connect with hers.
She had been drying her hair outside after a cool shower, enjoying the balmy heat of the midday Calabrian sun. Her mother and their friends, the owners of the villa, had been taking their usual siesta after the sumptuous lunch they had all feasted on. The merchants had shut down their businesses for the afternoon, and would reopen in a few hours. Nobody strolled about in the scorching afternoon heat, which is why Neve had been taken aback to see him walking by. His stride seemed to have slowed down when he was directly across the road from her balcony. And although other boys in Valdoro had openly demonstrated curiosity about her with sly nudges and winks when she walked in and out of the ice cream shop or bakery down the street, they hadn’t turned her knees to jelly, like this guy had just done.
He must have been working on a farm. His dark hair had been tousled and sweat-dampened, and his white T-shirt and jeans had been streaked with earth. He had been carrying a large burlap bag on his back, filled with greens and vegetables. But it had been his eyes that had galvanized her. Ebony eyes that had sent a shiver coursing through her veins. Eyes like river stones gleaming in the sun. And even with a coating of dust on his face, Neve had been able to make out his chiseled features, straight nose and sensual curve of his lips.
Suddenly flustered, Neve had shifted her gaze and in mere seconds, had taken in his tanned arms—his biceps bulging from holding the burlap bag—and his well-fitting, straight-leg jeans. He is not a boy,she remembered thinking. She had guessed him to be in his early twenties. And she had been eighteen... For a few moments she had felt a strange weakness overcome her and had wondered if she was about to pass out.
And then he had stopped. She had felt him staring at her and had looked up. Is he going to say something? she had wondered. Their eyes had locked. And then he had given a slight nod and, readjusting his bag, had kept walking. The following day Neve had watched him from behind the wooden shutters, too shy to suddenly appear on the balcony. But when he had slowed down and looked up toward her balcony, her heart had fluttered. He had been hoping to see her.
* * *
Neve realized she was holding her breath and let it out in a rush. And then other memories of that summer eight years ago came tumbling out. The way he had started going by the villa several times a day, not just to and from his farm job, but also later in the evening. He had made evening trips to and from the bakery, the Pasticceria Michelina. Sometimes he had walked; other times he had rumbled by on a motor scooter. Neve had felt herself falling under the spell of the Southern ways, the age-old custom of locking gazes, communicating with eyes only, a slow dance of intuition and anticipation. Her heart had thrummed all evening and night after that first encounter, and over the next few days she had found she could concentrate on little else.
Her mother, Lois, had caught the exchange once. He had been walking by after his work on the farm, and Lois had come into Neve’s room and walked toward the balcony at the same moment that he had paused to look up and smile at Neve, who had taken to sitting out on the balcony with a book every afternoon. Neve had returned the smile, and then had become aware of her mother’s presence.
“What are you doing?” her mother had asked. “You don’t pay attention to farmhands, Neve. That could get you into real trouble.”
Neve had flushed, embarrassed to have been discovered flirting and even more embarrassed to think that he had heard or understood. But when she had looked back toward him, he had walked on and was almost out of sight. She had glanced at her mother, whose frown had deepened.
“I’ve read stories about how some men in the South used to kidnap young ladies, take them up to a mountain cave and compromise their honor so their family would have no choice but to let them get married.”
“Mom! Really? Are we talking about the same century?” Neve couldn’t believe what she had just heard. “I wasn’t doing anything other than smiling back. And I didn’t get the feeling he wanted to marry me,” she had added flippantly. “I don’t think you have to worry about him carrying me off.”
Her mother’s cheeks had reddened. “Neve, you are not to give him or anyone like him any attention. You’re in Italy, remember. Men are more...passionate here. You came here a virgin. I don’t want you to fall for the first Romeo that pays attention to you and let him—”
“Mom! Oh, my God!” Neve had jumped up, her face flaming. “Just stop!Give me some credit, would you?”
She had barricaded herself in her private bathroom, ignoring her mother’s calls and halfhearted attempts to apologize. She had come out after her mother had gone, and wiping her tear-streaked eyes, she had walked to the balcony...
* * *
For the next few days Neve had been too busy with her school obligations to think much about the ad. When an email from a Mrs. Lucia Michele arrived, informing her that she was one of the applicants who could proceed to be interviewed, Neve’s heart had done a leap. She had thought it was a long shot, as there must have been hundreds of applicants, if not more, and her pulse had quickened at the thought that she might actually stand a chance of being hired.
Mrs. Michele’s email had informed Neve of the interview details. It would be conducted by her.The employer would be watching the interview privately. Due to the sensitive nature regarding the child, she had been instructed to keep the employer’s identity confidential until the chosen applicant actually arrived in person in Southern Italy.
And now here Neve was, communicating with SignoraLucia Michele, who was asking her in halting English about her philosophy of discipline. Neve felt a little self-conscious doing a Skype interview while her prospective employer watched from his computer.
Neve paused for a moment, wondering what stance “the boss” expected her to take. She looked beyond the woman, almost expecting that he—why she thought it would be a he, she didn’t know—would appear, and took a deep breath. She could only answer truthfully.
“I believe that consistency is essential in discipline,” she replied, her voice steady. “The child must know what you expect, and as a kindergarten teacher, I tell my children right at the beginning that I expect to be treated kindly, with respect, and that I will be treating them in the same manner. I make sure they know right away that A, their parents have trusted them to my care because I will keep them safe and take good care of them, and B, they will learn and have fun with me.”
She couldn’t help smiling, thinking of her school kids as they looked at her with wide eyes on the first day of school. “Those are the two main things they need to know. And then, day by day, they will learn how to interact, how to solve problems, how to be a good leader.” She looked straight at the camera. “And they will learn about consequences when they do something inappropriate. I believe in positive discipline and fairness, and flexibility when it is required...without laying a hand on the child.”
