Читать книгу Ultimate Romance Collection - Rebecca Winters, Amalie Berlin - Страница 79
ОглавлениеCastello di Lombardi, ten years ago
AT TWO IN the morning, Vincenzo Gagliardi, newly turned eighteen, quickly dressed in jeans and a hoodie he pulled over his black hair. The long sleeves covered the bruises on his arms. He could feel the welts still smarting on his back and legs as he slid his pack over his shoulders. Then he looked around his room one more time, glancing at the bed.
A vision of Gemma, the woman who’d been entwined in his arms there the night before, wouldn’t leave his mind. After the pleasure they’d given each other despite his wounds, and the plans he’d envisioned for their future, it killed him to think he had to leave her at all. But the difficulties with his father made his flight necessary. Worse, he couldn’t tell her where he was going or why. It was for her own protection.
Once his father, the acting Duca di Lombardi, started looking for him, he’d interrogate everyone, including Gemma, and he would be able to tell if she was lying or not. If the girl he’d grown up with from earliest childhood knew nothing about his disappearance, then his father would sense it and have to believe her.
Arrivederci, Gemma, his heart moaned. Ti amo.
Making sure no one saw him, he hurried through the fourteenth-century castello to Dimi’s room in the other tower. His cousin had left his bedroom door open. Closer than brothers, they’d been planning Vincenzo’s disappearance for a year.
Dimi was waiting for him. “You’re late and must go now! I’ve been watching from the parapet. The guard with the dog won’t be walking past the entrance for another seven minutes.”
“This is it, cousin. Remember—when I’m established in New York, I’ll contact you. Look for the phone number through an ad in the help wanted of Il Giorno’s classified section. Be sure to call me on a throwaway phone.”
Dimi nodded.
“It won’t be long before you turn eighteen. I’ll wire you money so you can join me. And as soon as I reach my destination, I’ll phone our grandfather so he won’t worry.” Both boys were the grandsons of the cancer-stricken Emanuele Gagliardi, the old Duca di Lombardi, who no longer could function and verged on death.
His cousin’s eyes teared up. “Che Dio di benedica, Vincenzo.”
He tried to clear his throat. “God be with you, too, Dimi. Promise me you’ll keep an eye on Gemma.”
“You know I will.”
Vincenzo hated this situation that took him away from her, but there was no going back. He thanked his cousin for his sacrifice, hating their gut-wrenching separation and the horrible position he’d been put in. But they both agreed the danger was too great to do anything else.
As they hugged hard, Vincenzo realized that he could barely see through the tears. The deep well of shame and pain because he hadn’t been able to protect his mother was something he would have to carry for the rest of his life. Gemma was better off without him.
Because of Dimi’s loyalty, no one would ever know where he’d gone. This was the way it had to be.
Now that Vincenzo had been forced to cut himself off from the world he knew, the need to make money had taken hold of his life and had become his raison d’être.
* * *
Gemma lay in bed, wide-awake, at six in the morning, reliving the moments she’d spent with Vincenzo the night before last. When she’d heard he’d suffered injuries from a fall off his horse, she hadn’t been able to resist slipping up to his tower bedroom to see if he was all right.
Despite his physical pain, they’d tried to love each other until he’d told her she needed to get back to her room. Gemma had wanted to stay the entire night with him and couldn’t understand why he’d been so insistent she leave. She’d wanted to lie in his arms forever.
It was painful to have to tear herself away from him. After making sure no guards were watching, she slipped down the winding staircase at the back of the castello to reach the rooms where she and her mother lived behind the kitchen.
Yesterday after school she hadn’t seen him at all, and she feared his injuries were worse. If she didn’t spot him in the back courtyard today after she got home, she’d go up to his room again tonight to find out why.
He was such an expert rider, it was hard to believe he’d been hurt so badly. While she suffered over what had happened to him, she heard a knock on her bedroom door. “Gemma? Get up and get dressed, then come in the main room quickly!”
