Summer Romance With The Italian Tycoon

CHAPTER TWO

‘THAT’S GREAT. I look forward to meeting you in two weeks’ time.’ Madeleine replaced the phone handset and leaned back in her chair. There was no need for her to speak to Sally Capper again, but—she made a private bet with herself—there would be at least another four conversations before the bride arrived in San Tomo.

Of course, every bride put a lot of trust in Maddie’s hands. She organised their pick-ups at the airport, she allocated rooms to their guests, sometimes ensuring that larger parties were also accommodated in the village. She arranged ceremonies at the church, at the town hall and in the small chapel in the castello—always reminding the couples to have a legal ceremony at home first to cut through the extensive Italian red tape. She advised on menus, she organised the decoration of the hall or the courtyard. She booked hairdressers and make-up artists. She received wedding dresses and made sure they were pressed and stored properly. In fact she had four hanging in the cedar closet behind her right now.

She soothed tears and tantrums, listened to diatribes about selfish relatives; she was counsellor and advisor. Some brides fell on her as if she were their best friend when they finally met. Others treated her as if she were there to do their every bidding, with no thought of pleases and thank-yous. Maddie didn’t much care either way. She was here to do a job, that was all.

The truth was, most of the weddings left her cold, their very perfection unsettling. The only times she felt a glimmer of any emotion was when the bride and groom didn’t care if the playlist was disrupted for a song or two, laughed if it rained, smiled benevolently when a great-uncle rose to his feet to make a long, rambling speech—because in the end all they cared about was each other. Maddie would watch those couples swaying later in the evening, eyes locked, and her heart would ache. Would anyone ever look at her that way—or would she always be practical, helpful Madeleine with the right name, the right upbringing and the right can-do attitude?

All she wanted was someone, some day to look at her as if she was their whole world.

Maybe she should get a dog.

She turned at the sound of voices in the courtyard behind her office. She’d waved off the last party yesterday and the rooms had all been cleaned and made up ready for the next, so no one should be out there. Maddie stood up to see better, but couldn’t see anybody.

Stretching, she snapped her laptop shut, deciding she wasn’t going to get much more done today; another wedding party would be arriving tomorrow and the exhausting cycle would begin again. Technically she was supposed to take the two days between bookings off, but she rarely did. There would be plenty of time for leisure and adventure when she finally had enough saved to begin travelling properly.

Picking up her bag, she stepped over to the little oval door which took her onto the covered balcony walkway with stone steps leading down into the courtyard. Her office was at the very back of the castle, overlooking the beautiful, cobbled courtyard with its gracious arches, flower-filled pots and imposing marble fountain which marked the centre.

Madeleine had been offered a room in the castle, but she had taken a small apartment in a chalet on the outskirts of the village. She had grown up surrounded by the old and grand at Stilling Abbey. She knew all about graceful arches and medieval halls and battlements. About draughty corridors and smoking chimneys, about slippery, steep stone steps and tiny windows which let in hardly any light. About furniture older than most people could trace back their family trees and dirty oil paintings featuring disapproving-looking ancestors.

No. Let the brides and grooms exclaim over the romance of it all from their four-poster bed while she went home to her little one-bedroom apartment with its glorious view of the lakes and its humble furnishings chosen for comfort alone. There wasn’t a single antique, nothing worth more than a handful of euros in the apartment, and Maddie liked it that way, although she knew her mother would wince at the clashing bright colours of the throws and cushions with which Maddie had personalised her little home.

She started down the old stone steps, mentally totting up all the things she needed to do the next day, not registering the small group in the corner of the courtyard until she reached the ground. The sound of her heels on the cobbles must have advertised her presence because the three men all stopped talking and turned as one. Maddie paused, smiling automatically, registering her boss, the castle general manager, Guido, and an older man she recognised as one of the accountants from the Falcone headquarters in Rome.

Her heart stuttered to a stop as her gaze moved on to the third man. What was the bather from the lake doing here? By the flare in his blue eyes he was as surprised to see her as she him—but then, it was a tiny valley, one small village, where everyone knew each other. The chances of the mystery man not being connected with the castle were far less than running into him.

