The Vineyards of Calanetti

Saying ‘I do’ under the Tuscan sun …

Deep in the Tuscan countryside nestles the picturesque village of Monte Calanetti. Famed for its world-renowned vineyards, the village is also home to the crumbling but beautiful Palazzo di Comparino. It’s been empty for months, but rumours of a new owner are spreading like wildfire … and that’s before the village is chosen as the setting for the royal wedding of the year!

It’s going to be a roller coaster of a year, but will wedding bells ring out in Monte Calanetti for anyone else?

Find out in this fabulously heart-warming, uplifting and thrillingly romantic new eight-book continuity from Mills & Boon Romance!

A Bride for the Italian Boss by Susan Meier

Return of the Italian Tycoon by Jennifer Faye

Reunited by a Baby Secret by Michelle Douglas

Soldier, Hero … Husband? by Cara Colter

His Lost-and-Found Bride by Scarlet Wilson

The Best Man and the Wedding Planner by Teresa Carpenter

His Princess of Convenience by Rebecca Winters

Saved by the CEO by Barbara Wallace

All eight books are available now!

Saved by the CEO

Barbara Wallace

www.millsandboon.co.uk

BARBARA WALLACE can’t remember when she wasn’t dreaming up love stories in her head, so writing romances for Mills & Boon is a dream come true. Happily married to her own Prince Charming, she lives in New England with a house full of empty-nest animals. Occasionally her son comes home, as well.

To stay up-to-date on Barbara’s news and releases, sign up for her newsletter at www.barbarawallace.com.

To my fellow Calanetti creators for making this project so fun to work on. And to Carol, Val, Darlene and Michelle, who always make me feel like a rock star. Thanks.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“I THINK I’M in love.”

Louisa Harrison bit off a piece of cornetto, moaning as the sweet cake-like pastry melted like butter on her tongue. Crumbs dotted her chin. She caught them with her finger, not wanting to waste a drop. “Seriously, Dani, how do you not weigh a thousand pounds living with this man?” If she were married to a chef as wonderful as Rafe Mancini, she’d be the size of her palazzo, the grounds and the vineyards combined.

Her best friend laughed. “Trust me, it’s not easy. Fortunately, running around the restaurant all day keeps me in shape. Especially now. Ever since the royal wedding, we’ve been slammed with requests for reservations. Everyone wants to eat at the restaurant that fed Prince Antonio and his bride.”

“As well they should.” Danielle’s husband, Rafe, entered the restaurant dining room brandishing a coffeepot. “You make it sound as though Mancini’s is some ordinary royal wedding caterer.”

“I’m not sure there is such a thing as an ordinary royal wedding caterer,” Dani replied, kissing him on the cheek, “but you’re right, Mancini’s is anything but ordinary. Once people taste Rafe’s food, they are desperate to come back.”

“Only they can’t for at least eight weeks. My beautiful bride is right—we are booked solid through the harvest festival.”

“That’s fantastic,” Louisa replied helping herself to a cup of coffee. Rafe Mancini not only created wonderful food, he made the best American coffee in Tuscany. That was Dani’s doing. She’d insisted Rafe add a few New World touches to his traditionally Italian menu to placate US tourists. One of many small changes she’d implemented over the past few months. It hadn’t taken long for her friend to establish herself as an equal partner both in the relationship and the business. But then, Louisa had heard there were men in this world who actually liked when their wives had minds of their own. Not to mention lives.

She just hadn’t married one.

“Mancini’s isn’t the only place that’s doing well,” Dani continued. “Business has been up all around the village. Donatella told me sales at the boutique are up over 40 percent from last year.”

Louisa wasn’t surprised. Over the past nine months, Monte Calanetti had gone from sleepy Tuscan village to must-see tourist destination. Not only had they been selected to host Halencia’s royal wedding—considered the wedding of the year in most circles—but art experts had recently discovered an unknown fresco masterpiece hidden in the local chapel. Now it felt as if every person in Italy, tourist or resident, made a point of driving through the town. That they arrived to discover a picture-perfect village and an Italian Good Food rated restaurant owned by one of Europe’s premier chefs only enhanced the town’s allure.

“Quite a change from when you and I arrived here, huh?” she noted. It’d been an early spring day when the two of them had met on the bus from Florence. Two expatriates, each on her own quest to the Tuscan Valley. For Dani, the tiny village represented a last adventure before deciding on her future. Louisa, on the other hand, had taken one look at the terracotta roofs rising from the valley and decided luck had granted her the perfect place to escape her past. A place where she could heal.

“I knew as soon as I stepped off the bus that Monte Calanetti was special,” Dani said. “There’s something magical about this town. You can feel it.”

More like her friend felt the attraction between her and the man she eventually married; there’d been sparks from the second Dani and Rafe had laid eyes on each other. Louisa kept the thought to herself. “The royal wedding planner certainly thought so,” she said instead.

“Unfortunately, we can’t ride the wedding momentum forever. Once harvest season ends, people will be more interested in the ski resorts.” Rafe said.

“People will still seek out Mancini’s,” Louisa said.

“Some, yes, but certainly not the numbers we’ve been enjoying. And they certainly won’t spend time visiting other businesses.”

True. So much of Monte Calanetti’s appeal revolved around being able to stroll its cobblestone streets during the warm weather. It would be hard to make a wish in the plaza fountain if the water was frozen. There was a part of Louisa that wouldn’t mind the crowds thinning. She missed the early days when she could walk the streets without worrying that some American tourist would recognize her. Another part, however—the practical part—knew the village needed more than a seasonal income. Prior to the wedding, several of the smaller businesses had been on shaky ground.

A third part reminded her she needed income, too. Till now she’d been surviving on the money the royal family had paid her to use her property, and that was almost gone.

“It won’t matter if Mancini’s is the best restaurant in the world, if it’s surrounded by empty buildings,” Rafe was saying. “We need something that will encourage people to spend time here year-round.”

Funny he should say that. Louisa sipped her coffee thoughtfully. The practical part of her had also been kicking around an idea lately. It was only a germ at the moment, but it might help the cause. “It would be nice to see the village continue to prosper,” she had to admit. Even though she, like Dani, was a relative newcomer, she’d already come to consider the place home, and nobody wanted to see their home suffer economically.

“What do you have in mind?” she asked him. He obviously had something up his sleeve or he wouldn’t have put on this breakfast.

Pushing up his sleeves, the chef rested his forearms against the edge of the table and leaned close. “I was thinking we could start some kind of committee.”

“Like a chamber of commerce?” Did they even have those in Italy? They must.

“Nothing so formal. I’m picturing local business leaders brainstorming ideas like the harvest festival that we can put on to attract traffic.”

“And since the palazzo is such a big part of the village...” Dani started.

“You’d like me to be on the committee.” That made sense, especially if she carried through with her own idea. “Count me in... What?”

Her friend and her husband had suddenly become very interested in their breakfast plates. “There’s one problem,” Dani said.

“Problem?” Louisa’s fingers gripped her fork. “What kind of problem?” As if she didn’t know what the problem would be. Question was, how had they found out?

“I want Nico Amatucci on the committee, as well,” Rafe answered bluntly.

Oh. Her fear vanished in a rush, replaced by a completely different type of tension. One that started low in her stomach and moved in waves through her. “Why would that be a problem?”

“Well,” Dani said, “we know the two of you haven’t always gotten along...”

Memories of wine-tinged kisses flashed to life. “That’s in the past,” she replied. “We worked together on cleaning up the plaza, remember?”

“I know, but...”

“But what?”

The couple exchanged a look. “At the wedding, you two looked like you’d had a falling-out.”

Louisa would have called it a momentary loss of her senses. “It’s no big deal.” And it wasn’t. Beneath the table, her fingers tapped out a rhythm on her thigh. In comparison to what she thought they were going to say, her “falling-out” with Nico amounted to nothing.