She didn’t normally get up until six thirty to start getting ready for school. Alarmed by the concern in her mother’s voice, Gemma did her bidding.
When she emerged from the small room, she saw a sight she’d never forget. Vincenzo’s father, the acting Duca di Lombardi, stood there while three policemen searched their rooms off the castello kitchen.
He and Vincenzo bore a strong likeness to each other, but there was all the difference in the world between them. The duca’s stare at her was so menacing, she shuddered.
Her mother grabbed her hand. “The duca wishes to ask you a few questions, Gemma.”
He’d never talked to her personally in her life. “Yes, Your Highness?”
“Where’s my son?”
She blinked. “I—I don’t know what you mean,” she stammered.
“If you know anything, you must tell him, Gemma.”
“I know nothing, Mamma.”
The police reappeared, shaking their heads. The duca took a threatening step toward her. “My son is missing from the castello, and I believe you know where he’s gone.”
Gemma froze. Vincenzo was gone? “I swear on my faith in the Holy Virgin that I have no idea where he would be.”
His face turned a ruddy color. He shot a fiery glance at Gemma’s mother, who crossed herself. “She’s lying! Since you can’t get the truth from her, I insist you leave the premises immediately and take your baggage with you.” Gemma flinched. “I’ll make certain you’re never able to get another job again!”
He wheeled around and left. The police followed and shut the door.
Gemma ran to her mother and hugged her hard. Both of them trembled. “I swear I don’t know anything about Vincenzo. I swear it, Mamma.”
“I believe you. Start packing your bag. I’ll do the same. We have to get out of here as soon as possible in case he comes back. I’ll call for a taxi from the kitchen. We’ll leave for the train station and go back to Florence.”
Fifteen minutes later they assembled in the kitchen. The other cook and her daughter, Bianca, Gemma’s best friend, were there, too, with their bags. The duca’s fury knew no bounds. As they hurried out of the service entrance at the back of the castello to wait, the duca’s words rang in her ears.
She’s lying! Since you can’t get the truth from her, you must leave the premises immediately and take your baggage you. I’ll make certain you’re never able to get another job again!
When the taxi arrived, Gemma climbed inside feeling as dead as last winter’s ashes.
New York City, six months ago
After Dimi had phoned Vincenzo during the night with news that had come close to sending him into shock, he made calls to his two best friends and asked them to come to his Manhattan penthouse above his office ASAP.
Once arrangements were made, he told his assistant he wouldn’t be in the office today and didn’t want to be disturbed for any reason. Within two hours they’d both shown up using his private elevator.
The ultra-contemporary apartment suited Vincenzo perfectly. He liked the modern art on the white walls and the floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the light. Up here there were no dark reminders of the past. Here, he could breathe. Or he’d thought he could, until Dimi’s phone call.
“Thanks for coming so fast,” he said in Italian. “I’m just thankful you were available.”
Cesare nodded. “You made it sound like life or death.”
“It is to me.”
His friend Takis eyed him curiously. “What’s going on, Vincenzo?”
“Something that will surprise you. I’ll tell you over breakfast. Come to the dining room.”
Once they sat down and started to eat, Vincenzo handed them each a photograph of the massive Castello di Lombardi. “You’re looking at the former residence of the Gagliardi family. From that family, two hundred years ago, sprang the first illustrious Duca di Lombardi, an important political figure in that region of Italy.”
They stared at the photo, then looked at him in confusion.
“Why am I showing you this?” He read their minds. “Because there’s more to me than you know. What I’m about to tell you could cause you to distrust me. You would have every right to walk out of here and never look back.”
“Tell us what?” Cesare asked in total bewilderment.
“I haven’t been completely honest about myself. You know me as Vincenzo Nistri, but my full name is Vincenzo Nistri Gagliardi. Nistri was my mother’s maiden name.”
Takis blinked. “So you’re full-fledged Italian? For some reason you remind me of one of my Macedonian friends.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” Cesare said. “Maybe Eastern Europe.”