Signora Michele gave a curt nod. “And I see you have...ah...some esperienza with children who have suffered—how do you say?—oh, yes—loss?”
Neve tried to control her eyes from misting. Yes, she had experience, she replied, and bit her lip. She told the signora about the courses she had taken to help understand what children who had lost a parent through death or separation or divorce were going through. “You can’t assume that every child who enters your classroom has had a happy, cheerful childhood,” she said wistfully. “If only...” She blinked and thought of a frail-looking girl called Tessa, who had lost her mother to cancer a month before starting kindergarten.
Don’t cry, she told herself. Hold it together.
And then Signora Michele turned slightly and touched her ear. Neve spotted the hearing device that was obviously the means of communication between her and the employer.
She nodded and turned back to Neve, her face expressionless. “Thank you for your time, Signorina Wilder.You will be contacted with an answer within a day or two. There are still a few other applicants to consider... Grazie.”
Neve nodded and gave her a small smile before the woman left. She looked again right into the camera at the top of her screen, knowing the employer would be watching until the last moment. Neve stared briefly, then nodded, her eyes never faltering.
“Grazie,” she addressed the unseen employer before shutting down her laptop.
* * *
Davide Cortese’s pulse leaped. If he had entertained the smallest doubt when she had first appeared on his laptop screen in his study, after mere seconds he could no longer deny it. The interview had lasted twenty minutes or so between his assistant and the applicant, but it had taken him only a few stunned moments to realize the latter’s identity.
Neve Wilder. He hadn’t seen her name and the others in the file Lucia had prepared; he had wanted to see all the Skype interviews first. Neve was the thirteenth applicant to be interviewed by Lucia, and Davide had almost lost hope that a suitable nanny could be found for his five-year-old niece, Bianca.
His expression softened at the thought of his niece. She looked like the mirror image of her mother, his sister, Violetta. Her face still had the cherubic roundness of babyhood, but she had grown taller, even since the accident. The accident. Just those two words caused his body to freeze, just like the first time he was told by Violetta’s friend Alba that Violetta and her husband, Tristan, had skidded on an icy mountain road after their skiing weekend in Banff and had died instantly when their vehicle hit a tree.
Alba, who had been babysitting Bianca, had delivered the news tearfully by phone, and all at once Davide had felt numb, devastated, angry, sad and desperate. His only sibling, gone. She was six years his senior, and he had always looked to her for guidance growing up, especially after both their parents had died. Their father had passed first when Davide was ten, and their mother, heartbroken, had succumbed to cancer a year later.
Life had been hard enough without his gentle father around, but losing his mother so soon after was a blow that had siphoned what remained of Davide’s childhood spirit. Davide had lost his joy, his appetite, his interest in school. He had become frail, withdrawn and had often missed school.
He and Violetta had been looked after by their uncle, ZioFrancesco, a priest in their town of Valdoro. Zio Francescohad told Davide when he was older about how he had begun to despair of reviving Davide’s spirit and physical health. He had wondered if bringing him out to the farm and letting Davide occupy himself with planting jobs and the tending of the animals might restore him in some way.
His uncle had wept while reciting his rosary after noticing how several days on the land had brought a change in Davide’s behavior and outlook. After a few weeks Davide had willingly returned to school, but had continued to work on the farm after school and on weekends, as well as throughout high school and in the summer when back from university.
Davide’s heart tightened. He would never forget what Zio Francesco had done for him.
Davide’s sister, Violetta, had been shaken but more stoic than he was after the deaths of their parents. She had overseen the household responsibilities that their mother had managed while still at school, but when Violetta was eighteen, she fell in love with a tourist from Canada and she married him at twenty and moved to his home in Steveston, about a half an hour from Vancouver. Tristan had worked as a tour guide at a whale-watching company, while Violetta had worked to develop a small home business with her sewing talents. She had been so happy that she could work from home once they had had their baby, which was five years ago. She had studied English and learned it quickly, and when Bianca was born, she had made sure to speak to her in both languages.
Davide’s English was also fairly good. Violetta had encouraged him to study it with the possibility of moving to Vancouver one day, and he had, but destiny had had other plans for him and he had remained in Valdoro.
Valdoro was where he had first spotted Neve. Neve, pronounced Neh-veh,meaning snow in Italian. She had been standing on one of the balconies of Villa Morgana,owned by one of the wealthiest families in town, a family that derived their wealth from the bounty of the bergamot groves on their outlying properties. Their coral-colored villa was on the main street heading into Valdoro, with ornate wrought iron balconies and ceramic planters bursting with flowers. The entire roof of the villa was a terrace with bougainvillea spilling over the railing. Chairs with bright yellow and blue upholstery were scattered around a table protected by an ombrellone, a huge umbrella tilted to one side.
Davide had been returning from his uncle’s small farm, which he tended to from before sunrise till late morning, as the scorching sun was too prohibitive past noon. He had been later than usual that day, having had to chase after a goat that had found an opening in the enclosure and had wandered off. Afterward, Davide had gathered some of the garden vegetables in a huge burlap bag, and as he had passed the Villa Morgana, he had spotted a girl on the balcony. He hadn’t seen her in Valdoro before. Her hair was wet and she was air-drying it.
Davide’s T-shirt had been sweat-soaked, his jeans earth-stained, and he could feel his face prickling with perspiration. As he had passed in front of the villa from the opposite side of the road, the girl had tossed her hair back and caught sight of him. She had cocked her head and Davide could feel his steps slowing. He had wanted to stop completely and just feast on the vision before him.
