Solo Honeymoon

Solo Honeymoon Emma Chauncey finds her fiancé naked with one of her bridesmaids on top of him three days before her wedding. Burned by the experience, she takes a friend on her honeymoon. They travel to an Italian villa where Emma plans to nurse her broken heart. Wealthy, titled, and handsome women’s shoe designer Dario de Luca is also at the villa. In disguise as a dance instructor, he’s determined to find a woman to love him for himself, not his wealth and title. Sparks fly between Emma and Dario, until she learns his true identity. Hurt that another man has lied to her, and distrusting her own judgment, she flees. Dario follows her to New York. But Emma’s former fiancé is back with an agenda of his own. Can Dario convince Emma he’s the man for her even though he lied about his identity? Can he convince her she deserves true love? Note: This book contains adult language. Genre: Contemporary Length: 38,907 words

SOLO HONEYMOON

Jillian Chantal

ROMANCE

www.BookStrand.com

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A SIREN-BOOKSTRAND TITLE IMPRINT: Romance

SOLO HONEYMOON Copyright © 2010 by Jillian Chantal E-book ISBN: 1-61034-076-0 First E-book Publication: November 2010 Cover design by Jinger Heaston All cover art and logo copyright © 2010 by Siren Publishing, Inc. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

PUBLISHER www.BookStrand.com

DEDICATION To my parents, Donald and Frances Fowler, who instilled in me a love of travel and a thirst to learn about other cultures.

SOLO HONEYMOON JILLIAN CHANTAL Copyright © 2010

Chapter One He is not a lover that does not love forever. —Euripides (480-406 BC), Greek playwright Emma Chauncey hugged her friends, Gwen and Roxanne, as the taxi pulled to the curb in Soho, London, outside the Candlewick Bar and Pub. “Thanks for a great night, darlings. It was grand. But now, the bride must turn into a pumpkin and go home to the groom.” She patted the fake tiara she still had on her head. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Roxanne laughed. “Trust me, she won’t,” Gwen said as she hailed her own cab. “Both of you hush. I know my man’s waiting up for me. He’ll be ready for some action when I get there.” Emma blushed to think about what Calvin would want when she got home. They all piled into cabs and went in different directions. Her hen party had been a rousing success, and Emma was more than a little drunk when she got out of the black cab at her flat. She looked at her watch. Four AM? Wow. I’m ready to sleep for a week. Her wedding was in three days so she was sure she wasn’t going to be sleeping for that long. Maybe on the honeymoon she could get some rest. She giggled. Not bloody likely with that man of mine. She slipped off her gold high-heeled shoes as she walked down the hallway to her flat. She stopped and rubbed the sole of her left foot. Ahh. Those five-

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inch heels are killers. What a price for beauty She giggled again and bit back a hiccup. She staggered to her door and stuck the key into the lock. The door pushed open silently. Confused, she staggered a bit. She snapped on the light switch and fell back against the doorjamb at the sight in front of her. Her fiancé was nude on the floor with one of her bridesmaids, Natasha, on top of him. Natasha was astride Calvin, riding him hard. He had one hand around her waist holding her on him, and his other hand was massaging her left breast. They were both slick with sweat. Emma let out a gasp and whispered, “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” Natasha turned her head at the sound. She let out a small squeal, and she and Calvin froze where they were for what seemed an eternity. Eventually, Calvin shoved Natasha off of him and rose. He approached Emma. “This isn’t what it looks like, baby.” Emma, struck sober by the sight in front of her, looked at him and said in a voice as cold as ice, “What exactly is it, then? It looks like my fiancé shagging one of my best friends. What am I missing?” “She was shagging me.” “Excuse me? Do you think I’m blind? You didn’t look like you were exactly fighting her off, Calvin. Or was that what that grip on her breast was?” Emma’s voice got colder still. Natasha had, by now, grabbed her clothes and slunk toward the still-open door. Emma noticed the movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned from Calvin to Natasha and held up her hand. “Get out of my flat. I never want to see you again.” Natasha said, “I’ll go. I’m sorry. You know how I get when I drink.” “Yeah. You’re a slut when you drink, but I never thought you’d betray me. Now go,” Emma said with anger tight in her voice. She held herself stiffly. Don’t fall apart in front of them. Hold yourself together. “I’ll be at the wedding, Emma. I won’t let you down,” replied

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Natasha. “There won’t be a wedding. And you’ve already let me down. You haven’t only let me down, you’ve killed me. You and this louse together,” Emma said as she pointed at Calvin. “Like I said, I never want to see you again.” After Natasha made her escape, Emma turned to Calvin. “I’m going to bed. Alone. You will be gone when I get up.” He came toward her where she still stood just inside the door and held his hand out as if to touch her arm. “Baby, I’m sorry. You know how she is. I never planned to shag her.” “Doesn’t matter. Planned or not, you did. I’m not going to marry you. Ever. Leave, now.” “Please, please, forgive me. I love you,” he begged. “How can you stand there, naked, with the sweat of another woman still dripping off you, and tell me you love me?” “Because I do. I do.” “No. You don’t. I don’t think you ever did. Like I said, I’m going to bed. You get out. I’ll send your things on to you wherever you go, but this is the end.” She ran her hands through her hair as she forced herself to keep from crying. Hold it together a few more minutes till he leaves. “Please, don’t do this, Emma. Don’t throw away what we have,” he said as the tears ran down his face. “I didn’t intend to shag her, but how many men do you know that would turn down an offer like hers? I mean, she was here, she dropped her dress, and she was naked. What was I gonna do?” “Do? What were you gonna do? You did exactly the wrong thing, mister. You did this, not me. And I’d hope that a man that planned to marry in three days time would’ve had the strength of character to turn down her offer and stay true to his intended wife. You ruined this. It’s over. Your fault. Go now.” Her voice broke and she almost lost it. “Go. Or I’ll ring the Met.” “I’ll go for now, but this isn’t over. You’ll see. You love me, and