“Is that so?” Vincenzo grinned, amused by their honesty. “Not that I know of. The castello you’re looking at was my home for the first eighteen years of my life.” And the woman I left behind there so cruelly is still the only girl I ever loved, though there’ve been women since. “If a great tragedy hadn’t happened to my family—one that caused me to flee—I would have taken over as the next Duca di Lombardi upon my father’s death.”
There was no question that he’d stunned his friends. Neither of them said a word. They kept staring at him as if he were an alien being speaking an unknown language.
“Let me tell you a story so you’ll understand everything. My father and uncle did very bad things, evil things. At one point I realized my life was in danger.”
When he’d given them details, he said, “The old duca, my grandfather, died nine years ago, leaving the way open for my father and uncle to bring down the house of Gagliardi. To start paying their debts, they sold off family treasures, including other properties that had been in the family for hundreds of years. Inevitably they let go the staff who’d served our family faithfully.
“Then a month ago my father was riding his horse through the forest behind the castello in a drunken rage. The horse reared and my father fell, breaking his neck. That left my uncle, Alonzo in charge.
“He has just been sent to prison, where he’s now serving a thirty-year sentence for manslaughter, drunkenness, embezzlement and debt in the millions of euros. The family has now disintegrated, and the authorities have closed up the castello.”
His friends shook their heads. “How could such a thing happen to a powerful family like yours?” Takis asked.
“There’s one word for it. Corruption. Absolute and truly terrible. The family coffers had been raided for so long there was nothing left but staggering debt they’d accrued. They were like two bad seeds.
“My maternal grandparents died two years ago, and the only remaining family members on my father’s side besides my imprisoned uncle are my cousin Dimi, who is like a brother to me, and his mother, Consolata. They live in a small palazzo in Milan given to her by her grandmother before her marriage to my uncle.”
It was the only piece of property that neither Alonzo nor Vincenzo’s father had been able to lay his hands on at the end.
“Dimi lives there quietly with her because she’s in a wheelchair, suffering from dementia, and needs care.” He eyed them directly. “Can you forgive me for omitting all of this until now?”
“Si—” both men said in unison. Takis’s brows met. “Your life was in grave danger.”
“But that’s in the past. Now I’m faced with something I hadn’t imagined, and I wanted to discuss it with you.”
Cesare’s solemn gaze played over him. “Tell us.”
“The castello is now in receivership. I swore to God I would never return to Italy, but the thought of my heritage being sold to some foreign potentate to help the slipping Italian economy is anathema to me.
“My cousin Dimi is particularly concerned. He has an eye on what’s happening everywhere. Both Italy’s Villa Giulia museum in Rome, built by Pope Julius III, and the nine-hundred-year-old Norman palace in Palermo, the seat of former kings, are soon to be on the list to be sold off by the government, too.
“In view of such a frightening prospect, I wondered if you might like to go into business with me. Dimi will assist behind the scenes. Not only will my cousin and I be able to preserve our own family heritage, we’ll transform the castello into a glorious hotel with a restaurant that could be the toast of Europe. It would mean the three of us would have to put our assistants in charge of managing our businesses when we’re not in the country.”
After a pronounced silence, both men let out cries of excitement. For the rest of the day the three of them brainstormed.
“Now that we’ve talked things out, there’s one favor I must ask. I intend to be the silent business partner in this venture and prefer to remain anonymous because of the family scandals.”
Their solemn acknowledgment of his request warmed him and he knew they’d honor his request.
“Now, you can imagine that when word gets out that the castello has been sold and turned into a resort by two businessmen from the US, the press will be all over it. Dimi will send me the necessary information and put you in touch with the contact person to get the ball rolling.
“If we do decide to go into business together, I’ll expect you two to do the negotiating. Naturally I’ll supply the money needed so we can get started on the renovations right away.”
Cesare smiled. “The duca’s return.”