He had been mesmerized by her light skin, her strawberry-blond hair catching the rays of the sun and shimmering like spun gold, the white halter dress with big red polka dots, her lean legs. His heart had thumped erratically at her gaze, which couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds before she had started to blink, and he had noticed her eyes traveling past his eyes and down his body.
Davide remembered the embarrassment he had felt at his dusty and sweaty appearance, although she hadn’t give him any sign of arrogance, and he had nodded slightly in the respectful way he had been taught when encountering girls or women, and had forced his cement-like shoes to keep walking.
Showering at the house he had shared with his zio, Francesco, his insides had quivered at the thought of the girl. She had looked to be around seventeen or eighteen. He had been twenty-two, home for the summer from university, and although some of the mothers in Valdoro had discreetly made it known that he was welcome to court their daughters, he had been more intent on his studies. He hadn’t said so much to his uncle, but he was hoping to join his sister in Vancouver after university. His parents had left him and his sister with very little; what money they had was tied up in their small farm property, so his uncle had encouraged him to keep working the land, and he would support him with a modest salary.
That had been the plan.
Until Neve Wilder’s arrival in Valdoro.
* * *
Now, looking at her face on the screen, and knowing she couldn’t see him or ever imagine his identity, Davide felt his gut tighten. He wasn’t a love-struck young man anymore, and how and why fate had thrown Neve Wilder back into his life after eight years was a bizarre mystery to him. When he had tried to meet her back then, her message to him had been very clear. She had wanted nothing to do with him. He was below her and should remember his place.
She had crushed him then and Davide had spent the next few years trying to forget her and vowing to never be below anyone again. He would finish his university education and make something of himself. He didn’t need her or anyone like her.
He had discovered that her family was visiting from Vancouver, where he had planned to go after his graduate studies. Overcome with bitterness, he had changed his mind immediately. He wouldn’t move anywhere where there was even the remotest chance of bumping into her. No, he never wanted to see her face again.
This was a cruel twist of fate, watching an interview with the same girl who, eight years later, was applying for a job as a nanny for his niece. Only she wasn’t a girl anymore. Her pretty looks as a teenager had blossomed into what he had to admit could only be called stunning.
Her fair skin was luminescent, with a faint smattering of freckles over her nose and peach-tinted cheeks, and that mane of hair, although restrained in a loose chignon, seemed even more burnished. Her eyes, never close enough for him to determine their exact color, were a dark bluish-green that reminded him of the sea in winter. And that mouth. Her lipstick was a luscious magenta pink, the same color as the delicious inner fruit of the cactus pear.
She could be a sea witch, he thought, a modern Scylla, the whirlpool in the waters off the coast that was personified in Greek mythology as a female monster impeding the way of the hero Odysseus...
Davide watched as Neve’s eyes shifted to the camera. She leaned forward and her face filled the screen. He swallowed, his pulse drumming wildly as a corner of her mouth lifted and she nodded. And then said “Grazie,” her witch eyes never blinking once.
Twelve interviews, and none of the applicants had impressed him. Until the thirteenth. Thirteen was a lucky number for Italians. But the last thing he felt now was lucky. If it had been anybody but Neve, he’d have hired her on the spot. Her qualifications were spot-on; her answers had been genuine. She had seemed so humble, so caring and devoted. How could this be the same Neve who had arrogantly put him down and rejected him?
Bianca needed a competent nanny. She would be starting school in a couple of months, and the trauma of losing her parents had shattered her world. None of her previous nannies had worked out. The first hadn’t been sensitive enough, the second had been caught snooping through his desk papers and the third had shown more interest in wanting to help him through his grief, using her physical allure...
Bianca’s occasional tantrums and crying outbursts had increased. Davide’s gut was telling him to offer Neve the job.
His bruised heart was pounding, No!
Davide watched as Neve shut down her laptop. He stared blindly at the screen and let the voices in his head battle it out. The memories of Neve in Valdoro eight years ago clashed with his fresh memories of the interview. Wearily, he finally stood up from his desk and drummed his fingers along the edge before buzzing for Lucia in the smaller office next to him.
“What did you think of the last applicant?” he said curtly in Italian.
“She was the best, Signor Cortese.”
Davide trusted Lucia’s opinion; she was his valued research assistant and friend, and genuinely cared for Bianca. When she addressed him in such a formal manner, he knew she was very serious.
“Yes...she was,” he murmured, his fingers beginning to tap again.
He cleared his throat. This wasn’t about him, he tried to convince himself. He had to do this for Bianca. What were the chances of finding someone as perfect as Neve Wilder for the position of nanny?
“Send her an email offering her the position. Sign it with your name, not mine. And tell her her flight and all travel costs will be covered. Rail, hotel, food, everything. I understand she’s finished with her school year toward the end of June. I want her here for the first or second of July. Please and thank you.”
“Prego,Davide. Let’s hope for the best.” She gave his hand a reassuring pat and left the room.
Davide sat back down at his massive sixteenth-century carved walnut desk. He opened a drawer, and then reached farther into a hidden back drawer and retrieved a folded note. His heart thudding, he gently opened it and read the message inside:
I will not meet you.
Your bold request is inappropriate and offensive. You would do well to remember your place.
Neve
Davide felt the heat rise from his chest to his neck and face. The silly note still got to him. His jaw clenched. Eight summers ago, Neve Wilder had succeeded in humiliating him and putting him in his place with her arrogant reply.
And now she’d be working for him. How could he not help feeling even the tiniest temptation to put her in her place?
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_ae5f5804-0e00-53f3-83bd-996328bf9a66)
THIS NANNY JOB, if she got it, would be like winning the lottery, Neve thought wistfully. She wanted to get away. No, she needed to get away. Her mother, who was controlling at the best of times, had become especially clingy and obtrusive lately.