She barely remembered, she thought, tongue running over her lower lip.

“Working together won’t be awkward, then?” Rafe asked.

“Don’t be silly—Nico and I are adults. I’m sure we can handle sitting on a committee together.”

“What committee?”

As if waiting for his cue, Nico Amatucci strolled into the dining room. If he were someone else, Louisa would accuse him of waiting to make a dramatic entrance, but in his case dramatic entrances came naturally.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “We’ve been working around the clock since the wedding. It appears people can’t get enough of Amatucci Red.” The last part was said looking straight at her. As Louisa met his gaze, she forced herself to keep as cool an expression as possible and prayed he couldn’t see how fast her heart was racing. This was the first time she’d seen him since the wedding. The vintner looked as gorgeous as ever.

He’d come straight from the fields. The ring of dampness around his collar signaled hours of hard work, as did the dirt streaking his jeans and T-shirt. Louisa spied a couple smudges on his neck, too, left behind after wiping the sweat from his skin. She’d say this about the man: he worked as hard as his employees. Something he, as the owner of one of Tuscany’s finest boutique wineries, didn’t have to do. Probably did it to make up for the fact he was arrogant and presumptuous.

A frown marred his Romanesque features as he pointed to the coffeepot. “American?”

“That a problem?” Rafe asked.

“No.” His sigh was long and exaggerated.

Rafe rolled his eyes. “There’s no need to be dramatic. If you want espresso, just say so.”

“Make it a double,” Nico called after him with a grin. “I’ve been up since sunrise.”

Despite there being three empty seats on the other side of the table, he chose to sit in the one his friend had just vacated, which positioned him directly next to Louisa. “I trust I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” he said to her. His crooked smile made the comment sound more like a dirty secret. But then, that’s what Nico Amatucci did. He used his charm to lure people into bending to his will. When they didn’t bend to his authority, that is. His sensual mouth and sparkling dark eyes could worm their way past a person’s defenses, trapping them in his spell before they knew what was happening.

He reached for a cornetto, his shoulder brushing against Louisa’s as he moved. The hours of hard work had left him smelling of fresh-tilled dirt and exertion. It was a primal, masculine scent, and though Louisa tried her best not to react, her own basic instincts betrayed her and she shivered anyway. To cover, she ignored his question and took a long sip of coffee.

Nico countered by taking a bite of pastry. “Has everyone recovered from the wedding?” he asked, licking the crumbs off his thumb. Louisa narrowed her eyes. She swore he was purposely trying to make the action erotic. Especially when he added, “I know I’m still feeling the aftereffects. Are you?”

Again, he looked straight at her. Louisa lifted her chin. “Not at all,” she replied with a crispness that made her proud.

Apparently it wasn’t crisp enough, since he reacted with little more than an arched brow. “Are you sure?”

Dani jumped to her feet. “I’m going to go see if Rafe needs help. Marcello rearranged the pantry yesterday, and you know how he gets when he can’t find things.”

Who did she think she was fooling? Rafe wouldn’t allow anyone to rearrange his pantry without supervision.

“Subtle,” Nico remarked when Dani was out of earshot. “One would think she was trying to give us time alone.”

“One would think,” Louisa muttered in return. “Though I don’t know why.”

“Perhaps she thinks we need to talk.”

“Well, she would be wrong. We don’t need to talk about anything.”

“I see. Is that why you’re avoiding me, bella mia?”

His beauty indeed. I’m not your anything, she wanted to snap. She didn’t belong to anyone. Not anymore. And especially not to someone like him. Bad enough she let herself fall under his spell at the wedding. “Who says I’ve been avoiding anyone? Maybe I’ve been busy. You’re not the only one who’s had a lot to do since the wedding.”

“My apologies. You’re right.” His chair made a scratching noise on the floor as he angled it so they were facing one another. Taking the last cornetto from the center of the table, he tore the pastry in two and divided the pieces between their plates. “So tell me, what have you been up to that has kept you so busy?”

Louisa glared at the fluffy delicacy in front of her. “Things,” she replied.

“Things?” His chuckle was smooth like syrup. “That’s a very broad category.”

“I’m a very broad person.”

“Ah, bella mia. ‘Broad’ is definitely not what I would call you.” His hand moved forward. Thinking he was about to brush the bangs from her eyes, Louisa jerked back, only to turn red when he picked up his half of the pastry. “I wanted to talk about what happened at the wedding.”

“I told you, there’s nothing to talk about. We made a mistake, that’s all. Why don’t we forget it ever happened?”

Sounds from the kitchen drifted into the restaurant as Nico chewed his pastry. Louisa listened, trying to determine how far away she was from rescue. There was an uneasy familiarity to the way they sat with Nico’s leg close but not touching hers.

Slowly his eyes lifted to meet hers. “What if I don’t want to forget?”

“One double espresso as ordered!” Rafe announced. The chef returned to the dining room carrying a gold-rimmed demitasse. Behind him trailed Dani, who shot Nico a look. From their mutually taut expressions, Louisa wondered if there hadn’t been a disagreement over interrupting the conversation. She offered a silent thank-you to whichever one of them had won.

First thing Dani did when she sat down was to try to catch Louisa’s eye, but Louisa continued to stare at the tablecloth and prayed that the floor might swallow her up. She hated scrutiny. Hated the feel of people’s eyes upon her. Trying to look inside her. Thinking they could read her thoughts. Her fingers crept to her neckline to tug the suddenly too-tight collar.

“Will there be anything else, your highness?” Thank God for Rafe. Again. He set the cup on the table with a flourish, forcing Nico’s attention back to the business at hand.

The vintner’s bronze fingers wrapped around the handle. “This will do for now,” he replied.

“You do know that when I said ‘your highness,’ I meant it sarcastically, right?”

“Yes, but you wait on me all the same.” Nevertheless, Nico saluted his friend with the cup before taking a sip. “So,” he said after he swallowed, “you said something about a committee?”

“You were listening,” Rafe replied. “Yes, I want to create a committee for developing tourism.”

“Monte Calanetti already has a person in charge of tourism.” Nico explained. “Vincenzo Alberti.”

“Tell me you’re joking. Everyone knows Vincenzo did nothing and that the only reason we hosted the wedding was because your brother was in town to write the proposal. It could have just as easily gone to some place in Umbria.”

“True. Vincenzo is rather useless.”

“What I’m talking about is something independent and more grassroots. I’m certain if the local businesspeople put their heads together, we can come up with a host of ideas to increase tourism. Not to mention run them better.”

“I certainly won’t complain about increased business, especially during the dormant months,” Nico said. Leaning back, he hooked an arm over the back of his chair. “Who else do you have in mind besides the four of us? I assume it is the four of us, since we’re all sitting here.”

The two men began tossing names back and forth, some of whom Louisa recognized, some she didn’t. She wasn’t surprised when, as the conversation progressed, the dynamic between the friends shifted with Nico slowly taking the reins. That was something else Nico Amatucci did. No matter how commanding others might be—and Rafe certainly qualified as commanding—Nico was always the one in charge.

Her ex-husband had been the exact same way. Minus the rugged sensuality that is. Steven had been painstakingly glossy, his looks created from the pages of fashion magazines whereas Nico was more earthy. The kind of man who got his hands dirty from actually working with them, not from helping himself.

She remembered the roughness of Nico’s calloused hands as his thumbs had fanned her cheeks...

And how effortlessly he’d managed to dance her into a secluded corner without her realizing. In charge till the end, just like Steven.

“We need to make it clear to everyone involved that we don’t want to be too commercial,” she heard him say. “It’s one thing to increase tourism, it’s another to lose the very thing that makes Monte Calanetti special.”

Rafe agreed. “Absolutely. Ideally, we want events or attractions that highlight our traditions and Old World charm. That’s what the tourists want. Maybe there’s something we can do around the Madonna and Child painting in the chapel. Something historical.”