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you’ll forgive me. We were meant to be.” “Not bloody likely, mate.” She went into her bedroom, slammed the door, and turned the lock with a loud click. She leaned against the door, trying to keep her cool until he was clear of the premises. In a few minutes, she heard him slam the front door of the flat. She went to the front door and placed a chair against the handle in case he tried to return. She sunk to the floor in tears. She vowed to change the locks as soon as she got up. She cried for a very long time. The sobs wracked her body, and she kept weeping until she was exhausted. Once the tears were spent, she returned to her bedroom to try to sleep. She was thankful that Calvin had at least not despoiled her bed with another woman. She was so angry and hurt, she pummeled her pillow over and over as she tried to forget the ending to the evening. She couldn’t get comfortable, and it was a long time before she dozed off. She couldn’t get the picture of Natasha impaled on Calvin out of her head. Every time she closed her eyes, they appeared. The image seemed to be tattooed to the inside of her eyelids. She finally fell into a deep sleep around seven AM. When she woke, she felt pretty good until she remembered what she’d found when she returned from her hen party. Waves of despair hit her. She jumped up and ran to the loo and vomited. She kept throwing up until the dry heaves set in. Tears mixed with the vomit, and she felt even more wretched. When she was able to move from the tiled floor of the loo, she went back to bed and lay back down for a while until she felt she had regained some semblance of composure. My life is over. What’ll I do? I loved him. I still love him. What am I thinking? No. He’s gone. No second chance. She took a shower and shed a few more tears that mixed with the falling water. As she dressed, she steeled herself for the tasks ahead and rang her maid of honor, Gwen Barrowman. “Hello, Gwen?” she asked when the line was picked up. “Yeah. It’s Gwen. That you, Emma? Dang, girl, it’s early. You already up and recovered from last night’s drinks?” Gwen answered

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with a groan. “Gwen. It’s bad. Really bad,” Emma said as she sobbed. “What?” exclaimed Gwen, suddenly awake. “Did someone die?” “No. No one died. Just my hopes of a future with Calvin.” Emma exhaled a ragged breath. “Huh? You lost me there, my friend. You’re getting married in a couple of days. What’s the problem?” “I came in last night, I mean this morning, after I left you and Roxanne, to find Calvin on the floor shagging Natasha. Or, I should say, Natasha bonking my man. She was on top.” “Huh? What do you mean? Am I still asleep or drunk? I can’t understand you,” Gwen said, completely at sea. “What does it sound like? I came in, and the slut was on top of my fiancé, going at it. Hard. They were covered in sweat. It was disgusting.” Emma swallowed her nausea as she relived the moment. “Cor! What are you gonna do then?” “I’ve called off the wedding, and now I need your help to come...” “Called it off? Really? You really gonna call it off?” “Wouldn’t you?” Emma asked. “Well, we all know that Natasha gets a little forward when she drinks. Maybe she was the aggressor, and it didn’t really mean anything to him.” “Hello? Are you crazy? Why in the hell would I ever marry a man that would cheat on me three days before our wedding? How could I trust him?” “You’re right. You’re right.” “And I just thought about this—Natasha must’ve left the party and came up here with the intention of seducing my man. I remember she was at the party, and then she was gone. She never said bye.” “God. You really think she was planning that?” “How else would she end up here? She knew we were still in full swing at the party. She knew Cal was here waiting for me. What else can I think?”

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“What a mess. What are you gonna do?” “That’s why I rang you. I need your help. I’ve got to write to all the guests. I have to let them know there’ll be no ceremony. I need you to come and help arrange for all the gifts to be returned. I need help packaging them for the courier.” “Oh, this is awful. Just awful. Let me shower, and I’ll be right over,” Gwen promised. “Thanks. I knew I could count on you. Now, I have to call my father, and he’s going to want to rip Calvin’s tongue out through his nostrils. I hope I can keep Pops from finding Cal. He’ll kill him.” “Your pops won’t kill him. He’ll probably be relieved. I mean, he’ll be sad for you, but I don’t think he ever really liked Cal.” “Yeah. He won’t be relieved at the way Calvin acted, but he’ll be glad I’ve decided not to marry the man. You’re right, he doesn’t like him. Pops always said Calvin wanted the money I’ll inherit one day. I chose not to believe that.” “I’m sure Calvin loves you. In his own way,” Gwen replied. “That way isn’t my way, and he’s a louse.” “Agreed. See you in an hour or so.” “Thanks, Gwen. See ya soon.” Emma put the phone in the cradle and sighed. She looked around her flat at the mountain of wedding gifts that she’d now have to return. She fought the urge to burst into tears. She was tired of crying and jumped into her work to keep herself occupied. No more pity party. Gwen arrived as promised, and they took the afternoon to get all the packages ready for a courier to pick up. The task was hard for Emma. She almost broke down several times. Gwen tried to keep things upbeat and to cheer Emma up when she got too down. Around two o’clock, Gwen said, “Have you called your pops yet?” “No. I’m dreading the call. He’s going to be upset at Cal, and I don’t want to face it yet.” “You have to. Once you send these gifts back, someone will call him and say something. You need to be the one to break it to your