Neve sighed. She wished that some of the attention her mother was directing toward her nowadays had been given when her father had died and afterward. Neve could still remember feeling heartbroken and confused in her youth. Devastated that her dear father would no longer accompany her to any of her school events or swimming lessons, or read her any fairy tales at bedtime, and bewildered by her mother’s emotional distance. While her mother had eased her grief with a drink while staring out a window, Neve had often cried herself to sleep hugging the plush dragon her father had bought her for her seventh birthday. Her eyes prickled at the memory of her dear father, always encouraging, never judgmental of her or others.
Unlike her mother.
It hadn’t taken Neve long in her youth to recognize certain traits in her mother that made her feel uncomfortable, especially in public. Lois Wilder, who had enjoyed a wealthy lifestyle since she was young, expected and often demanded service from others. Saw herself as above certain people. Neve had become embarrassed more than once by her mother’s arrogant demeanor, even with some of her school friends. Whenever she had brought a friend over, Lois had always asked them about their parents’ jobs, scrutinized their clothing and ultimately tried to manipulate whom Neve should socialize with.
She had even tried to dissuade Neve from pursuing such a common profession as teaching. “Why don’t you accept a position in your father’s company?” She owned the company now and had pressed Neve constantly to get on board. “You could have it made, sweetheart, instead of trying to educate rug rats. And in kindergarten, how much teaching will you actually be doing? They’re still babies. You’ll be spending most of the time on your knees, cleaning up after their accidents, wiping snotty noses, dealing with tantrums. And you’ll be making peanuts compared to what you’d be earning working in your dad’s computer business.”
“Mom, I have no interest in the world of computers. I want to make a difference with kids. Help them to love learning.”
“Well, at least get your masters and doctorate, and then you’ll be able to teach at the university level. That would give you some status.”
“I’m not interested in status, Mom.” Like you...
Neve had had to control herself from being rude, although sometimes she had come very close. By the time she had graduated with her teaching degree, she had been more than ready to leave home. Lois had tried to bribe her with a luxury car and promises of travel if she stayed put.
Neve was having none of it.
Her mother had been hinting about a new manager in one of the departments that she thought might be a good match for Neve. The last thing Neve wanted was a man her mother approved of. A man who had similar qualities as her mother. Rich and snooty. Controlling and manipulative.
No, Neve had started her search and had found herself a bachelor apartment in a section of a house owned by Italian immigrants, and her teacher’s salary had covered her rent and expenses. The “allowance” her mother insisted on sending her, Neve had put in her savings and travel accounts. Lois had insisted that she wanted Neve to have her inheritance—or at least some of it—before she passed away. “That way I can see you enjoying the finer things in life, darling.”
* * *
Neve was immersed in watching a recent YouTube video of Valdoro when her cell phone chimed. She glanced down on the counter where she had left it and felt a swirl of butterflies in her stomach at the sender and the subject.
Lucia Michele. Re: Your Application
She hadn’t expected to hear back the same day, let alone after half an hour. It had to be a form letter, fired off that quickly. Her heart sank. What had she expected, anyway? There had obviously been other applicants with much more experience than she had...
Neve sat down at the kitchen island and opened up the message on her phone. Her heartbeat quickened at the first sentence.
Dear Miss Wilder,
You have been accepted for the position of nanny. I will be sending you another email with information about the child’s situation as well as other pertinent details you should know. The child’s name is Bianca. She is five years old and living with her uncle.
I trust that you will be satisfied with the proposed salary and conditions of employment. After you have read the email, please download the attached contract, sign it and either scan and resend, or take a photograph and email it to this address.
Once this is done I will book your flights and send you an email with itinerary details. On July second you will be met at Lamezia Airport and a driver will bring you to your employer’s residence.
Cordially,
Lucia Michele
Neve blinked, stunned. She had the job! She read the email again. She couldn’t exactly call it a warm letter; it was very matter-of-fact and to the point. There was no commentary on her qualifications, the interview itself or anything else. The employer had obviously been satisfied with her detailed CV and with how she had responded in the interview.
Neve thought about everything she needed to do in the next two weeks. Less than two weeks,actually. Finalize report cards. File. Clean up her classroom. Pack. No, shop first. She needed some light dresses and new shorts. And definitely a couple of new swimsuits. Her favorite one, a fuchsia one-piece, had faded from the chlorine at the local swimming pool. And not that she’d have much time to herself, but the ad did say there would be one day off. Well, she would most certainly be frequenting the nearest beach on that day.
Neve thought about the little girl she would soon meet. Bianca. Such a lovely name. What had occurred in Bianca’s young life to cause her such distress? Why was she living with her uncle? Dozens of questions swarmed in Neve’s mind... She would get the answers soon enough.
She opted for an early night after a quick shower. The school was having their end-of-year play the following day, and she needed to store up her energy for the scheduled activities that included her class of twenty-four kindergarten students. There would be fun and laughter, but Neve was prepared for the possible tears and other behaviors that some of her five-year-olds might display after a few hours in the sun.
Yawning, she changed into a light blue baby doll and snuggled under her covers. She thought about Bianca’s uncle. It was hard to get any kind of impression of him from his assistant’s email. Did he have a wife, and if so, she must be working, or else wouldn’t she be taking care of Bianca? Stop, she told herself. She’d know more when she got Mrs. Michele’s next email.
Neve felt her eyelids getting heavier. What if Bianca’s uncle is single? And the sudden thought: What if that guy from across the street is still in Valdoro? He may very well have moved to work in a bigger city up north, like Rome or Milan, as many of the Southerners tended to do. But if he was still in Valdoro, would she recognize him? He’d be maybe twenty-eight or so, and he’d probably be married with a couple of kids... Or maybe not... The picture of him she had kept in her mind had faded and blurred a little, but even so, she felt her pulse quicken.