“I read the other day that Santo Majorca is building a spa around its underground springs. Too bad we can’t unearth a spring here.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Ow!” Louisa jumped as pain shot up from her shin. Damn it, but Dani wore pointy shoes. That kick would leave a bruise.

The two men turned to look at her. “Everything all right?” Nico asked.

“Fine,” she said, rubbing her leg. Beneath her index finger she could feel a small divot. There was definitely going to be a bruise.

Across the table, her friend didn’t even have the decency to look apologetic. She was too busy gesturing with her eyebrows for Louisa to say something. Louisa replied with a shake of her head.

Why not? Dani mouthed.

Because of a zillion reasons. The concept was still too vague and unformed, for one. She wasn’t ready for people to start poking holes in her idea. Or take it over, she thought, sliding a look in Nico’s direction. She wasn’t sure she was ready period.

“Did I miss something?” Nico asked.

Of course he would say something. Those sharp brown eyes didn’t miss a thing, not that either she or Dani were being very subtle.

“Louisa’s been working on a terrific idea,” Dani said.

“Really?” He turned to face her. “What is it? If it’s something that will help, by all means tell us.”

“It’s still at the very beginning stages. I haven’t worked out all the details yet.”

“But the general idea is brilliant. She wants to turn the palazzo into a hotel.”

Some of Nico’s enthusiasm faded in favor of concern. “What kind of hotel? You’re not planning to alter the property, are you?”

“Nothing drastic, I assure you,” she said as she shot a narrow-eyed look in Dani’s direction. Why couldn’t she have found an unenthusiastic best friend? “I was thinking of something more like a high-end boutique hotel.”

“Isn’t that a great idea?” Dani piped in, clearly unfazed by Louisa’s glare. “People love to stay in historic buildings. Remember that couple last month who told us they were staying at Palazzo St. Rosa? They couldn’t stop raving about the place.”

“She’s right, they couldn’t,” Rafe said. “No matter how hard I tried to make them.”

“They showed us the photos, and the place can’t hold a candle to Louisa’s.”

“That’s because Palazzo di Comparino is special.” Intended as both a compliment and a warning, Nico’s comment made Louisa bristle. It’d been nine months since she’d moved in and he still acted as though the palazzo was his responsibility. And Dani wondered why she didn’t want to talk about her plans.

“Special, yes,” she replied, “but it’s also very large and expensive for one person to keep up.” Especially if said person had no other source of income. “Opening it to the public is one way to cover some of the expenses.” As well as help her stay independent. Being in charge, having total control of her life again, seemed almost too good to be true.

Maybe she could finally put the past behind her.

No sooner did the thought form than her old friend insecurity came rushing in to take its place. “Of course, the building needs a lot more upgrading before I can do much of anything, and I still have to secure financing. Who knows how long it’ll take before anything happens.”

“Well, I agree with Dani—I like the idea. A high-end hotel is exactly what Monte Calanetti needs,” Rafe said as he warmed both her and Dani’s coffee. “If you need anything, let us know. Nico and I will be glad to help. Isn’t that right, Nico?”

“Absolutely.” The vineyard owner slid his empty cup across the table for a refill, which Rafe immediately provided, remembering Nico preferred espresso. There was a roguish gleam in his eyes as he smiled. “As the two of us have proven, we make a good team, do we not?”

A good team. In a flash, Louisa’s mind traveled back in time...

The Royal Wedding

“Ask and you shall receive. Your cake, signorina.” Nico’s exaggerated bow as he handed her a slice of cake made Louisa laugh. The wedding had brought out the lightheartedness in everyone, even her. It felt good, laughing. She’d faked happiness for so long that she was afraid she’d forgotten how to truly enjoy herself.

“Grazie,” she replied with her best regal nod before noticing he’d returned with only one plate. “No slice for you? Don’t tell me there isn’t enough.” She saw the cake; it was large enough to feed all of Italy.

“Ah, but it’s more fun to share, don’t you think?” From his breast pocket, he produced two forks. “To commemorate our successful partnership. We make a good team, do we not?”

“Surprisingly, yes.” If anyone had told her that one day she and the vineyard owner would be civil to one another, let alone work together, she would have told them they were crazy. But the two of them had organized the massive village cleanup in preparation for today’s wedding. As a result, the palazzo and the plaza had never looked lovelier—a pretty big achievement considering the village had started out picture-perfect.

And now, here they were enjoying each other’s company at the wedding reception, as well. Things between them had definitely thawed since Louisa’s first day in town when he’d demanded to see her ownership papers. Or maybe she was the one who was starting to thaw?

It certainly felt as though something inside her was shifting.

She focused her attention to the cake Nico was sliding toward her.

“If we’re toasting, shouldn’t we be raising a glass?” she asked, taking one of the forks.

“We’ve been raising our glasses all day. I thought we could use a change of pace.” He moved his chair so that they were sitting side by side, close enough that his elbow nudged hers. Cutting off a bite of cake, he raised it in the air like a glass. “To teamwork.”

“To teamwork.”

Louisa moved to cut her own piece of cake, intending to salute him back, only to have him press the cake to her lips before she could. “The lady should always have the first bite,” he said, his low voice.

A warm tightness moved through her as the fork slid between her teeth. Chocolate and raspberry melted on her tongue.

“Good?” he asked.

“Amazing.” She ran a tongue over her lower lip, chasing the hint of frosting that had been left behind. “Try some.”

With what could only be called a wicked smile, he did, and when the fork disappeared into his mouth, the tightness in her stomach intensified. A hint of chocolate remained on her lips. Though tempted to lick the taste away, she reached for her napkin instead. After that display, running her tongue over her lips seemed too much like answering in kind and the summer air already felt thick and stifling.

While she’d never let him know it, Nico was quite possibly the most handsome man here, even more handsome than the crown prince. Months of working outdoors had left him with a permanent tan that gave everything else about him—his smile, his eyes, his crisp white shirt—a kind of brilliance the other men couldn’t match.

Why on earth was he sitting here eating cake with her? Giving voice to her thoughts, she said, “I have to admit, I was surprised when you suggested we attend together.” Handsome, rich...she assumed he had a black book of supermodels at the ready for occasions like this.

“Made sense, did it not? We’re both here because our businesses are involved in the celebration.

“Why?” he asked with another grin. “Is there someone you would rather be sitting with?”

“Well, the best man is sort of attractive.”

“The best man is only interested in the wedding planner. Face it, bella mia,” he said, stretching an arm across the back of her chair. “I am the best offer you have.”

Another laugh bubbled its way from her chest. She must have had too much wine because his arrogance was sounding damn sexy at the moment.

The room grew quiet. “Signore e signori, his Royal Highness Prince Antonio and his bride invite you to join them in this, their final dance of the evening.”

“Wow,” she said, “last dance already? Time goes by fast.”

“Looks like my company was good after all.”

Louisa cut another bite off the cake. “Don’t get too carried away.”

“Come on, admit it.” He nudged her shoulder. “You had a good time.”

“Yeah, I did.” And for the first time in years, she meant it. This had been her first black-tie event since the divorce, and she’d feared the memories of her old life would prove too much to deal with, but Nico had proved a wonderfully entertaining companion. She was actually sorry to see the evening end.

“We need to dance,” Nico said, setting down his fork in a way that made it sound more like a command. “One doesn’t refuse an invitation from a future king.”

Apparently not. All around the room, couples were making their way to the dance floor to join Antonio and his bride, Christina. A few feet away Dani and Rafe were already wrapped in each other’s arms, as were Nico’s brother, Angelo, and his fiancée. Even Nico’s extremely pregnant sister, Marianna, was swaying to the music.

She looked back at the hand Nico was holding out. Such strong capable hands, she thought, the tightness giving way to an internal shiver. “I haven’t danced in a long time,” she warned. “Your feet might want to be prepared.”

“Consider them forewarned.”