After the first flare of surprise his expression smoothed into neutrality as he stepped forward. ‘Nice to meet you again, signorina.’

Guido looked from one to another. ‘You know one another?’

‘We ran into each other at the lake, but we haven’t been formally introduced,’ he said.

Maddie clenched her fists at the mocking tone in his voice, but managed to twist her mouth into a smile. ‘Literally ran into each other. My fault.’

‘I believe the signorina was transfixed by the view.’

Maddie’s fists tightened as her smile widened. ‘My mind was elsewhere,’ she agreed, trying her best not to let him see how easily he riled her.

‘Maddie is one of our hardest workers. We are very lucky to have her.’ Guido stepped in, to Maddie’s profound relief. ‘Dante, this is Madeleine Fitzroy; she looks after all the weddings here at the castello. Maddie, let me introduce you to Conte Falcone.’

Maddie had already started to extend her hand and continued the motion automatically, even as her mind raced with the new information. It wasn’t the dark-haired man’s title that threw her—most of Maddie’s family had titles—it was the realisation that he was her employer. The first employer she had ever had and he’d seen her ogling him down at the lake. Was that an automatic disciplinary?

‘You’re the events planner?’ He sounded as surprised as Maddie felt as he took her hand. It was just a brief touch, but a jolt shocked up and down her arm, her nerves tingling from the encounter.

‘I... Yes. I...’

Nicely done, Maddie; pull yourself together.

After all, she’d had tea with the Queen three times and managed to make polite conversation over the finger sandwiches just fine. There was no way this tall man with the sardonic smile was more intimidating than meeting the Queen of England. ‘I’ve been here nearly a year now; I started last September.’ A couple of months after her non-wedding, desperate to get away from the limelight she had found herself in, away from the camera lenses and the headlines, from her mother’s disapproving and palpable disappointment. A friend of a friend had mentioned that she knew of a job somewhere remote in the Italian Dolomites for someone with good organisational skills and fluent Italian, and Maddie had jumped at the opportunity.

‘You approved her appointment before you went back to Roma at the end of last summer,’ Guido said. ‘Maddie managed events at two similar venues in England.’

So her CV had carefully omitted that one of those venues was her own ancestral home and the other belonged to her ex-fiancé? The blatant nepotism and lack of a salary didn’t change the fact that Maddie had managed them both expertly, and she had had no qualms about using that experience to get herself a real paying job.

‘Si, I remember. I was expecting someone a little older, that is all. I seem to remember at least eight years’ experience at the highest level...’

‘I started working young,’ Maddie said, lifting her bag higher onto her shoulder, signalling clearly that, lovely as this encounter was, she had somewhere else to be.

‘Obviously.’ His smile didn’t reach his eyes and Maddie shifted, uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

‘Are you in a hurry?’ Guido asked her. ‘I was planning to show the Conte some of the changes you have made to the accommodation. But you can explain your thinking much better than I can, if you have time to accompany us.’

Maddie shifted again. Usually she would jump at the opportunity to showcase some of her work; she was proud of what she had achieved over the last few months. But she felt uneasy spending any more time under Dante Falcone’s all too penetrating glance.

‘I’m sure the signorina has more inspiring things to do with her evening; a walk around the lake perhaps?’ the Conte drawled, his eyes gleaming at her.

Maddie tilted her chin defiantly. ‘Of course I’d be glad to show you around. If you’d like to follow me?’

Maddie’s job revolved in and around the courtyard. The top two storeys of the old stables which made up two sides of the rectangle had been converted into guest accommodation, comfortably housing around sixty guests in comfortable en-suite bedrooms. The ground floor of one block was fitted out with a sitting room, a library and a games room, whilst the other block was home to the large dining room serving breakfasts and dinners throughout the week, as well as a drying room for walking boots or skis for the more adventurous wedding guests.