And the image of his intense black eyes was the last thing she saw before she drifted into sleep.
* * *
Davide shut down his laptop. He left his study and strode to his bedroom. He opened the shutters and stood for a while, gazing at the twinkling lights dotting the countryside, and the indigo streak beyond—the Ionian Sea. It had been another scorching day; the locals had said it was the hottest summer in history. A smile curved his lips. For as long as he could remember, Valdoro’s residents had said the same thing every summer. And the people in neighboring hamlets and towns were no different.
He almost felt like driving down the mountain to have a swim in the refreshing depths of the sea. But Bianca was sleeping and Lucia had gone home. They had decided to carry out the interview in early afternoon Vancouver time, which was nine hours behind Italian time.
Davide peeled off his shirt and pants and tossed them over a chair. There was hardly a breeze, and the night air had dropped a dozen degrees, but it was still too warm. He didn’t have to worry about his neighbors seeing him, though. Last year he had purchased this house on a steep mountain on the outskirts of Valdoro, a few kilometers away. There were no neighbors to look across from their windows or balconies to his.
He smiled wryly. It wasn’t actually a house;it was an eighteenth-century castle that had been built by the Baron of Valdoro. Fortified castles had been built inland on impossibly high mountains throughout Calabria, and their lords or barons had employed the locals to work the land of their vast properties, or latifundi,as they had been known. The last descendant of the Baron of Valdoro had died childless a hundred or so years earlier, and the land around hiscastle had long been abandoned. Although the castle was within the boundaries of Valdoro, it had not been maintained; the town simply hadn’t had the financial means to restore it.
Three years ago, when Davide’s first novel had been awarded Italy’s prestigious literary award—the Premio Strega—followed by international sales and a film and miniseries option that made him a multimillionaire in months, he had spent the first year swirling from interview to interview, in between countless literary readings and festivals all over Italy. His face had been on the cover of practically every newspaper and magazine.
He had been one of the youngest recipients of the Strega.His hometown had attracted tourists, which had boosted the economy and profile of Valdoro, pleasing both the town officials and the residents alike. Davide was given the ceremonial key to Valdoro, and he had celebrated with his uncle and neighbors in a day of festivities culminating in a spectacular show of fireworks.
He still couldn’t believe that the words he had penned about a family during the unification of Italy in 1861 had garnered such fanfare. It had been compared in scope to Il Gattopardo, the famous novel written by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa. Davide had studied The Leopard in high school, had been riveted by its rich complexity, propelling him to pursue further studies in history and literature.
He had made a promise to himself the summer Neve Wilder had visited Valdoro with her mother. And that was to let Neve’s harsh words on the note she sent him burn into his soul until he had accomplished one goal, and that was to elevate himself to the point where she, or anybody else, could not look down on him.
That meant continuing to further his education and to make something of himself. His uncle had lived very humbly as a priest, and had stretched himself to the limit to provide for him. Davide had been very appreciative, but he had realized that he had to push himself to go beyond his or his uncle’s normal expectations.
In between his studies and work on the farm, Davide had taken to writing. Late at night and before dawn, he had let his knowledge of history, his culture and his imagination combine and transform into the fictional story of the daughter of a Bourbon lord, who had become captivated with the ideals of General Giuseppe Garibaldi in his quest to oust the Spanish Bourbon regime and unify the South with the rest of Italy. The girl had fallen in love with one of Garibaldi’s soldiers during the revolution and successful ousting of the Bourbons, and had abandoned her family and relinquished her status to elope with him in the mysterious Aspromonte mountain range in Calabria.
Writing this story had been bittersweet, and his hand had sometimes trembled with emotion as he created the scenes between the two lovers. His protagonist, Serena, had turned out to be an Italian version of Neve, dark-haired but with the same fair skin and blue-green eyes that were not often seen in the South.
Davide had made Serena everything he had fantasized about Neve before she had crushed his illusions...and Vittorio was the name he had called the man who had captured her heart.
Davide gave a harsh laugh. What a fool he had been eight years ago. A romantic fool.
After first catching sight of Neve on that balcony, he had used every excuse possible to walk by. He had had asked his friend Agostino, whose mother had been working as a housekeeper at the Villa Morgana, to keep him informed of any excursions Neve’s family was planning, and Davide would innocently show up around that time. Just to catch sight of Neve.
When he had had the good fortune of first spotting her on the balcony, he had dared to hold his gaze for longer than a casual glance. And to his delight, after gazing away shyly, she had returned it. But then, with each subsequent walk-by, she had attempted a quirky smile, her face flushing like a ripe peach.
After a couple of days Davide had made the bold move of crossing the road to walk on the same side of the villa on his way home from working on the farm. And then later, once he had showered and changed, he had returned. The local bakery was just down the street from the villa, and this had become his excuse to walk by every day.
ZioFrancesco had commented about Davide’s sudden sweet tooth, for Davide was bringing home a bag of brioche filled with custard one day, or a few marzipan fruit cookies or hazelnut biscotti the next day. Davide couldn’t very well reveal the real reason for his purchases to his uncle; he had shared his feelings only with Agostino, who had revealed the girl’s name to him.
When Agostino had told him one evening that Neve’s mother was planning an outing to the sea, Davide’s stomach had churned with anticipation. He would go, too! He had convinced Agostino to join him, for it would have looked odd for him to show up alone on the beach used by the Valdoro locals. They had set out on Agostino’s Vespa and had spent the morning alternately sunning and swimming, with Davide trying to keep his observations of Neveas unnoticeable as possible.