She needn’t have worried. As soon as Nico’s arm entwined her waist, she forgot all about being rusty. Their bodies moved together like two synchronized pieces of a whole.

Nico’s eyes swept the length of her. “I’ve been meaning to tell you how beautiful you look. You outshine the princess.”

“Careful, talking like that could be considered treason in Halencia.” She tried to brush off the compliment with a smile. Flattery had lost its meaning to her a long time ago. Looking good had been part of the requirements when she was married. Looking good, behaving properly, doing what she was told...all part of the job.

“I’ll take the risk,” he said as he pulled her close. Louisa’s eyes locked with his as they moved across the floor. They were darker than she’d ever seen them, the pupils giant pools of black. While Steven always expected her to look beautiful, he never looked at her with such blatant appreciation. The glint in Nico’s eyes made her feel like a bite of wedding cake, waiting to be sampled. The thought should have frightened her. Instead, hot shivers danced along her spine.

God, but it’d been a long time since she’d felt like a woman instead of a possession.

The orchestra faded away, drowned out by the sound of their breathing and the rasp of his jacket as it brushed her sequined bodice with every rise and fall of his chest.

She wasn’t sure who leaned in first. Once his mouth closed over hers, who had made the first move didn’t matter, not when his lips were moving against hers as if he were trying to kiss his way inside. She kissed him back just as hungrily, too many passionless years making her desperate. They kissed hard and deep, only stopping when the need to breathe became too much.

Blinking, Louisa slowly remembered where they were. “I—”

“Shh...” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “It’s okay, bella mia.”

Bella mia. My lovely. Mine. Louisa stiffened.

“Don’t worry,” he said, misreading the reaction for embarrassment. “No one can see us.”

Turning, she saw that they were in a secluded corner, just outside the ballroom door. While she’d been lost in his spell, Nico had steered them safely away from prying eyes.

How thoughtful and practiced of him. But then, men like Nico didn’t do anything spontaneously, did they? They were always in control. Like hunters stalking prey, only instead of bullets they used smiles and seduction. Their victims were trapped in their gilded cages before they ever knew what was happening.

Except Louisa did know. And she was never ever going to be trapped again.

Pushing just enough so as to not make a scene, she stepped out of his embrace. “The bride and groom will be leaving shortly. I better make sure everything is set for their departure.” She left him standing in the corner without turning back...

* * *

“Louisa?”

Yanked from the memory by the sound of Dani’s voice, she saw the three of them staring at her. “You okay?” her friend asked.

“I’m fine,” she lied. Part of her was still back on the dance floor, lost in a pair of dark eyes. “You were saying?”

“I was saying that as far as financing your hotel is concerned, I would consider investing...”

“No.” She didn’t mean for the word to come out so strongly, but Nico was looking straight at her while he spoke and the memory of how those eyes distracted her was so fresh...

Just as well, though. Better to be blunt than let him think he had a chance. As an investor or anything else.

Monte Calanetti was her chance at a new life. No way was she going to let someone sweep in and mess things up.

Not this time.

CHAPTER TWO

NICO SQUINTED AND double-checked the line on the refractometer. “Twenty-two point four.”

“Is that on schedule?”

“Close.” Pulling the battered leather journal from his back pocket, he flipped through the pages until he found last year’s data. “One hundredth of a point off,” he reported before turning the page and making note of today’s measurement. Even better than he expected. He’d been afraid the easy summer had accelerated the ripening process. So far, however, the sugar levels were holding close to previous years, which boded well for this year’s vintage.

“When will you harvest?”

He turned to the young man at his elbow. Mario, a viticulture student from the university was hanging on his every word. “Depends upon the weather and the variety, but for Amatucci Red, I like the Brix level to be between twenty-five and twenty-six. A hair shy of precocious, as it were,” he added with a chuckle.

Mario nodded as he took notes. Nico would never admit it out loud but he enjoyed being seen as a master. It made him feel as though he’d achieved what Carlos had hoped for him. “Precocious?” he asked. “I’ve never heard that winemaking term before.”

“That’s because it’s not really a winemaking term, just something Carlos Bertonelli used to say. ‘Grapes are like children. You want to raise them to be sweet, but not so sweet they overwhelm you.’ In other words...”

“A hair shy of precocious.”

“Exactly.” Tossing a grape into the air, he caught the plump berry in his mouth. “Carlos was full of sayings like that,” he said crushing the skin between his teeth. The juice was tart on his tongue; a ways to go before precociousness. “His version of Old World wisdom.”

“Signor Bertonelli is the man who used to own these vineyards, right? The ones surrounding the palazzo?”

“Si. He was my mentor. Taught me everything I know about winemaking.” Nico’s heart ached a little every time he thought of the old man, which was often.

“Is that why you’re still maintaining the vineyards? Out of respect for him?”

“Out of respect, and partly because Monte Calanetti wouldn’t exist without these vineyards. I don’t want to see part of our tradition disappear.”

There was more to the story, naturally—the truth was always complicated—but Mario didn’t need to know how Carlos had kept him grounded when life got crazy. With his even, unflappable demeanor and vat full of wisdom, the old man had been mentor, grandfather and safety net all rolled into one.

When he was a little boy, Nico wondered if the stork hadn’t delivered him to the wrong house. That he should have been dropped in the Bertonelli fields instead of his own family’s. Truth was, Carlos had been so much more than a mere mentor. Not a day went by that Nico didn’t miss the man.

If he were alive, perhaps he could help Nico understand his grandniece better. Looking over the vines to the palazzo, he spied Louisa’s platinum-blond hair reflecting the sun as she watched them from the terrace. He nodded hello only to have her move out of view. Still avoiding him. She’d been doing so since the wedding.

Never had he met a woman who was so difficult to read. Cold one moment, warm and tender the next. He’d thought they’d turned a corner at the wedding. A very satisfying corner at that. He smiled, remembering the press of her mouth against his. So soft, so receptive. Then suddenly—poof!—everything changed, and they were back to those frigid early days when she barely gave him the time of day.

“Signor Amatucci?”

Mario was staring at him, obviously waiting for a response of some kind. “Nico,” he corrected. “Not Signor.”

“Sorry. Nico. I was wondering what you wanted to do next.”

Figure out what’s going on in my blonde American’s head. He doubted that’s what Mario meant, though. “I want to gather a few soil samples from the southern fields,” he said. “Why don’t you head back to the winery and begin testing the grapes we’ve collected?” It was standard practice to double-check the field readings using the equipment at the lab. Unlike his mentor, Nico liked to have solid data to corroborate his taste buds.

“Are you sure?” Being on the field must truly be making him nostalgic, because the way the kid straightened with the prospect of responsibility brought back memories of the first time Carlos had given him a task to complete on his own. Had he looked that earnest? “I suggested it, didn’t I?”

“Yes. Of course. I’ll leave the results on your desk.”

“Along with your recommendations. I’m eager to hear your suggestions.”

The kid nodded again, wide-eyed and serious. “Absolutely.”

Of course, Nico would repeat the tests himself later on—the crops were far too valuable to trust to a university student—but there was no need to say anything. Better for Mario’s confidence if he believed he was operating without a safety net.

He started packing his test gear back in his canvas satchel. The faded bag had been with him since his days with Carlos, and looked older than that. “If you have any problems, talk to Vitale. I’ll be back later this morning.”

“How are you getting back? Do you want me to come back for you?”

“No need. I’ll hop the wall. There’s a low spot,” he added when the student frowned. “The Amatuccis and the Bertonellis have been cutting back and forth through these properties for years.” At least this Amatucci had. His brother and sister had found other ways to escape.