The oldest part of the castle made up the third side of the quad. The medieval hall was often used for the wedding ceremony and reception, although in summer some guests preferred to hold the wedding al fresco. That was just one of the innovations Maddie had brought in when she had been appointed.

Now she had to impress the Conte with the rest. Let him mock. Bookings were up and referrals at an all-time high. Her record spoke for itself.

Maddie led the way into the grey flagstone entrance hall which linked the two stable blocks and paused by the comfortable leather sofas, cushions plumped up perfectly to welcome weary revellers. A coffee table between them was heaped with crisp new magazines and literature detailing walks and day trips. The sideboard held jugs of fresh mountain flowers and a chalkboard was propped against the wall opposite, the names ‘Tom and Nicky’ written in a swirly script, ready to welcome the next happy couple.

‘Although the castello is very beautiful, and architecturally sound, bookings were a little more intermittent than I would have expected,’ she explained, proud of how firm her voice was. But why shouldn’t it be? She had this.

‘This is why I wanted a dedicated wedding planner,’ Guido said. ‘We got many enquiries, but only a few converted into bookings. We are so remote here, and the winters can be harsh, so our summers were busy but the rest of the year not so much.’

‘It’s just a case of turning those perceived negatives into positives,’ Maddie said. ‘Positioning the castle as a winter wonderland through the colder months, making the isolation a strength by ensuring everything they could possibly need is right here, although we can organise trips to Garda or Verona or Milan. We organise airport pick-ups, help brides and their guests with travel itineraries either side of their stay with us.’

She opened the door that led into the dining room. The wooden tables were set out café-style, each with small jugs of fresh flowers in the centre. ‘There is always coffee on the go in here, along with iced water, but guests can order any other drinks they need from the kitchens. Depending on the arrangements we have with the bride and groom, this might be free, or the guests might have individual tabs. We usually have some kind of cake or biscuits and bowls of fresh fruit available all day as well. Breakfast is always served as a buffet, dinner too unless the couple pay more for a more formal serving.’

Maddie was aware of the Conte’s gaze, fixed firmly on her as she talked, but she blocked it out, determined that by the time her tour was concluded that sardonic gleam would turn to interest and the only expression on his admittedly handsome face would be approval.

* * *

Dante had to admit that the English girl had done wonders. The last time he had seen these rooms they had been furnished formally, antiques from the castle forming the bulk of the furniture, ancient mountain views and various ancestors framed in thick gilt decorating the walls. It had all been stripped away, plain white walls now livened with colourful abstract prints, and rooms filled with comfortable-looking brown leather sofas and chairs, heaped with bright throws and cushions. Shelving had been erected in both rooms, filled with books and board games. It looked clean, comfortable and homely, despite the size of the rooms.

The same magic had been wrought upstairs. The bedrooms were also freshly painted in white, the wooden beds made up with white linen and cheerful silk cushions and throws, with matching rugs on the polished floorboards. ‘Sometimes a bride and groom like to decorate to a theme, so we’ve kept the accommodation neutral in case we need to dress the rooms up to match,’ Maddie explained. ‘There are still some of the castle antiques around—that huge vase, for example, but they’re accents now, not overshadowing the whole. What we haven’t stinted on is quality. All the toiletries, the linens, the chocolates are locally sourced. We want the stables to feel more like a high-end hotel, not like a hostel. All the rooms are Austrian twins so we can make them up as twins or doubles, depending on what we’re asked to do.’

‘It’s very impressive,’ Dante admitted as they reached the final room on that corridor, a sunlit room with cheerful yellow and orange hints. It was, and he especially liked how Maddie had managed to ensure that no two rooms felt the same, her judicious use of pictures and ornaments giving each one its own identity. ‘But new sofas, new beds, new linen—it can’t have been cheap.’

Not that he couldn’t afford it, but the wedding lets were just a tiny part of his business concerns. The Falcone fortune came from agriculture, from shipping, from olives and wine. He was glad the castle was more than a glorified summer residence, glad to provide legitimate employment for those villagers who needed it, but he wasn’t running a charity and the Castello Falcone needed to pay its way.