“No, Cesare. I don’t want my title mentioned. That’s not for public consumption.” He couldn’t escape the title he’d inherited by being his father’s son, but in time he intended to renounce it legally through the court system. And I’ll find Gemma if it kills me. Over the last ten years, no search had turned up any evidence of her.
“Understood.” Cesare eyed him seriously. “When we first met at university, I always knew there was a lot more to you, but I couldn’t put my finger on it and didn’t dare ask for fear of insulting you.”
“Now it’s all making sense,” Takis admitted. “Your English is too perfect, and you’re far more sophisticated and knowledgeable than anyone else I know.”
“Your friendship has meant the world to me. Let’s hope for success in our new venture.”
Takis sat back in the chair. “Edmond Dantes had nothing on you, Vincenzo Gagliardi.”
Florence, Italy, present day
The bulletin board of the Florentine Epicurean School of Hospitality and Culinary Arts listed the latest career openings across four continents for their recent graduates to investigate.
At twenty-seven years of age, Gemma had finally received her long-awaited certification with the much-coveted first-place blue ribbon, and she hurried down the corridor toward the office. Everyone wanted to apply for the most prestigious position posted. She didn’t know what her chances were, but it didn’t matter. Her hard, grueling years of schooling were over, and she would find a position that guaranteed her a new life so she could prove herself.
She wanted to pay back her mother’s family, who’d taken them in after they’d been thrown out of the Castello di Lombardi. Her relationship with Vincenzo years ago had put her family in such dire straits, it had ruined her mother’s career. Gemma felt the responsibility heavily, because she hadn’t heeded her mother’s warnings that a commoner didn’t mingle with royalty. But those days were behind her.
With students gathered around the bulletin board, it was hard to get close enough to write down the information. Later the lists would be put online, but she was too impatient and took pictures of the various announcements with her cell phone.
Her best friend Filippa Gatti, who’d gone through pastry school with Gemma, had the same idea. They made plans to talk later before she hurried off. Gemma found a bench farther along the corridor and sat down to study everything but gave up because she couldn’t concentrate with so much noise.
Once outside, she got in her old blue car and headed back to her aunt’s apartment two miles away. Her mother’s sister owned the hundred-year-old Bonucci family bakery and ran it with her married daughter. When Gemma and her mother had fled to Florence, her aunt had let them live in the apartment above the bakery.
Her aunt was goodness itself and had put her mother to work. She had also helped Gemma get a scholarship to attend cooking school, because her mother’s funds were so low. Her cousin was wonderful, too, and they all got along.
Once she had started culinary school, Gemma had helped out in the bakery every day after classes. The culinary school required ten years of apprenticeship. After high school she’d begun her training there. Now that she’d graduated, it was important she start paying her aunt back for letting them live there and helping to get them on their feet after being kicked out of the castello.
Today she dashed up the back stairs to the door off the porch. Gemma couldn’t wait to call her mom and aunt and tell them she’d been chosen the top graduate in her class. After they’d shown such faith in her, Gemma was thrilled that her hard work had paid off.
But of course, it would happen that her mother and aunt had just left to go on a well-deserved vacation to the United Kingdom with friends, their first in years. They wouldn’t be back for three weeks, because their trip included England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland. Such good news from the school had filled Gemma with joy. She would have to phone her mamma, Mirella, immediately.
Now that she’d received her certification, she was anxious to find a fabulous job and move out. She planned for her mother to go with her. They’d find a small, affordable apartment. Her mother could stop working and enjoy her life while her daughter earned the living.
After grabbing her favorite fruit soda from the fridge, Gemma sank down on the chair at the small kitchen table and phoned her mamma. Frustrated when she got her voice mail, Gemma asked her to phone her back ASAP because she had exciting news.
Next, she scrolled through her photo gallery to the information she’d recorded on her cell. To her utmost disappointment, none of the eighteen openings for pastry chefs were in France, the place where she’d had her heart set on working.