Once Mario’s taillights disappeared in the dust, Nico shouldered his bag and headed south. Above him, the sun lit a cloudless blue sky. The air was ripe with fruit and olives, and if the breeze hit just right, you could catch the faint undertone of lavender. Another perfect day, he thought, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

He was by himself, walking the terraced hill. Back when he was a little boy, these fields had been filled with workers. He remembered the first time he ventured through the archway that divided the properties, a stressed-out, scared boy looking for a place where doors didn’t slam and voices were calm. Stepping into the fields of Comparino had been like finding paradise. There was a tranquility in the steady tick-tick-tick of the sprinkler, the low hum of the insects. And it never changed. Oh, there were storms and blights. Natural disasters that caused temporary disruption, but no matter what, Nico knew that come summer, the sounds would be there. Grapes would grow and wine would get made the same as it had for hundreds of years. How he loved the predictability; so unlike the world on his side of the arch, where he never knew from one day to the next whether his parents were together or apart.

Such is the price of grand passion, Carlos said once, after one of his parents’ explosive breakups. It’s either sun or storm. No in between.

Nico wouldn’t know. His passion didn’t run that deep.

The vines in the south garden had grown thick and tangled with neglect. Left unmolested, insects had nibbled holes in the leaves. Ignoring the bee buzzing near his ear, Nico knelt in the shade. Using his utility knife, he churned the hardened topcoat, unearthing the moist soil beneath. Then he carefully shoveled several inches of the rich black dirt into collection jars. He was wiping the residue on his jeans when a flash of white caught the corner of his eye. He smiled. Part of the reason he’d picked this morning to test the soil was because the southern fields abutted the verandah. This time of morning, Louisa would be having breakfast outside, the way she always did, and while she might be avoiding him, she wouldn’t be able to resist spying on what he was doing. Pretending to study the overgrown rose bush marking the end of the row, he kept his back to her. “Careful, bella mia,” he said, breaking into English, “people might think you are interested in what I am doing.”

“I’m always interested in what people do on my property,” came the deliciously haughty reply.

Slowly, he turned around. Louisa stood at the railing, a mug cradled between her palms. Despite the early hour, she was fully dressed in jeans and a soft flowing shirt. She hadn’t done her hair yet, though. Instead of being pulled tight in her signature severe hairstyle, the strands hung long and loose around her shoulders. If she knew that was how Nico preferred she wear it, she’d no doubt tie it back tighter than ever.

“Do you plan to scrutinize your hotel guests with the same intensity?”

The mention of the hotel was ignored. “I was out here having breakfast. You’re the one who crossed into my field of vision.”

Apparently they were also going to ignore the fact she’d been watching him earlier. At least she’d answered him. Did that mean they were back on speaking terms?

Only one way to find out. “Breakfast, you say. I don’t suppose there is enough coffee for two?” When she didn’t immediately answer, he grabbed the terrace balustrades to haul himself up and over the wall.

“I thought you despised American coffee.”

“It’s growing on me. Like a lot of American things,” he added with a smile.

He nodded his head toward the bistro table that held the rest of her meal, including a tall thermal carafe. “Should I drink from the container?”

“Please don’t. I’ll get you a cup.”

She didn’t ask him to leave. Did that mean she was thawing again?

“You know that you are going to have to learn how to make a proper espresso if you plan to open a hotel,” he said, following her inside.

“I didn’t realize you were also an expert on hotel management.”

“No, just an expert on being Italian.”

As they passed through the glass doors into the room that had been the piano nobile, he instinctively paused. “I’ll wait here.” When Louisa frowned over her shoulder, he lifted his dusty work boot. If Carlos had been alive, he would have walked across the floor without a second thought, but Louisa seemed more the clean and orderly type. The last thing he wanted was to ruin their fragile accord by tracking dirt across the clean terracotta tiles. The gesture must have been appreciated because she nodded rather than arguing the point. “I’ll be right back.”

The palazzo looked good. Louisa had accomplished a lot over the past few months. The dated furniture had been replaced by comfortable modern pieces but the Old World elegance remained. The intricate coffered ceiling and carved archways gleamed they were so clean. Hard to believe it was the same property. Carlos had never seemed to care about his living conditions, especially after his wife died. And then, of course, there were the years it had sat unclaimed. If Nico hadn’t kept an eye on the property, Carlos’s legacy would have fallen into even greater shambles.

Louisa never did say why she’d ignored the property for so long. He asked her once, but she told him it was none of his business. And now, after years of neglecting her inheritance, she was breaking her back attempting to return the palazzo to its former glory.

His American was definitely a confusing and complicated woman.

“If you want pastry, you’ll have to go home,” Louisa said when she returned. “Today is market day.”

“Coffee is fine. Thank you.” It didn’t escape him that she held the cup at arm’s length, keeping a healthy distance. Things might be warmer between them, but not completely thawed.

“I’d offer milk, but I know you prefer it black.”

“I’m flattered you remember.”

“Hard to forget black coffee.” She brushed past him, leaving behind a soft memory of Chanel.

“May I ask what you were doing digging in the dirt?”

“Taking soil samples.”

“Why?”

For a chance to talk with you. “To determine what needs to be done to make the dirt suitable for new vines.” Depending upon the soil levels, he planned to recultivate the field, with canaiolo or cabernet sauvignon, if he was feeling untraditional. “Since it will take a few years before the plants yield a usable harvest, I want to replant sooner rather than later.”

“Is that so?” She tossed him a cryptic look before turning to the hills. “Funny. I don’t remember selling you the property.”

She had to be joking. She was going to claim sovereignty now? “That’s funny, because I don’t remember you complaining about my maintaining it on your behalf.”

“On my behalf and to your benefit. Or are you going to tell me you didn’t double your vineyard without paying a penny?”

“No,” he replied with a shrug. “Why deny the truth?” He had benefited from using Carlos’s land. Carlos would have wanted as much. “You chose to stay away, and I saw no sense in letting good land go to waste.”

“I didn’t choose, I...” Whatever she was going to say was swept aside by a deep breath. “Regardless, that doesn’t give you the right to do what you want. No matter how good you are at it,” she muttered into her cup.

“Good at vineyard management or doing what I want?” Her side eye gave him his answer. “Fine. You’re the owner. If you don’t want to recultivate, what would you like to do with your neglected vineyards?”

“I’ll let you know,” she said, jutting her chin for maximum haughtiness.

They both knew he would replant; she was being stubborn for stubbornness’ sake. He wondered if she knew how attractive she looked when she was being argumentative. Maybe that was why he enjoyed pushing her buttons. Like a person with a stick poking at a hornet’s nest and getting off on the risk, provoking her to annoyance had excitement curling low in his stomach. And damn if it wasn’t easy to push her buttons. Seemed as though all he had to do was breathe and her eyes were flashing.

Those eyes were flashing brightly at the moment. Reminding him of how she’d looked right after they kissed.

Ah. Clarity dawned.

“This isn’t really about recultivating, is it?” he asked, stepping closer. “This is about what happened at the wedding.”

She whipped around to face him. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about that.”

And yet the moment hung over them begging to be mentioned. “Come now, bella mia, don’t tell me you expect us to pretend it never happened?”

How could they possibly ignore such an amazing kiss? Surely he wasn’t the only one who lay awake at night remembering how perfectly their bodies fit together. The way her breath quickened when he’d stepped closer, told him he wasn’t.

“Don’t call me bella mia, and I’m not asking you to pretend about anything. It’s simply not worth talking about. We drank a little too much wine and let the romantic atmosphere get to us, that’s all.”

“Really?” He leaned in, angling his head near the curve of her neck. “That’s all it was? A drunken mistake? I’m not sure I believe you.” Especially when her skin flushed from his proximity.

“Why not?”

“Because...” Nico let his gaze take the path his fingers wanted to take. “For one thing, I wasn’t drunk.”

This time it was Louisa who closed the distance between them, her eyes ablaze from the confrontation. “Maybe you weren’t, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t. Much as your ego would like to think otherwise.”