‘It wasn’t. But I believe the results speak for themselves. We’re already fully booked for next year and a third of the year after, and we managed to fill every spare week this year from April onwards.’ Maddie met his eyes with a cool gaze of her own, but Dante could see a swirl of uncertainty behind the grey depths.

‘Impressive,’ he said softly and watched, fascinated, as the uncertainty dissolved, her eyes lightening to silver, her diffidence disappearing until she was glowing with achievement and pride—deservedly so.

The air stilled, thickened as their gazes locked. Guido and Toni, his accountant, had returned downstairs to look at something that needed replacing, leaving Dante alone with his new event planner. And suddenly that felt like a dangerous place to be.

This was his home, his workplace—and more importantly his daughter was arriving in two days. There was no time for a discreet affair, even if Maddie was interested.

No, better not to think about an interested Maddie, not with the two of them alone, with her eyes still fixed on his, her lips parted. Not with the memory of how she had watched him across the lake still crystal-clear in his mind.

‘I think that’s everything,’ she said a little huskily, colour mounting in her cheeks as she practically marched out of the bedroom and headed towards the stairs. ‘I’m sure Guido has already talked you through the strategy we put together.’

‘Have you also made changes to the master bedroom suite?’ Dante stayed as still a predator as Maddie stopped, one hand on the top of the stair rail.

‘A few.’

‘Show me.’

Her eyes flashed at the order, but she didn’t speak, just nodded her head slightly before descending the narrow staircase. Dante followed, trying not to watch the sway of her hips, the way her hair moved as she walked. If he had any sense he would allow Madeleine Fitzroy to get on with her evening and check out the honeymoon suite by himself. After another dip in the freezing lake.

Not that he had any interest in spending more time with Maddie. This was business, plain and simple. If she had made changes it made sense that she was the one to explain her rationale to him. His decision was completely unconnected to the knowledge that ever since he had seen her across the lake staring at him with such unabashed curiosity something dormant had woken inside him, running insistently through his blood. Not because describing his fake relationship to his sister had made him aware of just how cold his life really was.

Intentionally cold, but when loneliness bit it did so with sharp intent.

It only took a few moments to cross the courtyard to the big, arched wooden door studded with iron which led into the oldest part of the castle. The wing where the staff quarters and offices were sat at a right angle to the ancient hall, with the more modern parts of the castle—a mere five hundred years old—complete with the famed turrets and terraces, faced the lake beyond that.

‘I changed nothing in here,’ Maddie said quietly as she preceded Dante into the vast room. ‘It’s perfect as it is.’

It was, with its arched ceiling criss-crossed with beams, the stone floor and the leaded stained-glass windows shadowing the floor in colour. A dais stood at one end filled with flowers. Chairs were already laid out in neat rows, each one dressed in white linen, more flowers punctuating the end of each row on tall plinths.

‘Tomorrow’s couple are getting married the day after they arrive, so we’re all set up and ready,’ she said.

Dante watched her as she stopped and surveyed the room, her sharp gaze sweeping every corner, making sure nothing was missed, pulling a notebook out of her bag and scribbling a few words. It was like watching a dance, or listening to finely read poetry, she was so in tune with her surroundings, oblivious to her companion as she wrote, paced a few steps, frowned and wrote again. Dante wasn’t used to being forgotten, especially by women. It was a novel sensation—and it brought out a deeply buried, animal wish to make her notice him, the way a bird must feel as he preened to attract a mate.

He pulled out his phone and began to scroll through his messages, ruthlessly clamping down on any animal instincts.

‘Sorry, I just noticed a couple of things.’ Maddie put the notebook back in her bag and gestured towards the spiral staircase at the end of the hall. ‘Shall we?’

‘Of course.’

The staircase led directly into the honeymoon suite. Last time Dante had set foot in it, it had been a dark, richly decorated suite of rooms, little light able to penetrate the stone walls through the window slits. Ancient tapestries had hung on the walls, the flagstones covered with antique rugs, and dark, heavy furniture had dominated the space. It had felt baronial, grand and imposing—more like the lair of a medieval seducer than a romantic getaway.