Both the French and the Italians thought they produced the finest chefs. As her mother and aunt had told her, because she was a woman, she’d have an even harder time breaking into a top five-star restaurant in either country. Women chefs still struggled for equality. One day she would get a position on the Côte d’Azur. But for now she needed a job right away!
Trying to manage her disappointment, she studied each opening one at a time: five in Spain, three in England, one in Liechtenstein, two in Australia, three in Japan, three in Canada, one in Italy.
Since it couldn’t be France, nothing else thrilled her, but she studied the requirements for the various openings.
It wasn’t until she came to the last posting, from Italy, that Gemma was shaken to the core. She thought she’d read it wrong. The shock had her jumping up from the couch. She read the words again, attempting to quell the frantic pounding of her heart.
Location: Milan, Italy. Fourteenth-century castello and former estate of the deceased Duca di Lombardi, Salvatore Gagliardi. Grand opening of the five-star Castello Supremo Hotel and Ristorante di Lombardi, July 6.
July 6 was only four weeks away. She read on.
Résumés for executive chef and executive pastry chef are being accepted. See list of requirements. Only those with the proper credentials need apply.
Gemma came close to fainting when she thought of Vincenzo. The fact that he’d disappeared without even saying goodbye had caused an anger in her that, even now, she was still trying to suppress. He’d told her he was in love with her and that one day they’d find a way to be married.
After he’d vanished, she’d felt so used. What a fool she’d been to believe he could love the daughter of a cook! How naive of her to think the duca-to-be would consider an alliance with an underling like Gemma. In her dream world they’d been equals and anything was possible. But once Vincenzo’s father had tossed her and her mother out like a heap of garbage, she’d received the wake-up call of her life. It had shaken her world forever.
As she read the announcement again, something twisted painfully inside her. The castello, an icon over the centuries that had been her home until the age of seventeen, had now been turned into a hotel and restaurant. She tried to understand how such a thing could have happened to the family with its succession of duchi for over two hundred years.
Gone was their birthright and traditions. Vincenzo had disappeared along with his family. Last year she’d heard on television that Vincenzo’s father was dead. And soon after that Dimi’s father had been sent to prison for fraud. Beyond that there’d been no more news.
Now she was horrified to think the castello had been put up and sold for its commercial value in an increasingly mercenary world. Gemma considered it a form of sacrilege.
No doubt every new graduate would apply there first, but they didn’t have a prayer of being hired. Only the most famous chefs throughout Europe and elsewhere would be allowed an interview at such a magnificent and famous landmark. Many considered Italy to be the vortex of gastronomic delight in the world. The competition would be fierce.
Even so, she was going to apply.
After her failed relationship with Paolo, she realized she needed to draw a line under the past. Until she discovered what had happened to Vincenzo and why, she knew in her heart she’d never be able to move on with her life.
If by some miracle she only made it to the first interview before being rejected, maybe she’d be able to find out where Vincenzo had gone. What had caused the demise of the Gagliardi family? So much had been hushed up in the press.
Pushing those thoughts aside, for the rest of the day she emailed her prepared résumé to Milan, Valencia, Barcelona, London and Vaduz in Liechtenstein. For some reason she couldn’t attach her picture, but it was too late to worry about that now.
Filippa called to tell her she’d applied for all three jobs in Canada. She would have preferred to go to the States, but Canada was the next closest place with openings. Gemma wished her luck and told her what she’d done. They promised to keep each other updated on what happened.
The next day she started receiving emails back and learned that the positions in Vaduz and Valencia had already been filled. Barcelona and London were still open. To her satisfaction, they’d sent her a specific day and time to report for a personal interview.
But it was the email that came after lunch from the castello that almost sent her into cardiac arrest. She was told to report there at noon tomorrow! And to please let them know immediately if she couldn’t make it.
Gemma had thought, of course, that being a new graduate, she wouldn’t have been considered. Something on her résumé must have caused them to give her an opportunity.