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father. It’ll be much better from you. Tell you what, I’ll pop down to the King’s Head and grab us something to nosh on, and you make the call while I’m gone. It’ll give you some privacy.” “Oh, all right. Might as well bite the bullet and do it.” “It won’t be as bad as you think.” “From your lips to God’s ears.” Emma picked up the telephone receiver. “Okay, I’m dialing. Wish me luck.” Gwen laughed as she left the flat to head to the pub on the corner. She knew that Emma’s pops would be supportive of her. He always had been even before her mum and brothers had died, and they were left alone. Emma had always been close to her father, and Gwen was sure he’d help her handle this latest problem. **** When Gwen returned with the ham on rye sandwiches and two bottles of Old Peculier Ale, Emma said, “Pops is angry, but I think you were right. He’s relieved. He wanted to fire Cal as well. I asked him not to because it’s already going to be the gossip of the office. He agreed, but he said he’s going to transfer Cal to the Berlin office. I’m good with that since I never go there.” “Ooh. I think Cal will be very hot about that.” “Well, he should have thought about it before he got into Ms. Hot’s pants.” “You crack me up. I like that. ‘Ms. Hot.’ That’s too funny.” Gwen laughed. “I wasn’t trying to be funny. I mean, really, even if he didn’t have the integrity not to cheat on me, he had to know somewhere in that pea brain of his that his job was at risk by his antics.” “Do ya really think he was thinking at all?” “Obviously not,” replied Emma. “If he had an ounce of intelligence, he would’ve known that whole thing was boneheaded. I mean, in my flat! On my floor! In my home! And to top it off, he

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didn’t even have on a condom.” “Okay. Okay. Settle down. We’re on the same page. He’s a lout and a lech. Tell me what else your pops said,” Gwen said. “Just that he always thought Calvin was a boor, and that I’ll someday see that Natasha did me a favor. And that I’m lucky it happened now, before the wedding, rather than after. And before there were any children.” “Makes sense. I’m glad he didn’t get mad.” “Mad? Why would he be mad?” Emma shook her head. “I know you’ve spent a lot on the wedding. I was afraid he’d complain about the wasted costs.” “No, he didn’t. Surprise, surprise. He said it was cheap compared to a divorce later, which he admitted that he thought was on the horizon anyway. I’m sorry he was right about Cal.” Emma shook her head. “Wow. He sure has a negative opinion of Cal.” “So do I. Now. Oh, yeah, Pops is also insisting that I go on the honeymoon to Italy,” Emma added. “What? Why? With Cal?” Gwen asked in a rush of words. “No. You ninny, with you.” “Go on honeymoon with me?” Gwen said, puzzled. “Not on honeymoon. To the villa. You and me. You know it was dad’s gift to Cal and me. He paid for the whole thing, and he thinks I should go with a friend. Get away and lick my wounds, so to speak. And it would get me out of the spotlight as the gossip start.” “And you want me to go with you?” Gwen asked. “Yeah. You’re my best friend, and if I can’t go with a husband, I want you to go.” “Do you think I can get off work at this late notice?” “Since you work for my dad’s record label, and he’s told me to take you with me, I would guess that’s a yes,” Emma said with one of her few smiles of the day. “You think?”

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“I think.” Emma giggled a bit at Gwen’s question.

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Chapter Two It is not so much our friends’ help that helps us as the confident knowledge that they will help us. —Epicurus (341–270 B.C.), Greek philosopher Emma and Gwen arrived at Malpensa Airport in Milan early in the morning of the day after what should have been Emma’s wedding day. After deplaning, they walked down to baggage check. As they retrieved their bags, Emma turned and scanned the line of limo drivers. She recognized the livery of the driver from Eurocar Limousine, the company her father liked to use in Europe. When he’d booked her honeymoon, he’d ordered a Bentley Continental Flying Spur along with a driver to drive them to their destination. Emma waved to the driver, and he grabbed their bags and escorted the ladies to the car. As they entered the Bentley’s backseat, Gwen said, “You doin’ all right? I mean, you should be here with Calvin, and instead, you have me.” “I’m fine. I’m fine. Really.” For someone who’s just lost her fiancé and is on what should be her honeymoon with no groom. Sure, tell her you’re fine, Emma. Gwen knows you better than that. You’re not fooling her. “You sure?” Gwen asked. “Look, if you’re gonna nag me the whole time we’re here, you may as well go back in the terminal and head back to Britain. I’m here to have fun and forget that heel, Calvin Smyth.” “Okay, okay, okay. Geez.” Gwen raised her hands in front of her face in defense.