Oh, how his little hornet’s nest enjoyed poking him as much as he enjoyed poking her. “Trust me, bella mia,” he said, “my ego doesn’t need stroking. Go ahead and call it a drunken mistake if you have to. Same way you can tell yourself that you wouldn’t enjoy a repeat performance.”

Louisa’s lips parted with a gasp, like he knew they would. With a smile curling his own, Nico dipped his head to claim them.

Just as their mouths were about to touch, she turned her face. “Okay, fine, I admit it was a great kiss, but it can’t happen again.”

“Why not?” Again, he didn’t understand. Two people obviously attracted to one another; why shouldn’t they explore the possibilities?

“For a lot of reasons. To start with, I’m not looking to get involved in a serious relationship.”

All the better. “Neither am I.” Serious came with certain expectations, and as history had proven, he lacked the depth to meet them.

“And—” she dodged his outstretched hand “—we’re neighbors, plus we’ll be working on that committee Rafe is creating. We’ll be around each other all the time.”

“Perhaps I’m misunderstanding, but doesn’t that make things easier?”

“It will make things awkward.”

“Only as awkward as we let it be,” he replied.

Her sandals slapped softly against the floor as she returned to her breakfast table, a position, Nico noted, that put a barrier of glass and wrought iron between them.

Of course, she already knew that, or else her hands wouldn’t be gripping the chair back so tightly. Nico knew the cues; she was working up to another reason. “Look, right now I can’t be involved with anyone seriously or casually. I need to concentrate on taking care of myself. Do you understand?”

“Si.” Better than she realized. The last woman who’d said those words to him had been suffering from a broken heart. Was that Louisa’s secret? Had she come to Monte Calanetti because some bastard had let her down?

If that was the case, then far be it for him to add to her injury. One woman was enough to have hurt in a lifetime. There were other women in Monte Calanetti whose company he could keep, even if they weren’t as enigmatically fascinating. “Consider the kiss forgotten,” he told her.

* * *

Louisa’s back relaxed as she exhaled. “Thank you,” she replied. It felt good to clear the air between them. She’d been acting like a complete brat the past couple of days, stuck between wanting to stand up for herself and being afraid of succumbing to the attraction. She’d treated Nico like the enemy rather than the neighbor she’d come to know and respect. But now that they were on the same page...

Maybe she could finally stop thinking of how much he reminded her of Steven. Her ex-husband’s kisses had made her head spin, too, she recalled. The first time she’d been kissed by a man who knew what he was doing.

Feeling Nico’s dark eyes studying her, she added in a low voice, “I appreciate your understanding.”

“I am nothing if not agreeable.”

The joke broke the spell and Louisa laughed. They both knew he could be as stubborn as she could. “Yes, I’ve seen how agreeable you can be.” He’d been particularly “agreeable” earlier this year when his sister, Marianna, had announced her unplanned pregnancy. Louisa had had to talk him out of staking the baby’s father in the garden.

“I brought a smile back to your face, did I not?” His smile was crooked and way too sexy.

“I’m glad you said something,” he added in a more serious voice. “I did not like that our friendship had turned awkward again.”

He was being kind. “I was being a bit irrational, wasn’t I?” Bitchy would have been a better word.

“A bit. But I may have egged you on.”

She laughed. “You think?”

“A bit. How about if we both promise to be on our best behavior?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Good.” To her surprise, there wasn’t an ounce of seduction in his smile. If anything he looked genuinely happy. Damn if that didn’t make her stomach flutter.

“But,” he continued, changing topics, “you should do something about these fields. It is a waste of good cropland.”

Not to mention bad business. Guests weren’t going to pay to stay at a nonworking vineyard.

Shoot. She was going to have to let him replant, wasn’t she? “As soon as I finalize the plans for the hotel, I’ll make some decisions.” He might be getting his way, but he would get it on her schedule.

“How are your plans going?”

“They’re coming along.” Only last night she’d put the finishing touches on a preliminary marketing plan.

“Glad to hear it. You know—” he set down his cup, the contents of which, Louisa noticed, were untouched “—my offer still stands. If you need investors...”

Louisa tensed before remembering she’d promised to behave better. It wasn’t his fault his offer set her teeth on edge. “I won’t need investors,” she told him. “I’ve got a meeting with the bank this afternoon to discuss opening a line of credit. If plans go as I hope, I might be able to open on a limited basis this winter.”

“That soon?”

“I did say limited. Waiting until the palazzo is fully renovated could take years, and I want to move fast enough that I can capitalize on the royal wedding.” She sounded defensive, the way she used to whenever Steven questioned her. But he’s not Steven, and you don’t need anyone’s permission anymore. “I figured I’d concentrate on upgrading the infrastructure, plumbing, electrical, that stuff, and make sure the front half of the palazzo is in perfect working order, before expanding into the back.”

“Sounds smart.”

“I think so.” She did not feel a frisson of pleasure at the compliment. “Now I just have to hope the bank comes through with financing quickly.” And that the loan officers would take the palazzo for collateral without looking too far beyond the fact she was Carlos Bertonelli’s grandniece. Her post-divorce financials were sketchy at best. And heaven help her if the bank looked into her former life. She’d never get financing.

“Who are you meeting with?” Nico asked.

“Dominic Merloni.”

“I know him. He’s a smart businessman. When I get to my office, I’ll call—”

“No. Thank you.”

“I don’t mind. I’d do the same for any friend.”

“Did you do it for Rafe when he opened the restaurant? That’s what I thought,” she said before he could answer. Rafe would have had his head if he’d interfered.

So would she. “Look, I appreciate your wanting to help, but it’s very important to me that I do this 100 percent on my own.”

“I understand,” he said. Except that he didn’t. Louisa could tell from how his brows knit together. He was studying her, looking for the reasons behind her need for independence. Louisa said nothing. She’d already revealed more about her past than he needed to know.

“But,” he added, “I hope, if you need a reference, you won’t hesitate to give Dominic my name. I’m told I have influence in this town. With some people, that is.”

Louisa couldn’t help but return his smile. “With some people.”

They chatted for a few more minutes, mostly about superficial things. Rafe’s committee, plans for the harvest festival. A series of nice safe topics that would prove they’d put the awkwardness of the kiss behind them. Nico had just started describing the traditional grape-stomping ceremony when his cell phone rang.

“Mario, the student who is working for us this summer,” he explained when he hung up. “He’s finished with the task I assigned him and wondering if I’m coming back before lunch.”

“Is it that late?” Louisa looked to her bare wrist. They’d let time get away from them. Her bank appointment was in the early afternoon.

“Only for people who had breakfast before sunrise,” Nico replied. “The rest of the world is safe.”

“Good to know, seeing as how I just finished breakfast.”

“And my second.”

“Such as it was.” She nodded to his untouched coffee. “Guess you’re not as fond of American coffee as you claimed.”

“I must have confused it with something else American, then. Good luck with Dominic.” With a parting wink, he jumped over the walk.

He was lucky he didn’t break his leg leaping off terraces like that, Louisa thought as she watched him disappear into the vines. She decidedly didn’t think about how graceful he looked when he moved. Or about how firm and muscular his arms looked while supporting his weight.

She always did have a weakness for men with nice biceps, she thought with a shiver.

Too bad Nico Amatucci was every mistake she’d vowed not to repeat. She’d had her fill of charismatic, dominating men, thank you very much.

She checked her bare wrist a second time. Her Rolex was long gone—sold to pay off bills—but the habit remained. Didn’t matter—Nico’s comment about lunch told her the morning was getting on. If she wanted to be prepared for her meeting, she’d best get her act together.

Gathering her plate and the coffee cups, she headed into the palazzo, where the latest draft of her business plan lay spread on the coffee table. Nico must not have noticed, because he wouldn’t have been able to resist commenting if he had.