Thank heaven her mother wasn’t in Italy right now. Gemma needed to see this through before she told her parent anything. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt her mamma. But for Gemma’s own emotional health and progress, she had to do this! It might be her only chance in this life to find out about Vincenzo. If she didn’t follow through, she knew she’d always regret it.
With hands trembling, she sent an email to let them know she’d be there at the correct time. If she left Florence within the hour, she could drive to the village at the base of the castello today and find a room for the night. That would give her time tomorrow to get ready before the interview.
Gemma phoned her cousin to let her know that she was leaving for a day or two to go job hunting. She made no mention that her destination was the castello. Her cousin had been so hurt for Gemma and her mother, she would have tried to persuade her to avoid more pain and not go. But this was something she had to do.
Without wasting any time, she showered and packed a suitcase that included her laptop. After dressing in jeans and a blouse, she set off on the three-hour drive to Milan full of questions that might get answered after all this time. It would be a trip of agony and ecstasy, since she’d never once been back.
* * *
By seven in the evening, she’d arrived in the busy city and took the turnoff for the village of Sopri, where she’d gone to school with a few children of the other estate workers. Even after all this time, Gemma knew where to find a pensione with reasonable rates.
But sleep didn’t come well. She tossed and turned for hours. Memories of Vincenzo and the night they’d been together in his bedroom kept her awake. Lying in his arms she’d felt immortal, but he hadn’t let her stay with him all night, something she’d never understood.
How she’d loved her life at the castello with him! For years since his disappearance she’d tried to discover his whereabouts, but he’d vanished as if into thin air. Over time it finally sank in that she hadn’t been good enough for him. That’s what her mother had been trying to tell her without putting the painful message into actual words. Gemma believed it now!
When she wasn’t hating Vincenzo, she feared that something terrible had happened to him. The possibility that he might have died was insupportable to her. Combined with her pain over the loss of Vincenzo was her outrage for what his father had done to her and her beloved mother. The great, cruel Duca di Lombardi! There were times when the memory of that morning still tormented her.
Once they’d moved to Florence, she’d never heard anything about Vincenzo or Dimi. Where had his cousin gone? She’d once hoped that if she could even find Dimi, she’d get answers to all her questions. But it was as if the Gagliardi family had been erased from life. It was too strange... She missed Dimi. He’d been such a wonderful friend all those years ago.
Now she was going back to the place where she’d known such joy...and pain. What if by some stretch of the imagination she got the job? How would she feel? How would her mother feel to realize her daughter had graduated with honors from the top cooking school in Italy and was going to make it despite what the duca had done to them?
Wouldn’t it be the height of deliciousness to be hired there, of all places on earth? Such sweet revenge after being kicked to the gutter.
* * *
Gemma was relieved when morning came. After washing her hair and showering, she dressed in a peach-colored two-piece suit, wanting to look her best. At ten she ate breakfast at a trattoria before leaving for the castello ten minutes away. She’d planned to get there early enough to look around and ask questions. Surely someone would be able to tell her about Vincenzo.
For him to disappear on her was a betrayal so awful, she hadn’t been able to put her trust in another man for years. Even after she’d starting dating, the memory of that horrible time when it became clear he’d never be back still haunted her nights.
It had taken until a year ago for her to have her first serious relationship with a man. After a month of dating, Paolo wanted to sleep with her, but she couldn’t. Her heart wasn’t in it. She explained to him that in another eight months she’d be graduating and looking for a position, hopefully in France. There could be no future for them. She had to follow her own path.
After breakfast Gemma opened the car window and breathed in the warm June air as she drove past the familiar signposts, farms and villas toward the massive Castello di Lombardi.
The ocher-toned structure, with its towers and crenellated walls sprawled over a prominent hilltop, had its roots in ancient times. So many nights she and Vincenzo had walked along those walls with their arms around each other, talking and laughing quietly so none of the family or guards would see or hear them.