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Emma laughed at her friend and gave her a quick hug. “Don’t mind me. I’m just testy from being the butt in the scuttlebutt at the water cooler at work.” “You know everyone at work loves you and is sorry about what happened. They may have gossiped a little, but they mean no harm.” “Yeah, I know.” They rode in companionable silence to their destination, Castello di Meraviglioso. The trip was a little longer than an hour, and the scenery changed from bustling city to calm countryside. As the land became less populated, Emma could feel the tension leave her body. The road had many twists and turns, and the sights out the window were peaceful. The landscape became more bucolic as they drove. They even spotted some cows on the hills. Emma relaxed more and more as each mile away from London was clocked on the odometer. She was glad that Gwen was silent, giving her time to let the beauty of the area seep into her heart and ease her pain. She was saddened by the unexpected turn of events in her life. It was difficult to put a brave face on. All she wanted to do was crawl in the attic and never come down. I’ll be damned if Calvin Smyth is going to make me into a hermit. I came on this honeymoon trip to prove to myself that I can move on with my life. I feel mortified. I hope no one at the castle resort knows what happened. I couldn’t bear it if I became a laughing stock here, too. After about an hour, the driver turned off the main road. They drove down a tree-lined driveway to the villa. The trees made an arch over the lane leading to the castello. The tops of the trees almost touched each other, they were so old and tall. The lane darkened as the sun peeked though the branches of the overhung trees. It was charming. At the same moment, both Emma and Gwen said, “Wow.” They looked at each other and laughed uncontrollably. They pulled in front of the ivy-covered building. It was massive and made of an ocher-colored adobe-like rock. The ivy crawling up

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the walls and terraces made the castello look very romantic, and Emma sighed. The driver jumped out and came around the side of the car. As he opened the back door to allow Emma to exit first, a tall man in a navy blue suit approached the car with his hand extended. “I’m Vincente Baroni. I own the place. Welcome. We’re glad to have you with us, Ms. Chauncey.” “Thank you for your kindness, Signore Baroni. This is my friend, Gwen Barrowman,” replied Emma as she shook his hand and indicated Gwen as she exited the vehicle. “Please call me Vincente. I am of an age of you and your friend. I’m afraid I’d feel like an old goat if you insist on calling me Signore Baroni.” “Okay, then, Vincente it is. It’s nice to meet you. Please call me Emma.” What a handsome, kind man he seems to be. Are those eyes really amber? “Thank you. I understood from the phone call I received from your father that your wedding was called off, and you preferred to have another room besides the honeymoon suite. I’m sorry to tell you, we have a full house this week, and I can’t move you as yet,” Vincente said. “Oh. No. This is bad,” Emma said. “It’ll be too hard for me to be in that suite.” “I promise to move you as soon as someone checks out. I hope it’ll only be for a day or so. You may find you like it. It’s the roomiest suite in the house, and I think it’ll be fine.” “Please keep me in mind for the move as soon as a room becomes available,” she said. “I will. If you change your mind and want to stay there, let me know,” he replied. He clapped his hands together once and added, “Let’s go up so you can see where you’ll be staying.” “Sounds good,” said Gwen as she grabbed her tote bag and headed to the open front door of the villa. Vincente bypassed the front desk. “Signorine, come with me. I

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shall escort you myself to your suite. Your bags will follow presto.” As they walked up the marble center staircase, Gwen grinned at Emma and whispered, “Presto. I like the way his English is formal and spattered with Italian.” “Shh,” hissed Emma. “He may get insulted. And he is Italian.” Gwen just smirked at Emma. They reached the door of the room, and Vincente flung the door open. “Signorine, we have arrived. Come in, come in.” They entered the room, and Emma gasped in pleasure as Gwen said, “Wicked decor.” The room was quite sumptuous. The walls were covered in white silk tone-on-tone striped paper, and the couches and chairs were upholstered in cream and red with a striped pattern similar to the wallpaper. The carpet was a lush white with a nubby texture. There was a desk and chair along one wall and an oak armoire along another wall next to a massive fireplace. There was a full wall of windows with red silk drapes across from the door leading into the suite. Vincente said, “There are actually two bedrooms in this suite, one of them has a fireplace that backs up to the one in this room. I know it’s a honeymoon suite, but it amuses me that there are two bedrooms. These rooms belonged to my parents and my grandparents before them, and when I decided to make the castello into a resort, this was the logical place to have a special suite. I guess it makes for a happy marriage, two bedrooms, yes?” Emma replied, “It’s lucky for us since Gwen is here with me, but I disagree about separate bedrooms making for a happy marriage.” She smiled ruefully and shrugged. What I wouldn’t give for a marriage with one bed to share. And I pick a louse that wants to get his leg over with another woman on the floor of the sitting room. Stupid. I’m such a bad judge of character. Vincente replied, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” “I’m not upset. It’s fine. Really.” Emma smiled slightly. Vincente bowed. “I will leave you now. There’s a bar downstairs,

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and dinner will be served at eight P.M. We do dress for dinner, by the way.” Once he left, Emma peeked in the door of the bedroom to the right and said, “I’ll take this room, and you take the other one, okay?” “Sure. Either one is great. I can’t get over how lush they are. The silk goes on and on. It’s very sinful.” She flopped down on the sofa and crossed her feet on the coffee table. “Sensuous is more like it. It really slams home that this room is for sex, doesn’t it?” Emma said as she sat on one of the chairs. Gwen said, “We don’t know that. It could be like this all over the place. Italians are known for being great lovers, right?” Emma laughed. “Yeah. They do have that reputation.” “Maybe you can find a handsome Italian to take your mind off that pig, Cal.” “Uh-uh. No way,” she said with a shake of her head. “Why ever not?” Gwen asked. “Oh. I don’t know, lots of clichés come to mind. ‘Once bitten, twice shy.’ ‘Out of the frying pan, into the fire.’ Need I go on?” Gwen held her hands up in a defensive posture. “Stop, stop. I didn’t mean fall in love with an Italian, I meant play with one for a while.” “Play with one?” Emma asked, puzzled. “Sure. What’s wrong with that?” “Nothing, I guess. Just not something I usually do.” “I know. You’re one of those women that require a ‘relationship’ to have sex. You should just let go once in a while,” Gwen said. Then she added, “You might surprise yourself with your sensuality. I have a feeling you’ve kept all that bottled up inside you. You may even scare yourself one day if you really let loose.” “I’m not wired that way. I’m just not a one night stand kinda girl.” “Promise me you won’t reject a wild time out of hand. Give Italy and yummy Italian men a chance.” Emma laughed. “If I see one I like, I’ll let you know.”