Pausing, Louisa scanned the numbers on the balance sheet with a smile. A solid, thorough plan, but then she’d always been good with numbers. Sadly, she’d forgotten how much she enjoyed working with them. Once upon a time, she’d had a promising career in finance. Until Steven had talked her into staying home shortly after their marriage, that is. Cajoled, really. For appearance’s sake, he’d said. People were already gossiping about how the CEO was dating his extremely young employee. Made sense not to add fuel to the fire. “Besides,” he’d told her, “as my wife, you have far more important things to focus on.”

Like making sure she looked and behaved perfectly at all times. She should have seen the signs then, but she’d been too in love to notice. Lost in her personal fairy tale. The little nobody Cinderella swept off her feet by the silver-haired billionaire Prince Charming.

It wasn’t until the feds took him away that she wondered if he hadn’t been afraid she’d figure out what he was up to.

Oh well, that was in the past now.

It had taken her a while to settle in at the palazzo, but over the past few months, she’d developed a very comfortable routine. First came breakfast on the terrace, where she would practice her Italian by reading the local papers. The language immersion tape she’d bought in Boston had turned out to be useless—fluent in two weeks, ha!—but nine months in, she was getting pretty comfortable. After breakfast, she would go online to catch up on the American news and check her email. Usually her inbox didn’t contain more than a handful of messages, a far cry from the days when she would get note after note. Now her messages were mostly from Dani, who liked to forward jokes and pictures of baby animals. On the plus side, she didn’t have to worry about whether the message was some kind of ruse arranged by Steven to catch her in a lie.

At first she didn’t look twice at the internet alert, the helpful online tracker she’d created to stay on top of the news. Another reference to the wedding, she assumed. Every day brought two or three mentions. It wasn’t until she was about to log off that she realized the alert was one she’d set up before leaving Boston. The words Louisa Clark leaped from the screen in boldface type.

Her heart stopped. A year. A whole year without mention. Why now?

She slid her fingers to the mouse. Please be a coincidence, she prayed.

And she clicked open the link.

CHAPTER THREE

SCAM KING’S EX HOSTS ROYAL WEDDING

Is Luscious Louisa Looking for a New Partner?

After nine months under the radar, Louisa Clark, the blonde bombshell who seduced and ultimately brought down bogus financier Steven Clark has reappeared. This time in Europe under the name Louisa Harrison...

A BIG FAT PHOTO of her smiling at the royal couple ran under the headline.

The article went on to list her as the owner of Palazzo di Comparino and suggested that hosting the wedding had been her way of snagging a new billionaire husband. Because, after all, that was how she’d landed Steven, right? She was the young femme fatale employee who’d seduced her older boss, only to sell him out when the feds began closing in. Never mind that the narrative didn’t remotely resemble the truth. That she was the one who had been seduced and betrayed. Just as long as the story sold papers.

Louisa tried to breathe, but an invisible hand had found its way to her throat and was choking the air out of her. The site even used that god-awful nickname. Stupid headline writers and their need for memorable alliteration. No way would this be the only article. Not in the internet era when every gossip blog and newspaper fed off every other.

Sure enough. A few shaky keystrokes later, the search results scrolled down her screen. Some of the stories focused on rehashing the case. Others, though, created all-new speculation. One politician in Florence was even demanding an investigation into the al fresco discovered in the palazzo chapel last summer, claiming it could be part of an elaborate art fraud scheme. Every page turned up more. Headline after headline: Ponzi Scheme Seductress Turns Sights on Tuscany and Italy: Lock Up Your Euros! and Royal Scandal! Is Halencia’s Financial Future at Stake?

Oh God, Christina and Antonio. She’d turned their fairy-tale wedding into a mockery. They must hate her. Everyone must hate her. Dani. Rafe. Nico. They loved Monte Calanetti; all they wanted was for their village to thrive, and she was tainting the town with scandal. How could she ever show her face in town again?

The phone rang. Louisa jumped. Don’t answer it. It could be a reporter. Old habits, buried but not forgotten, kicked right in.

Not a reporter, thank goodness. The bank. The name appeared under the number on her call screen. One guess as to why they were calling. Forcing air into her lungs, she answered.

“Signorina Harrison?” an unfamiliar female voice asked.

“Y-yes.” Louisa fought to keep her voice from shaking, and lost.

“I’m calling for Signor Merloni. He’s asked me to tell you he can’t meet with you today. Something has suddenly come up.”

“Right. Of course.” What a surprise. A lump formed in her throat. Only pride—or maybe it was masochism—made her hang on the line and go through the motions. “Did...did Signor Merloni give you a new date?”

“No, he did not,” the woman replied. “I’m afraid his calendar is full for the next several weeks. He’s going to have to call you when a time becomes available.”

And so the ostracism started. Louisa knew the drill. Signor Merloni wouldn’t call back. No one would.

They never did.

Phone dropping from her fingers, Louisa stumbled toward the terrace doors, toward the fresh air and rolling hills she’d come to see as home, only to stop short. Paparazzi could be lurking anywhere, their telephoto lenses poised to snag the next exclusive shot of Luscious Louisa. They could be hiding this moment among the grapevines.

So much for going outside. Backing away, she sank into the cushions when her calves collided with the sofa. What now? She couldn’t call anyone. She couldn’t go outside.

It was just like before. She was a prisoner in her own home.

Damn you, Steven. Even in prison, he was still controlling her life.

* * *

The Brix level matched the portable reading exactly. Nico wasn’t surprised. When it came to grapes, he was seldom wrong. Of course not. Making wine is the only thing you really care about.

The voice in his head, which sounded suspiciously like his former fiancée’s, was wrong. Making wine wasn’t the only thing he cared about; there was his family, too. And tradition, although tradition involved winemaking so perhaps they were one and the same. Still, while he found great satisfaction in bottling the perfect vintage, if Amatucci Vineyards collapsed tomorrow, he wouldn’t collapse in despair. That was his parents’ domain. If he couldn’t make wine anymore, he would cope, the same way he’d coped when Floriana had walked out on him, or whenever he’d come home to discover his parents had broken up—again. Dispassion, when you thought about it, was a blessing. Heaven knew it had saved him from going mad when growing up.

If the trade-off for sanity meant living a life alone, then so be it.

Why was he even thinking about this? Louisa’s comment about needing time for herself, that’s why. Someone had hurt Louisa badly enough that she’d fled to Italy. Her pain was too close to the mistakes he’d made with Floriana. Poor, sweet Floriana. He’d tried so hard to want her properly, but his tepid heart wouldn’t—couldn’t.

Was the man who’d broken Louisa’s heart trying to be something he wasn’t, too? Hard to believe a man would throw her over for any other reason.

“Mario, could you turn down the volume?” he hollered. He could hear the television from in here.

Leaving the beakers he’d been measuring on his lab table, he left his office and walked into the main processing area where Mario and his production manager, Vitale, stood watching the portable television they had dragged from the break room.

“Last time I checked, football didn’t need to be played at top volume,” he said. With the equipment being readied for harvest, it didn’t take much for the noise to reverberate through the empty plant. He motioned for Giuseppe to hand him the remote control. “I didn’t know there was a match today.”

“Not football, signor, the news,” Mario replied.

“You brought the television in here to watch the news?” That would be a first. Football reigned supreme.

“Si,” Giuseppe replied. “Vitale’s wife called to say they were talking about Monte Calanetti.”

Again? Nico would have thought they were done discussing the royal wedding by now. “Must be a slow news...” He stopped as Louisa’s face suddenly appeared on the screen. It wasn’t a recent photo, she was far more dressed up than usual, and it showed her with a man Nico didn’t recognize. A very handsome man, he noticed, irritably.

The caption beneath read Luscious Louisa—Back Again?

Luscious Louisa?

“Isn’t that the woman who owns the palazzo?” Vitale looked over at him.

Nico didn’t answer, but the news reader droned on. “...key witness in prosecuting her husband, Steven Clark, for investment fraud and money laundering. Clark is currently serving seventy-five years...”