Closer now, cypress trees bordered her on either side of the winding road. Memories came flooding back. Because of Vincenzo, she knew all about its history. The remains of a Romanesque church standing in the inner courtyard dated back to AD 875. But the castello itself had been built in the fourteenth century to protect the surrounding estate from invasions.
Many owners had possessed it, including the House of Savoy. By the mid–eighteen hundreds it had become the residence of the Gagliardi family. Although it was the first Duca di Lombardi who was considered illustrious, as far as Gemma was concerned that right would have belonged to Vincenzo. That was, until he’d plunged a dagger in her heart by disappearing.
The visitor parking beneath the four flights of zigzagging front steps held no cars. Her breath caught to see the profusion of flowers and landscaping done to beautify everything. New external lighting fixtures had been put in place. At night it would present a magnificent spectacle to guests arriving.
After taking it all in, she drove down a private road that wound around to the rear entrance where in the past the tradesmen used to come. Beyond it was a large parking area that she remembered had been used by the staff.
There were a dozen vans and trucks, plus some elegant cars, clustered in the enclosed area around the door. From the front of the castello the entire place had looked deserted, but that clearly wasn’t the case.
Once she’d gotten out of her car to walk around, a male gardener planting flowers called to her. “The lady is lost, perhaps?” he asked in Italian.
She shook her head. Anything but. “I’m here for a job interview.”
“Ah? Then you must go around to the front. The office is on the right of the entrance hall.”
“Thank you.” It seemed that the day room she remembered must have been converted into an office. She could never have imagined it. “Tell me—do you know why the castello was sold in the first place?”
He hunched his shoulders. “No lo so.”
With her hair swishing against her shoulders, Gemma nodded and walked back to her car, realizing she’d get nothing from him. Her watch said eleven forty-five. She might as well arrive a few minutes early to show she was punctual. She backed her car around, retracing her short trip back to the main parking lot, where she stopped the car and got out.
How many hundreds of times had she and her childhood friend Bianca—who’d had a crush on Dimi—bounded up these steps after getting off the school bus looking for Vincenzo and his cousin?
They would enter the castello through a private doorway west of the main entrance and hurry down the corridor to the kitchen. Once they’d checked in with their mothers, they’d run off to their hiding place in the back courtyard, where hopefully the two Gagliardis would be waiting.
To her surprise the old private entrance no longer existed. The filled-in stone wall looked like it had been there forever. Gemma felt shut out and could well believe she’d dreamed up a past life.
But when she entered through the main doors, she had to admit that whoever had undertaken to turn this into a world-class resort had done a superb job of maintaining its former beauty. Many of the paintings and tapestries she remembered still adorned the vaulted ceilings and walls on the right side of the hallway.
The biggest difference lay in the bank of floor-to-ceiling French doors on the left. They ran the length of the long hallway she used to run through on her way to the kitchen. Beyond the mullioned glass squares she could see a gorgeous dining room with huge chandeliers so elegant it robbed her of breath.
On the far side of the dining room were more French doors that no doubt opened on to a terrace for open-air dining. Gemma knew there was a rose garden on that side of the castello. And though she couldn’t see it from here, there was a magnificent ballroom beyond the dining room to the south.
She was staggered by the changes, so exquisite in design she could only marvel. Whoever had taken over this place had superb taste in everything. Suddenly she realized it was noon and she swung around to report she was here.
The enormous former day room had been transformed into the foyer and front desk of the fabulous hotel, with a long counter, several computers and all the accoutrements essential for business. She sat down on one of the eighteenth-century sage-and-gold damask chairs with the Duca di Lombardi’s royal crest and waited to see if someone would come.
Just as she was ready to call out if anyone was there, she saw movement behind the counter that revealed an attractive brown-haired male, probably six foot two and in his late twenties. Strong and lean, he wore trousers and shirtsleeves pushed up to the elbows. When his cobalt-blue eyes wandered over her, she knew he’d missed nothing.
“You must be Signora Bonucci.”
