Читать книгу Captivated By Her Italian Boss - Rosanna Battigelli - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

“MY GOODNESS, NEVE, you could have told me about this job opportunity sooner.” Lois Wilder’s voice was half-scolding, half-offended. “Hearing this a day before your flight hardly gives me a chance to process all this.” She waved her hands helplessly, indicating Neve’s open suitcase.

Or interfere in some way, Neve couldn’t help thinking. “There’s nothing to process, Mom. And I was busy finishing up my school year. You know I have no time to chat when I’m in the middle of report cards and end-of-school activities.”

Lois expelled a sigh of frustration. “But, darling, had I known, I could have booked a flight, as well. Not that I would have expected to be put up at the same place as you,” she added quickly. “I still have my friends at Villa Morgana. I’m sure they would be thrilled to have me visit.”

“This is not a vacation, Mom. It’s a job. Six days a week.” Neve tried to keep her voice steady. “And I’m sure that on the seventh day I’ll be too exhausted to do anything but rest.” Neve was inwardly horrified at the thought of her mother coming to Valdoro. Knowing her, she’d find a way to insinuate herself in Neve’s work and leisure time. No, she had to make it clear to her mom—without being mean—that she should stay home.

“Mom, I can’t discuss the details, but this assignment is highly sensitive. I will not be able to spend any time with you at all. And besides—” Neve had a brain wave “—you’re hosting that big event in a week—the annual technology symposium—at the company, remember?”

Lois frowned. “Yes, of course. I suppose I can’t miss that, seeing as how your dad started it all...” Her eyes began to mist. “Although the thought of returning to the special place where your dad and I...” She sniffed and pulled out a tissue from her designer purse. “May he rest in peace.”

“Mom, I really have to finish packing. It’s going to be a long couple of flights, and I need to get to bed early. It’s only been two days since school ended, and I haven’t even had a chance to unwind.” Neve continued folding light cotton tops, Capri pants and dresses into her medium-size suitcase. She hoped her mother would take the hint.

Lois peered into the suitcase. “Don’t forget your sun protection, Neve. You know how quickly you freckle.” She took a step forward to scan Neve’s face. “And you might start thinking about using some wrinkle cream. I have a new tube in my purse...”

“Thanks, but no thanks, Mom. I like the natural look.” Neve realized that her tone was more clipped than she intended, but she had to stop her mother before she offered another dozen suggestions or reminders. “I’m twenty-six, Mom. I can handle this.”

Lois raised her professionally shaped eyebrows. “I forgot to ask. Who is your employer? Can you give me his number? And make sure he has mine, in case of an emergency. Oh, and how much is he paying you for this job? Is the flight included?”

“Mother, you need to go, or it’ll be midnight before I’m done here.” Neve put an arm around her mother’s shoulder and gently ushered her to the door of her apartment. “I’ll text you the information. Don’t worry, it’s all good.” She gave her a hug. “See you at the end of the summer.”

“Let me know as soon as your flight lands, Neve. I’ll be waiting anxiously.”

“I will, Mom,” Neve replied wearily. “Good night.”

“Buon viaggio,” Lois called out before Neve closed the door. “And watch out for those Southern Italian men!”

Neve gave a sigh. She always felt somewhat energy-depleted after spending time with her mother. She often wondered at her mom’s clinginess; she certainly hadn’t been like that while Neve was growing up. Could it be that Lois had realized that some of her maternal skills had been lacking back then—especially after her husband’s death—and was feeling guilty and trying to make up for it?

Neve had a hard time with it. At this point in her life, she didn’t need her mother hovering over her. Lois’s controlling and opinionated ways were grating, and Neve often felt her patience dwindling around her.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mother; she just wanted her to loosen the apron strings. No—she wanted Lois to untie them completely, and to fold the apron and put it away. It had gotten to the point where Neve had actually contemplated moving out of town. And then she had gotten her current job as a kindergarten teacher, which had prevented any further plans of relocating.