He remembered reading about the case. Clark’s pyramid scheme had been a huge scandal. Several European businessmen had lost millions investing with him. And Louisa had been his wife and testified against him?

No wonder she’d run to Italy.

Another picture was on the screen; one from the royal wedding. Nico gritted his teeth as a thousand different emotions ran through him. The presenter was talking about Louisa as if she were some kind of siren who’d led Clark to his doom. Had they met the woman? Alluring, yes, but dishonest? Corrupt?

His ringtone cut into his thoughts. Keeping his eyes on the television, he pulled his phone from his back pocket.

“Have you seen the news?” Dani asked when he answered.

“Watching it right now,” he replied. On-screen, the presenter had moved on to a different headline.

“The story’s on every channel. It’s all anyone in the restaurant can talk about.”

It’s untrue, he corrected silently. The ferocity of his certainty surprised him. He had not one shred of evidence to support his belief, and yet he knew in his bones that Louisa wasn’t guilty of anything. One merely had to look in her eyes to know that whatever the press said, they didn’t have the entire story.

“Did you know?” he asked Dani. Rafe’s wife was Louisa’s closest friend. If Louisa had told anyone of her past...

“No. She never talks about her life before she got here,” Dani answered. “Hell, she barely talks about herself.”

Nico’s gut unclenched. Silly, but he’d felt strangely hurt at the idea of Louisa sharing her secrets with someone else.

“There are reporters all over town,” Dani continued. “One even came in here asking questions. I’ve been trying to call her since the story broke to see if she’s okay, but she’s not answering her phone.”

“Probably avoiding the press.”

“I’m worried, though. She’s so private, and to have her life story plastered all over the place...”

Terrifying. “Say no more,” he replied. “I’ll head right over.”

* * *

Louisa had lost track of the time. Curled in the corner of her sofa, away from the windows, she hugged her knees and tried to make her brain focus on figuring out the next step. Obviously, she couldn’t stay in Monte Calanetti. Not without tainting the village with her notoriety. And going back to Boston...well, that was out of the question. What would she do? Go to her mother’s house and listen to “I told you so” all day long?

Louisa hugged herself tighter. Ever since seeing the media alert, there’d been a huge weight on her chest, and no matter how hard she tried to take a deep breath, she couldn’t get enough air. It was as though the walls were closing in, the room getting smaller and smaller. She didn’t want to leave. She liked her life here. The palazzo, the village...they were just starting to feel like home.

She should have known it wouldn’t last. Steven’s shadow was destined to follow her everywhere. For the rest of her life, she would be punished for falling in love with the wrong man.

“...you’re doing?” A giant crash followed the question. The sound of tinkling glass forced Louisa to her feet. Running to the terrace door, she peered around the corner of the door frame in time to see Nico dragging a stranger across the terrace toward the wall. The crash she’d heard was her breakfast table, which now lay on its side, the top shattered.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” she heard the stranger gasp. “This is my exclusive.”

“Exclusive this,” Nico growled. Holding the man’s collar in one hand, he yanked the expensive camera the man carried from around his neck and hurled it over the wall.

“Bastard! You’re going to pay for that.”

“Be glad it was only your camera.” Nico yanked the man to his feet only to shove him against the railing. “Now get out. And if I ever see your face in the village again, you’ll find out exactly what else I’m capable of breaking, understand?” He shoved the man a second time, with a force that made Louisa, still hidden behind the door frame, jump. Whatever the reporter said must have satisfied him, and Nico released his grip on the man’s shirt. Louisa stepped back as the man started toward the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Nico asked, his hand slapping down on the man’s shoulder. “Leave the way you came in.”

“Are you kidding? That’s a five-foot drop.”

“Then I suggest you brace yourself when you land.” The two men stared at one another for several seconds. When it became obvious Nico wasn’t backing down, the reporter hooked a leg over the railing.

“I’m calling my lawyer. You’re going to pay for that camera.”

“Call whoever you’d like. I’ll be glad to explain how I’m calling the police to report you for trespassing on private property. Now are you leaving, or shall I throw you over that railing?”

The reporter did what he was told, disappearing over the rail. Slowly Louisa stepped into the light. Nico’s shoulders were rising and falling in agitated breaths, making her almost afraid to speak. “Is he gone?” she asked in a soft voice.

“Is he the first one?” he asked, voice rough.

He turned, and the dark fury Louisa saw on his face had her swallowing hard to keep the nerves from taking over her throat. She nodded. “I think so.”

“He was climbing over the wall when I got here. Probably saw your terrace door was open and thought he could catch you up close and off guard.”

“In Boston, they preferred using telephoto lenses.”

“You’re not in Boston anymore.”

“I know.” She should have realized how ruthless the press would be. After all, this was Italy; they’d invented the word paparazzi.

“At least you won’t have to worry about this one trespassing again. That is, if he’s smart.”

“Thanks.”

“Can’t promise there won’t be more, though,” he said brushing past her. “You’d best be prepared.”

More. He was right, there would be others. It was all she could do not to collapse in a heap where she stood. Those months of hiding in Boston had nearly destroyed her. She wasn’t up to another go-round. The stranger on her terrace was proof enough of that. If Nico hadn’t shown up when he did...

Why had he shown up? Returning to her living room, where she found her neighbor searching through the bookshelf cabinets. “What are you doing?”

“Carlos kept a stash of fernet tucked in back of one of these cabinets. Do you still have it?”

“Two doors to the left.” She hadn’t gotten around to finding a better location. “I meant why are you here?”

“Dani called me. She saw the news on television.”

“Let me guess, she’s horrified to find out who she’s been friends with and wants me to stay away so I won’t drag the restaurant into it.” Seeing the same darkness on Nico’s face that she’d seen a few moments ago, it would seem her neighbor felt the same way.

“What? No. She and Rafe are trying to figure out what’s going on. A reporter came to the restaurant asking questions.” He paused while he pulled a dust-covered bottle from the cabinet. “She said she tried calling you a half dozen times.”

That explained some of the phone calls then. “I wasn’t answering the phone.”

“Obviously. They asked if I would come over and make sure you were okay. Good thing, too, considering you were about to have an unwanted visitor.”

He filled his glass and drank the contents in one swallow. “This is the point in our conversation where you suggest that I’m an unwanted visitor.”

“What can I say? I’m off my game today.” She sank into her corner and watched as Nico drank a second glass. When he finished, he sat the empty glass on a shelf and turned around. He wore a much calmer expression now. Back in control once again.

“Why didn’t you say anything about your former husband?” he asked.

And say what? My ex is Steven Clark. You know, the guy who ran the billion-dollar investment scam. I’m the wife who turned him in. Maybe you’ve read about me? They call me Luscious Louisa? She plucked at the piping on one of the throw pillows. “The idea was to make a fresh start where no one knew anything about me,” she replied.”

“You know how unrealistic that is in this day and age?”

“I managed it for nine months, didn’t I?” She offered up what she hoped passed for a smile. Nine wonderful months. Almost to the point where she’d stopped looking over her shoulder.

When he didn’t smile back, she changed the subject. “You said a reporter came into the restaurant?”

“This morning. That’s how Dani knew to turn on the television.”

She could just imagine the questions he’d asked, too. “Tell them I’m sorry. Things will die down once they realize I’m not in Monte Calanetti anymore.”

Nico’s features darkened again. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m catching the bus to Florence tonight.”

“You’re running away?”

He made it sound like a bad thing. “I certainly can’t stay. Not anymore.”

“But the palazzo... What about all your plans for restoring the property and turning it into a hotel? Surely, you’re not planning to abandon Palazzo di Comparino again?”

His voice grew harsh on the last word, causing Louisa to cringe. His feelings regarding the palazzo were no secret; to him, the fact she allowed the property to sit unclaimed for so long was as big a crime as anything Steven had done. Of course, she had good reason for the delay, but he didn’t know that.

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