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“Fair enough.” Gwen slapped her hands on her thighs. “Let’s go down to the bar and get this vacation started.” She stood and grabbed Emma by the hand and pulled her off the chair. “Okay. Sounds great. Let’s go.” **** The bar was on the first floor down a hallway from the front desk. It had a full wall of French doors opening onto a patio that led to the pool deck. The doors were all open, and a nice breeze wafted through the building. There were a number of ceiling fans in the area that were turning. Emma and Gwen sat at one of the round iron tables and ordered drinks. Emma had a gin and Dubonnet. Gwen had a Sambuca con la mosca. Emma gestured at Gwen’s drink. “That looks disgusting with those coffee beans floating in there.” “Oh, hush. I’m doing the Italian thing, and you’re being veddy, veddy British with your boring old Dubonnet. I swear, you need to branch out.” “So, do you think Calvin left me because I’m boring?” “Oh, stop. First, Cal didn’t leave you, you dumped him, and second, you really aren’t boring. I’m teasing to try to get you out of your funk.” “You can say all you want that Cal didn’t leave me, but he did. He was shagging another woman. How’s that not leaving me?” “He would’ve married you.” Emma, her face red, slammed her hand down on the table, stood, and said, “I’m going outside. Don’t follow me.” As she stalked away, Gwen said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Emma didn’t acknowledge the apology and kept walking until she was in the garden behind the castle. She sighed deeply and sat on a stone wall near the roses with her head down. Should I have married

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the louse? Seems like everyone but Pops thinks I was wrong to break it off. She looked up and noticed a tall man with a very short haircut standing with his back to her, some distance away. He had on a blue suit with a very small pinstripe. It looked very expensive. He had one hand in his pocket. His left foot was propped on the low wall and, being a shoe hound, she couldn’t help but notice his. They were tassel loafers, and they looked expensive, too. The man just stood there quietly, looking out over the vineyard. He looks as lonely as I feel. Oh, stop, just because he is alone, doesn’t mean he’s lonely. Your imagination is galloping off by itself. Stop. Vincente approached the man, and they talked quietly for a minute. Vincente turned and saw Emma seated on the wall. The two men walked over to where Emma sat, and Vincente said, “Emma Chauncey, this is Dario De...um…” He hesitated a moment and added, “Dario Conti. He’s a friend of mine. Dario, this is Emma.” Dario bowed, raised one eyebrow, and in a mocking tone, said, “Ah. The groomless bride, I presume?” Emma gasped, looked at Vincente, and said icily, “How the hell does he know this?” Vincente, embarrassed, replied, “He was here when your father called to alert me of the change. I haven’t gossiped about you. Really. I’m sorry.” He shot a glance at his friend. Dario just raised an eyebrow and stared back at Vincente. Emma stood and glared at the two men. What an insolent jackass he is. I should wipe that smirk off his face with a backhand. She decided not to voice that thought and stalked back inside the bar where she joined Gwen, who was on her second drink. Gwen said, “You look madder than when you left. I’d hoped you’d cool off and forgive me. What’s up?” “I just met an insufferable man. A friend of Vincente’s that knows I am, as he put it, the groomless bride.” She slammed her hand down. “Arrogant, smug, pompous...”

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“Oh. God. Has Vincente told everyone in the place your story? Bad form, that.” “He said he hasn’t, but I’m afraid he has. I may go home.” “Let’s wait and see how the rest of the guests act before we do that.” “We’ll see, but I feel very conspicuous,” Emma said. As they continued to enjoy their drinks, Vincente and Dario walked into the bar area, deep in conversation and sat at a table across the room. Gwen noticed them and tilted her head in their direction. “Is that the chap you just met?” “Yeah. Why?” “He’s kinda hot looking. Except his hair is too short.” She paused. “You know, except for the beard and the short hair, he reminds me of that Italian shoe designer that’s always in the magazines with a beautiful model. What’s his name?” Emma, half listening, heard only the last sentence. “His name is Dario Conti.” “No. Not the guy with Vincente. The designer’s name.” “Dunno.” “Ah. Now I remember. It’s Dario de Luca. Isn’t that odd that they look similar and have the same first name?” “No, Gwen, it’s not odd. You’re always looking for some connection, some conspiracy. Dario is probably like William in Britain. Everyone is named Dario.” “Shoot. You’re no fun. Let me dream. You know, I wish it was that de Luca guy. He has a title. He’s a count. Wouldn’t it be fun to dally with a count?” Gwen asked. Emma snorted into her drink. “I’m sure glad we have separate rooms. You’ll be shagging every guy in the joint.” “Maybe so, maybe so. And you should think about it, too.” She took a long swig of her drink. “So far, I’ve seen no one that makes me want to take off my clothes,” Emma said. “Good grief, you have sex on the brain all the