Neve checked the time and quickly finished packing, pushing away any more thoughts about her mother. All that was left to do now was to have a soothing bath and go to bed. And tomorrow, after a leisurely breakfast, she’d head to the airport. She thought of the plush orca she had purchased for Bianca—the perfect West Coast gift for a child—and smiled. Difficult and troubled though Bianca might be, Neve was confident that she could help her.

Lucia Michele had provided more details about Bianca’s situation, her daily routines and Neve’s trip arrangements in a subsequent email, including the fact that Bianca’s uncle would be covering all her travel and food expenses. How very generous, and obviously very wealthy, Neve had thought, and had wondered what he did for a living.

Feeling her eyelids start to droop, Neve pulled the stopper and stepped out of the tub, shivering despite the warmth of the room. She wrapped her terry-cloth robe around her and dried herself briskly before changing into a knee-length nightshirt. Under the covers, she let out a deep sigh. She was really doing this. Her travel clothes were laid out, and she was ready to fly to Italy and be a nanny! She hugged her pillow and let the memories of sun-drenched days, delicious Southern cuisine and the magical Ionian Sea lull her to sleep.

* * *

Davide drummed his fingers on his desk. He checked the time on his cell phone. Neve’s plane should be landing in minutes at the Lamezia International Airport. Tomaso, his occasional driver, would be waiting for her, holding a card up with her name on it. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be a delay in claiming her luggage. If complications arose, Tomaso would take care of them.

Davide wondered if Neve still spoke some Italian. The second time he saw her on her balcony, he had smiled and said, “Ciao, signorina.” She had hesitated, given a quirk of a smile, and replied, “Ciao.” It came out sounding more like the English “chow,” and, embarrassed, she quickly repeated it with less of an aspiration at the start of the word. He had nodded in approval, and as he continued walking, he couldn’t resist looking back and saying, “Ciao, bella.” But she had already gone in.

Davide had tried to push recurring thoughts of her away after she had left Valdoro and returned to Vancouver. But if he had managed to accomplish that even temporarily during the day, he had been plagued by dreams of her at night.

His zio, Francesco, had noticed his malaise and had encouraged Davide to confide in him. Is it about a girl? He had eyed Davide with furrowed brows. Davide had been too embarrassed to talk about his feelings. Especially to his uncle the priest. How could he have possibly discussed his unquenchable desire for Neve, and his feelings of bitterness and humiliation?

“The best thing is to concentrate on your studies—and perhaps frequent Sunday mass a little more often,” his uncle had solemnly suggested.

Davide smirked. He had taken his uncle’s advice about his studies, but not so much on the second suggestion. Davide had had an issue with God and the whole destiny thing, and at twenty-two, forgiveness was not a strong male virtue. Davide had still gone to mass on special occasions, like the main holidays and an occasional funeral mass for a family friend, but other than that, he had stayed away. Besides, he had had goals he needed to accomplish.

And he had. He gave a bitter laugh as his gaze fell on the copy of his award-winning novel on his desk. Maybe he should thank Neve personally for her part in his literary success. Maybe he should have included a few words about her in his acceptance speech. After all, it was her written words that had ignited the chain of events leading up to the writing of his book.

Let it go, an inner voice whispered. Davide took a deep breath. Indeed. Why should he continue to be bitter about the words and actions of a teenage girl? He was a man now. His young ego may have been bruised then, but surely he was mature enough to have moved on?

Davide thought he had dealt with all those immature emotions, but he couldn’t deny the sharp twinge in the core of his heart when Neve’s face had appeared on the screen. She was still beautiful. Bellissima. He had watched the interview a few times after Lucia had gone home. Studied Neve’s face as she spoke. Paused to go over her every feature. He had drunk in the sight of her like a man coming across a source of water after days of walking in a scorching-hot desert.

Could he handle her living in the castle with him, interacting with him daily, watching her deal with his beloved niece? Only time would tell...

His phone indicated a text. He checked the message, written in Italian.

Signorina Wilder has arrived. We are on our way.

Va bene, Davide replied swiftly.

He set down his phone, strode over to the credenza and poured himself a shot of brandy.