He stopped as he reached the top of the room and swivelled, unable to believe his eyes. How could this be the same space? ‘Where have the walls gone?’ he managed to say eventually.

‘They weren’t original, don’t worry. In fact they weren’t even Renaissance like the rest of the castle, but a nineteenth-century addition, according to the architect I consulted,’ Maddie said hurriedly, her gaze fixed anxiously on him. ‘What do you think?’

The apartment was now one huge room, much lighter thanks to the clever use of mirrors picking up the faint light and reflecting it back into the room. The same imposing four-poster—a bed that legend had it Dante’s great-grandfather times several greats had used to seduce women away from their husbands, until he had foolishly turned his wandering eye on a Borgia wife—was still in situ, but, placed at one end of the room and heaped with cushions, it looked inviting rather than intimidating. The matching wardrobe and chest of drawers also looked more fitting, now they no longer dominated the space.

The fireplace had been opened out and was, despite the summer’s day, filled with logs ready to be lit. A comfortable chaise, loveseat and sofa were grouped around it. A small dining table, already laid for two, sat on one side of the room, low bookshelves lay opposite it and thick rugs covered the cold stone floor.

Dante stood stock still, taking it all in. How could such a dark, stately space feel so welcoming just because a couple of walls had been removed?

It wasn’t just the walls though. It was the mirrors, it was the choice of painting, the cream rugs with the hint of gold, the dainty china on the table, the...hang on, the what?

‘Why is the bathtub in the middle of the room?’ Dante blinked again, but sure enough it was still there. Mounted on a tiled dais, the antique cast-iron bath that had used to reside in the bathroom now sat slap bang in the middle of the room. A freestanding wooden towel rail stood on one side; a slender console table on the other held candles and bath oils.

‘We turned the bathroom into a wet room.’ Maddie glanced at him, long eyelashes shielding her expression. ‘Guido offered to email you the plans, but you said you trusted us to do the details.’

‘Si.’ Dante was still transfixed by the bathtub. Noting how it was in every possible eye line. How a man could lie in bed and watch his bride bathe, the candlelight casting a warm glow over her skin. ‘And this is the kind of detail you like? The idea of watching someone bathe?’

‘I...’ She stopped.

Dante waited, lounging against the wall, eyes fixed on her as intently as hers had been fixed on him.

‘Many luxury rooms have the bath in the main space.’ Maddie turned away, but Dante had already spotted the red on her cheeks, on her neck. ‘It’s nothing new.’

‘I’m quite aware of that,’ Dante said silkily. ‘It can definitely add a certain intimacy to an evening.’ He deliberately took his time over the word ‘intimacy’, drawing out every letter as he spoke. ‘That’s not what I asked, Madeleine. I asked if you like to watch people bathe.’

‘I...’ she began again, then paused, before turning and determinedly fixing her gaze on his, head high, as proud as a young goddess. ‘I owe you an apology. I intruded on a private moment earlier today and I...’ She paused again, her eyes darkening. Dante watched, fascinated.

‘No, actually I don’t apologise,’ she said, head even higher. ‘You were bathing on a public beach—anyone could have seen you. If anyone should apologise, you should for trying to embarrass me.’

Dante stayed stock still, torn between amusement at her indignation—and shame. She was right; he was trying to embarrass her. Why? Because of the thrill that had shot through him when he noticed her watching him, had realised how enthralled she was, how safe it had been to retaliate, to look back with a lake between them?

He was her employer, had power over her. It was beneath him to indulge in these kinds of games.

‘Mi scusa, you are right. It was wrong of me. It won’t happen again. Thank you for your tour, signorina; enjoy your evening.’ With a nod of his head Dante turned and left, vowing as he did so to keep every interaction with Madeleine Fitzroy professional and brief. They might be sharing the castello for the rest of the summer, but it was a big space. There was really no need for them to interact at all.