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time.” “What’s wrong with that? I wouldn’t turn away either Vincente or Dario.” “I know. You’re not particular.” “Oh. I beg to differ. I’m very particular. It just seems like there are a lot of dark, swarthy, sexy men in Italy.” Emma laughed out loud, attracting the attention of the men across the room. “I have a feeling I’m not gonna get you to go back home at the end of my honeymoon. In fact, you’re probably going to have more sex on my honeymoon than I’ve had in a year.” “From your lips to God’s ears. And I’m glad to hear you can joke about your honeymoon. That’s a step in the right direction.” “I wish I could be as carefree as you. I need to be more like you. I’m too stiff and boring.” “You could be carefree. If you’d let yourself.” Emma snorted again. “Let’s go take a walk around the vineyard. I see people looking at us. I need to get out of here.” Do they all know I’m a jilted bride? “They’re only staring at us because you were laughing like a horse.” “Because you made me.” “Yeah, right. Let’s go take that walk. We need the exercise anyway.”

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Chapter Three It is not he who reviles or strikes you who insults you, but your opinion that these things are insulting. —Epictetus (55–135 AD), Greek philosopher After a leisurely bubble bath in the huge claw-foot tub in the suite, Emma stood in front of the closet dithering over which of her new gowns to wear to dinner. She wanted to look fabulous if only to stop any of the other guests from feeling sorry for her. She was still seething about that Dario person and his snide attitude. Groomless bride, indeed. I’ll show him. She chose her most risqué gown, thinking about the French seamstress that made her trousseau and the way she greeted Emma with an “ooh la la” when she put it on at the last fitting. It was bridal white, and the neckline plunged all the way to Emma’s waist. The skirt was draped like a toga and came to mid-calf. She dabbed on some of her Mitsouko by Guerlain perfume, being especially liberal in the area between her breasts. Just in case. She laughed at the thought and said to the room, “Now I’m sounding like Gwen.” Her toilette complete, she slid into the white backless shoes she had intended to wed in and waltzed into the main area of the suite where Gwen let out a low wolf whistle. “Wow! I thought you weren’t angling for a man.” “I’m not.” “Yes, you are, dressed like that. Where’d you get that wicked frock?” Emma spun around with the skirt held to her sides. “You like?”

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“Like? No. I adore it. And so will all the men in northern Italy.” “Thanks. I had it made by Giselle, my seamstress, for the purpose of seducing my husband. That’s not gonna happen now.” Emma’s face fell, and she seemed on the verge of tears. Before the tears could fall, Gwen jumped up and grabbed her hand. “Let’s put on our best smiles and get downstairs to dinner. Wonder what’s on the menu.” “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be heavenly. I’m famished. I hope we have some wine from the vineyards here.” “Me, too. The afternoon stroll out there among the grapes made me thirsty.” Emma pushed Gwen in the shoulder. “You’re crazy.” “That I am, luv, and that’s why you love me.” “Yes. I confess, that’s why.” They strolled down the hallway to the staircase, arm in arm. When they reached the top of the stairs, Gwen said, “Any idea where the dining room is?” “Nope. I guess we can ask at the front desk.” “Or follow the smells.” “We’d be in the kitchen then, silly,” Emma replied as she poked Gwen again. “That’s okay. I bet there are some cute men in there, too. And food.” “You have a one-track mind.” “No. Two track. Men and food, in that order. I’m gonna play with some Italian men while we’re here, if it kills me.” Gwen grinned widely at Emma. “I hope you packed some condoms.” “Oh, you can bet I did. What single woman travels without?” “Me.” “Of course you didn’t pack any. You’re the oldest young woman I’ve ever met.” “There you go again. First I was boring, and now I act old. Do

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you think that, really?” “You have to admit, you’re more serious than most twenty-sevenyear-olds.” “I had to grow up fast. When Mum and my brothers were killed, I had to be there for Pops.” “I know. I’m sure your Pater was grateful, but he’s doing fine now, and you need to live a little.” “I’m going to take a page from your book and do that. Did you bring enough condoms to share?” Emma grinned back at Gwen with a wink. Gwen gasped, shocked. “If I didn’t, we can borrow a Vespa and find the nearest apothecary. You really gonna go for one of these chaps?” They were near the bottom of the staircase. “Maybe. Remember, I haven’t seen one worth losing clothes over yet,” replied Emma. “Oh, you! Both Vincente and Dario are delicious.” “Vincente is sexy, but I got a vibe from him that he’s not available, and Dario is an arrogant twit.” “What kind of vibe? I missed that.” “Never mind. Here he is. Shush.” They had reached the front desk, and Vincente came from behind the counter, dressed in a tuxedo. “You ladies look bellissimo this evening. We lowly maschile, I mean, males, will be an ugly rain next to your dazzling sunshine.” Gwen said, “You flatter us, Vincente.” “No, my lady, not flattery. True words.” He took Gwen’s hand and planted a gentle kiss on her knuckles. She blushed. “We’re lost. Trying to find the dining room.” He took the hand he still had and pulled it through his arm. “Allow me to escort the most delicioso women in the castello to dinner.” The dining room was an exquisitely decorated room. It had navy blue silk curtains hanging at the floor-length windows. The curtains