He and Agostino had laid out their beach towels a short distance from Neve and her mother, who had rented an umbrella and had brought a picnic basket. Davide’s heart had started to pound when Neve, still unaware of his presence, had removed her beach wrap and started to apply sunscreen to her slender arms and legs. She was wearing a blue two-piece swimsuit with pink polka dots. He had smiled; she had had a thing for polka dots, obviously, and they had suited her something crazy.
He had felt the sun and the inner heat suddenly get to him, and slapping Agostino on the arm, he had challenged him to a race out to the third marker in the water, indicating one hundred meters.
“Race you there and back,” he had urged. “I’m burning up.”
They had splashed their way back to shore, with Davide winning by three meters. Laughing, they had dried off and collapsed on their beach towels. That was when Davide had looked across and realized Neve was watching him. Her mother had been busy laying out the picnic food. Had Neve seen the whole race? Self-consciously, he had given her a nod and after checking to make sure her mother was still occupied, he had waved.
She had waved back and seemed self-conscious herself, looking around as if to see if anyone had noticed her wave to Davide. Tossing her hair back, she had tiptoed quickly on the hot beach sand and had ventured a little way into the water before immersing herself completely in a graceful dive.
It had all happened in slow motion. The sights and sounds around Davide had blurred, and all he had been conscious of was Neve, her lithe body ascending from her dive with the sun reflected in every glistening drop on her skin. And when she had shaken her head and sent a rainbow spray around her, his breath had caught in his throat, and he had known in the deepest reaches of his soul that he had fallen in love with this bewitching sea nymph. An impossible love that could never be returned.
The realization had overwhelmed him. How was he going to deal with this? Agostino had told him earlier that Neve’s visit to Valdoro would end in a couple of days, and then she and her mother would be returning to Canada. He had felt a series of unbearable twinges in his heart from wanting Neve but knowing his desire could not be reciprocated. Fate wouldn’t allow it. Davide had immediately felt deflated, already anticipating the impending loss... Neve would be gone tomorrow, and he would be left with this torturous flame in his chest.
He had to meet her.
The thought had made his breath falter and his heart thump erratically. If he couldn’t have anything else with Neve, at the very least he had wanted a few moments with her. A moment, even. To tell her how he felt, and to hear her response. His gut had told him that she had felt something, too... He had seen it in her eyes.
It had been too much to hope that Neve had fallen in love with him, as well, but Davide had been prepared to accept that. Or at least, he thought he had been. Some primeval instinct had been telling him that he just had to let her know, even if it was the last time he saw her lovely face.
He had stolen a last glance in Neve’s direction. She had had her back to him as she and her mother enjoyed their picnic lunch. Unable to bear staying at the beach any longer, he had given Agostino a nudge and they had shaken off their beach towels and headed back to Valdoro. While cooling off with a gelato at a bar near the town square, Davide had devised a plan to meet with Neve. He would write Neve a note, and Agostino would make an excuse to show up at the villa with the pretense of talking to his mother and figure out a way to deliver it personally to Neve.
With any luck, Neve would agree to meet him at the bakery down the street, where they could sit down and he could treat her to a cappuccino and a pastry while divulging his feelings to her. It would be a perfectly respectable meeting place that would look like a casual encounter to anyone who might be frequenting the shop.
* * *
Staring across to the twinkling indigo sky, Davide felt a sharp twinge as he recalled how stupidly love-struck he had been, waxing poetic in a note that now seemed ridiculous with his naive and laughable choice of words.
Signorina Neve,
Only our eyes have met, and forgive me for being bold, but you have pierced my heart with your beauty. I feel that it is in our destiny to meet. With all my respect, I wish to see you before you depart for Canada. I only ask for a few moments of your time so I can express what is in my soul. My intentions are honorable...
If you can grant me this gift, I will be forever indebted. I will be at Michelina’s Bakery after it reopens later this afternoon.
D.
Davide felt a tingle along his nerve endings as he thought about his imminent reunion with the girl who had so thoroughly put him in his “place” with her harsh reply. How would he react? How would she?His jaw clenched. Maybe he shouldn’t have hired Neve Wilder so quickly. Maybe she had every right to know who her boss was before agreeing to the job.
But she wouldn’t have agreed to the job if she had known it was you...
Davide felt a jolt. His inner voice was right. But somewhere deep inside the pain that was still trapped in his heart, was the pulsing desire to see Neve again. And keeping his identity from her—at least until she arrived—was the only way he could make that happen.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_6833614f-9ce0-55f8-94ac-8ecaccce0cbf)
“MY GOODNESS, NEVE, you could have told me about this job opportunity sooner.” Lois Wilder’s voice was half-scolding, half-offended. “Hearing this a day before your flight hardly gives me a chance to process all this.” She waved her hands helplessly, indicating Neve’s open suitcase.
Or interfere in some way, Neve couldn’t help thinking. “There’s nothing to process, Mom. And I was busy finishing up my school year. You know I have no time to chat when I’m in the middle of report cards and end-of-school activities.”
Lois expelled a sigh of frustration. “But, darling, had I known, I could have booked a flight, as well. Not that I would have expected to be put up at the same place as you,” she added quickly. “I still have my friends at Villa Morgana. I’m sure they would be thrilled to have me visit.”
“This is not a vacation, Mom. It’s a job. Six days a week.” Neve tried to keep her voice steady. “And I’m sure that on the seventh day I’ll be too exhausted to do anything but rest.” Neve was inwardly horrified at the thought of her mother coming to Valdoro. Knowing her, she’d find a way to insinuate herself in Neve’s work and leisure time. No, she had to make it clear to her mom—without being mean—that she should stay home.
“Mom, I can’t discuss the details, but this assignment is highly sensitive. I will not be able to spend any time with you at all. And besides—” Neve had a brain wave “—you’re hosting that big event in a week—the annual technology symposium—at the company, remember?”