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had golden bees embroidered on them. The walls were made of a gray marble with striations of dark blue and gold. The curtains complemented the walls perfectly. There was a dark blue Aubusson room-size rug under the deep mahogany wood table. The table looked like it could seat forty people. On the wall opposite the windows was a massive fireplace made of the same gray marble with a mantel made of mahogany wood to match the table. When the three of them entered the room, the other occupants looked up, and Emma felt Dario’s eyes settle immediately on her cleavage. She dearly wished she had worn another frock. I told Gwen I didn’t want to strip off for anyone, and that jerk is looking at me like I already have for him. Ass. Vincente said, “Looks like we’re all here. I see most of you have been served your aperitivo except my two lovely ladies here. Please be seated and enjoy your drinks. Dinner will be served shortly.” He turned to Emma and Gwen, “Aperitivo?” “Sure. Gin and Dubonnet for me,” said Emma. Gwen made a face in exasperation in Emma’s direction and said to Vincente, “Surprise me with something Italian.” Emma, chagrined, said, “Okay. Me, too.” “Signorina, if you want a Dubonnet, you shall have it.” “No, Vincente. I’ll be daring and drink what you bring.” “You won’t be sorry,” he said as he walked to the drinks cabinet. **** Dinner was a three-course meal with the first being a variety of olives and a caprese salad, with crispy slices of bread. The second course was chicken piccatta with a side of spaghetti. The dessert course was a variety of gelatos. There were different wines with each course and combined with the pre-dinner drink, Emma was a bit lightheaded by the end of the meal. She was seated across the table from Dario and a couple from Brighton. Gwen was to her right and

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Vincente was to her left. At the beginning of the meal, Vincente made the introductions of all the guests in attendance. There was the couple from Brighton named John and Sarah Knowles and a gay couple from Manhattan, Jake Jones and Gary Anderson. There were other British ladies on vacation, Margaret, Anna, Gina, and Shannon. Emma did not catch any of their last names. Besides Dario, there were two other men, Jason Alderman and Gus Phillips. Jason was there to conduct an audit of the castello’s books, and Gus was a guidebook writer evaluating the place for his book. Everyone seemed very friendly, and Emma began to relax as it seemed as if no one but the odious Dario knew of her former fiancé’s behavior and that she was on her honeymoon with her best friend. She was tired of being a whiner and decided to buck up and move on from Calvin Smyth. Forget him and don’t look back. After dinner was cleared away, Vincente said, “Now that we’ve all overeaten, I’d like to invite any of you who’re interested to accompany me into town to the dance hall. On the weekends, we’re lucky to have a live band and dancing just a few miles down the road. Dario, my friend, is a dance instructor and has asked me to let you ladies know that he’ll be available to dance with each of you.” He nodded toward Dario, and Dario raised his glass in a silent salute. Vincente added, “We have a people mover and will shuttle over to the hall beginning in fifteen minutes. Meet in the courtyard.” Gwen looked at Emma. “Wanna go?” “I’m not sure. I feel tipsy from the drinks.” “I’m going whether you do or not. C’mon, you can sit and watch.” “Okay. Okay. I’ll go,” Emma said reluctantly. “Should I change my clothes?” “Hell no, girl. That’s an outstanding dress.” “Oh, all right then, I’ll go like this. Hope my boobs don’t fall out.” “I’m sure these blokes here hope so. They’ve all been watching and hoping for a glimpse all night.”

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**** The dance hall was in the town of Alessandria and boasted a perfectly buffed floor. It was a cavernous room with a banc set up in one corner and tables and chairs across the back of the hall. There was a bar set up opposite the band. It seemed as if the entire town was in attendance. The crush of people was amazing. The music was loud, and most of the crowd was on the dance floor. Emma still felt a bit lightheaded and said to Gwen, “You go ahead and find a partner. I’m gonna sit over here in the corner.” She pointed to the far wall and walked in that direction. “Sure, luv. See ya.” Emma watched as Gwen was almost immediately surrounded by dark olive-skinned men. It seemed as if her blond hair was a magnet to them. At least I’ll be able to see her from anywhere among that sea of dark-haired men. As Emma watched the dancers, she noticed Dario dancing an Argentine tango with one of the women from dinner, either Gina or Margaret, she couldn’t remember. Dario wasn’t smiling at all and seemed as if he was almost bored. Wow, what a great dancer. Too bad he’s so snooty. He can’t even try to look interested in what he’s doing or whom he’s dancing with. Vincente walked over, sat in the seat next to her, stretched his legs in front of him, and said, “Dario is a great dancer, huh? Couldn’t help but notice you watching him.” “Yeah. He has the steps down, but he looks bored.” “Argentine tango is a serious business, signorina.” Vincente laughed. “Surely not that serious.” “Maybe not, but Dario has always been intense. At everything he does.” “He sure doesn’t seem like a dance instructor.”