Lois frowned. “Yes, of course. I suppose I can’t miss that, seeing as how your dad started it all...” Her eyes began to mist. “Although the thought of returning to the special place where your dad and I...” She sniffed and pulled out a tissue from her designer purse. “May he rest in peace.”
“Mom, I really have to finish packing. It’s going to be a long couple of flights, and I need to get to bed early. It’s only been two days since school ended, and I haven’t even had a chance to unwind.” Neve continued folding light cotton tops, Capri pants and dresses into her medium-size suitcase. She hoped her mother would take the hint.
Lois peered into the suitcase. “Don’t forget your sun protection, Neve. You know how quickly you freckle.” She took a step forward to scan Neve’s face. “And you might start thinking about using some wrinkle cream. I have a new tube in my purse...”
“Thanks, but no thanks, Mom. I like the natural look.” Neve realized that her tone was more clipped than she intended, but she had to stop her mother before she offered another dozen suggestions or reminders. “I’m twenty-six, Mom. I can handle this.”
Lois raised her professionally shaped eyebrows. “I forgot to ask. Who is your employer? Can you give me his number? And make sure he has mine, in case of an emergency. Oh, and how much is he paying you for this job? Is the flight included?”
“Mother, you need to go, or it’ll be midnight before I’m done here.” Neve put an arm around her mother’s shoulder and gently ushered her to the door of her apartment. “I’ll text you the information. Don’t worry, it’s all good.” She gave her a hug. “See you at the end of the summer.”
“Let me know as soon as your flight lands, Neve. I’ll be waiting anxiously.”
“I will, Mom,” Neve replied wearily. “Good night.”
“Buon viaggio,” Lois called out before Neve closed the door. “And watch out for those Southern Italian men!”
Neve gave a sigh. She always felt somewhat energy-depleted after spending time with her mother. She often wondered at her mom’s clinginess; she certainly hadn’t been like that while Neve was growing up. Could it be that Lois had realized that some of her maternal skills had been lacking back then—especially after her husband’s death—and was feeling guilty and trying to make up for it?
Neve had a hard time with it. At this point in her life, she didn’t need her mother hovering over her. Lois’s controlling and opinionated ways were grating, and Neve often felt her patience dwindling around her.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mother; she just wanted her to loosen the apron strings. No—she wanted Lois to untie them completely, and to fold the apron and put it away. It had gotten to the point where Neve had actually contemplated moving out of town. And then she had gotten her current job as a kindergarten teacher, which had prevented any further plans of relocating.
Neve checked the time and quickly finished packing, pushing away any more thoughts about her mother. All that was left to do now was to have a soothing bath and go to bed. And tomorrow, after a leisurely breakfast, she’d head to the airport. She thought of the plush orca she had purchased for Bianca—the perfect West Coast gift for a child—and smiled. Difficult and troubled though Bianca might be, Neve was confident that she could help her.
Lucia Michele had provided more details about Bianca’s situation, her daily routines and Neve’s trip arrangements in a subsequent email, including the fact that Bianca’s uncle would be covering all her travel and food expenses. How very generous, and obviously very wealthy, Neve had thought, and had wondered what he did for a living.
Feeling her eyelids start to droop, Neve pulled the stopper and stepped out of the tub, shivering despite the warmth of the room. She wrapped her terry-cloth robe around her and dried herself briskly before changing into a knee-length nightshirt. Under the covers, she let out a deep sigh. She was really doing this. Her travel clothes were laid out, and she was ready to fly to Italy and be a nanny! She hugged her pillow and let the memories of sun-drenched days, delicious Southern cuisine and the magical Ionian Sea lull her to sleep.
* * *
Davide drummed his fingers on his desk. He checked the time on his cell phone. Neve’s plane should be landing in minutes at the Lamezia International Airport. Tomaso, his occasional driver, would be waiting for her, holding a card up with her name on it. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be a delay in claiming her luggage. If complications arose, Tomaso would take care of them.
Davide wondered if Neve still spoke some Italian. The second time he saw her on her balcony, he had smiled and said, “Ciao, signorina.” She had hesitated, given a quirk of a smile, and replied, “Ciao.” It came out sounding more like the English “chow,” and, embarrassed, she quickly repeated it with less of an aspiration at the start of the word. He had nodded in approval, and as he continued walking, he couldn’t resist looking back and saying, “Ciao, bella.” But she had already gone in.
Davide had tried to push recurring thoughts of her away after she had left Valdoro and returned to Vancouver. But if he had managed to accomplish that even temporarily during the day, he had been plagued by dreams of her at night.
His zio, Francesco, had noticed his malaise and had encouraged Davide to confide in him. Is it about a girl? He had eyed Davide with furrowed brows. Davide had been too embarrassed to talk about his feelings. Especially to his uncle the priest. How could he have possibly discussed his unquenchable desire for Neve, and his feelings of bitterness and humiliation?
“The best thing is to concentrate on your studies—and perhaps frequent Sunday mass a little more often,”his uncle had solemnly suggested.
Davide smirked. He had taken his uncle’s advice about his studies, but not so much on the second suggestion. Davide had had an issue with God and the whole destiny thing, and at twenty-two, forgiveness was not a strong male virtue. Davide had still gone to mass on special occasions, like the main holidays and an occasional funeral mass for a family friend, but other than that, he had stayed away. Besides, he had had goals he needed to accomplish.
And he had. He gave a bitter laugh as his gaze fell on the copy of his award-winning novel on his desk. Maybe he should thank Neve personally for her part in his literary success. Maybe he should have included a few words about her in his acceptance speech. After all, it was her written words that had ignited the chain of events leading up to the writing of his book.
Let it go, an inner voice whispered. Davide took a deep breath. Indeed. Why should he continue to be bitter about the words and actions of a teenage girl? He was a man now. His young ego may have been bruised then, but surely he was mature enough to have moved on?
Davide thought he had dealt with all those immature emotions, but he couldn’t deny the sharp twinge in the core of his heart when Neve’s face had appeared on the screen. She was still beautiful. Bellissima. He had watched the interview a few times after Lucia had gone home. Studied Neve’s face as she spoke. Paused to go over her every feature. He had drunk in the sight of her like a man coming across a source of water after days of walking in a scorching-hot desert.
Could he handle her living in the castle with him, interacting with him daily, watching her deal with his beloved niece? Only time would tell...
His phone indicated a text. He checked the message, written in Italian.
Signorina Wilder has arrived. We are on our way.
Va bene, Davide replied swiftly.
He set down his phone, strode over to the credenza and poured himself a shot of brandy.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_093fe910-582d-5789-b03a-6e5e08878ce9)
AS SOON AS Neve stepped out of the plane, the dry July heat enveloped her like a swaddling blanket. She was glad she had packed light. Her carry-on contained her laptop and a few emergency items in case her luggage was lost. And in her one piece of luggage, which she would shortly claim, there were just enough items to last her three weeks. She would alternate clothes over her two-month stay, and if she really got tired of wearing the same thing, she’d go to any one of the outdoor markets and buy something new. After all, she wasn’t there to be in a fashion parade; she was there for work.
Neve took a moment to text her mother that she had arrived, and joined a slow-moving throng to get clearance from the uniformed officials. She then proceeded to the baggage claim area. She looked eagerly for a middle-aged man holding a sign with her name on it, asLucia Michele had indicated in her email, and when she had spotted him, she waved and walked briskly toward him. He welcomed Neve in Italian and introduced himself as Tomaso Rocco. She smiled back at him and thanked him in Italian for having come to the airport to pick her up and drive her back to her employer’s house.
Neve noticed that his eyebrows had lifted at the word casa. Maybe he was surprised that she could speak Italian. She had studied it since her trip to Italy as a teenager, and made it a point to use it with her Italian landlady and landlord, so she felt fairly comfortable communicating right away with Tomaso. Strangely enough, he switched to a faltering English after she had spoken.
“Would you care for a refresh before we proceed?” Tomaso pointed to a nearby kiosk. “Or a panino?”
Neve smiled. “Grazie, SignorTomaso, but I had a nice meal on the plane. I wouldn’t mind finding a ladies’ room, though.”
He nodded and once she returned, she positioned herself near one of the conveyors to scan the moving luggage. A few minutes later she spotted the suitcase with two extra-large stickers of the Canadian flag and the Italian flag placed side by side. Tomaso deftly grabbed it and a few moments later they were driving south along the coast. Neve was glad that Tomaso was not a man of many words, as the view around her had her total attention. She caught her breath at the shimmering expanse of the Gulf of St. Euphemia in the Tyrrhenian Sea, and the pastel-colored facades of villas and apartments. The familiar sight of oleander trees, with their profusion of white, pink and fuchsia blooms, growing not only around homes but also along endless stretches of railroad tracks, made Neve think of an impressionist painting, with its mesmerizing combination of multicolored strokes.
Despite the stifling heat of the afternoon, Tomaso had opted to roll the windows down instead of putting on the air-conditioning, and Neve actually didn’t mind as she breathed in the sweet scent of the oleander blossoms perfuming the air.
Before long Tomaso had changed direction and was heading inland. The view changed from seascape to hills and valleys, with miles and miles of olive groves. Neve loved the look of the olive trees, with their gnarled branches and silver-green foliage. She started as the vehicle jerked to a sudden stop, and Neve, turning her head, discovered the cause: a herd of goats crossing the road. The goatherd ambled by, waving at Tomaso, and he gave a resigned wave back. “People not like to hurry here,” he said to Neve in his broken English. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You understand? Sometimes is like a thousand years ago.”
“I understand.” Neve stifled the urge to chuckle. “It’s like time standing still.”
Tomaso gave her a baffled look and then exclaimed as some of the goats started to backtrack. He gave a quick blast of the horn and the goats finally crossed over. Neve settled back to enjoy the magnificent views as the road snaked its way through what she discovered as she checked her map, was the Aspromonte mountain range. The Bitter Mountains.
She couldn’t help a slight shiver as she recalled reading about some of the nefarious happenings within the dark recesses of the heavily wooded slopes. Stories of bandits, or briganti. Some had been the Italian counterpart to Robin Hood, but others were immortalized in folk songs for their notorious deeds.
Neve marveled at some of the hamlets perched on top of a hill. Some had been abandoned for years, and the houses were crumbling in areas. But even these ghost towns, with their borders of cactus pear plants and hillsides of golden broom, had a mysterious and romantic air about them, conjuring all kinds of stories in her imagination.
Totally absorbed in the mountain landscape, with its dark gullies and sheer cliff sides with often no guardrails, Neve found herself holding her breath. It was like seeing everything with new eyes. Perhaps at eighteen she had had other things—or people—that had grabbed her attention, but now the mountains, trees and the scintillating waters were even more majestic and striking than she remembered.
Tomaso started whistling an old folk tune; she had heard it at a festival during her last trip to Italy. She knew the title, Calabrisella Mia, and if her memory served her right, it was about a young man who spotted a young lady washing clothes at the public fountains and was captivated by her. Well, maybe nobody went to do laundry at the fountains or by the river anymore, but Valdoro still celebrated the chivalry of the “old days” at their annual summer festival, the Festa della Calabrisella
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