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Vincente looked hard at her. “What do you mean?” “He seems too haughty or something like that.” “He really isn’t that way. He just keeps a tight rein on his emotions. You’ll see once you get to know him.” “That’s hardly likely to happen.” “Why? You’re a nice woman, he’s a nice man. I say you’ll be friends someday.” “I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “Just because you two got off on the wrong foot?” “Wrong foot? He was rude, and you know it.” “I think he was making the, what do you call it, the joke?” “If that was his intent, it wasn’t funny. Not in the least bit funny.” Dario approached them and said, “Why are you hiding in the corner here, Vincente? Avoiding that signorina from last week?” Vincente laughed, looked around frantically, and said, “Is she here?” Dario laughed, crossed his arms across his chest, and said, “I haven’t seen her, V.” “Don’t scare me like that, paisano.” Dario tilted his head toward Emma. “Signorina Chauncey.” “Signore Conti,” she replied. “Why so formal, you two? Dario, I can’t make Emma let you call her by her given name, but I can make you allow her to call you by yours.” “Says who?” Dario said. “Says me. You know I can whip you anytime.” “Let’s go outside, and I’ll show you who can whip who.” “Gentlemen, gentlemen. Stop it. I don’t care if Signore Conti wants me to call him Signore Conti or not. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t have to call him anything. He’s not someone I’m concerned about talking to at all.” “That seems pretty harsh, Ms. Chauncey,” said Dario with a slight smile.

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“Considering the way you spoke to me earlier and the way you glared at me across the table at dinner, I wonder that you care at all if I want to speak to you.” “Was I glaring at you? I hadn’t noticed.” “Seemed like you were.” “Seems to me that you’re too sensitive for your own good. You got angry earlier about my groomless bride remark, and then you perceived that I was glaring at you at dinner. I think you have some kind of issue with feeling like everyone is against you or something.” “Not everyone. Just you.” “Why would you think you matter at all to me?” asked Dario with a sneer. “You know what? I don’t think that, and I don’t like you one bit. I wish you would go to hell.” Emma rose from her chair. Vincente grabbed her wrist to stop her from leaving, glared at Dario, and said, “Emma, would you like to dance?” “Yes. I would love to dance. Thank you, Vincente.” Vincente led her to the dance floor and held out his arms as the band began to play a waltz. “I’m sorry my friend is being so difficult. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I want to let you know a possible reason for his behavior. His uncle is trying to get him to marry a signorina that his family has approved. He’s not happy about it at all.” “In this day and age? An arranged marriage? In Italy?” “Yeah. I know. Crazy. But it does happen.” “You know, I might understand it if he was royalty or something, but a dance instructor? C’mon, that’s ridiculous.” “Agreed, but it’s happening to him. Really.” “Why does his uncle care who he marries?” “I really couldn’t say.” “You know, we should be enjoying this dance, not talking about your friend.” “Agreed.” Vincente swirled her around the dance floor.

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Emma danced with several of the men from the town as well as the travel book writer, Gus, for the rest of the evening. When the dance was over, she saw Gwen across the room talking to Dario and groaned. Wonder if he’s her target for tonight? Gwen saw her and waved. Emma waved back and walked toward her. Gwen met her halfway across the room. “This was great fun, hey?” “Yes. I had a nice time. Find a chap to come back to the castello with you?” Emma nodded in the direction of Dario. “Him? No. He’s very handsome, but no. I did make a date for tomorrow with a gent named Tonio. He’s taking me for a bike ride and luncheon.” “Nice. Good work, my friend.” Emma laughed. “What’ll you do while I’m with Tonio?” “Probably lounge by the pool and read.” “You don’t mind me going?” “Of course not. I didn’t bring you here to babysit me. I’ll be fine.” “If you’re sure.” “I’m sure.” “Okay. Time for bed. I’m knackered,” said Gwen. “Me, too. Let’s get that ride back to the castello and go to bed.” “Yes, I agree.” **** The ride back to the castello was quick and quiet as all the passengers were exhausted from their exertions on the dance floor. When they arrived at the door to the villa, Dario got out of the vehicle first and assisted each of the women as they exited. Emma slid across the bench seat, held her hand out to be aided, and as Dario grabbed it, she gave an involuntary shiver at the warmth of his hand and the tingle that ran through her whole body at his touch. Dario noticed her shudder. “Sorry you’re repulsed by me, my

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lady.” “I’m not repulsed by you.” “I saw you cringe at my touch. Don’t deny it.” “I tell you, I’m not repulsed by you. Why are you so insufferable?” Dario threw his head back and laughed. “Do you hear yourself? In one sentence, you say you aren’t repulsed by me, and in the next, you call me insufferable. Not very consistent, are you?” “Oh, shut up,” Emma said as she grabbed Gwen by the arm and stalked off up the stairs to the honeymoon suite, the sound of Dario’s laughter ringing in her ears.

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Chapter Four Change in all things is sweet. —Aristotle (384–322 BC), Greek philosopher The next morning, breakfast was delivered to their room at eight A.M., and they enjoyed the croissants, jam, and hot coffee before dressing for the day. Gwen was excited to meet Tonio for her bike ride and had a mess all over her part of the suite as she tried to pick out an outfit. She kept running into the sitting area of the suite to get Emma’s approval. “What do you think about this one?” she asked for the fifth time. Emma, exasperated, said, “Like I told you thirty minutes ago, the first one. The red blouse with the denim skort is the best one. You look great in red with your blonde hair. Just put it on. My gosh, you act like this is the most important date of your life.” “I really like this bloke. I want him to like me.” “He must, or he wouldn’t have asked you out.” “Maybe. Now, what are you going to wear?” “Since I am just hanging out at the pool, one of my bikinis.” “Which one?” “Why does it matter? No one here to impress.” “I despair of you, Emma. There are always men to impress if you just look. And, there are several yummy men here. I saw you dancing with Gus and Vincente last night. What if either of them are at the pool?” “Gwen, I just had my heart broken less than a week ago. I’m not really in the mood for another man.”

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“See, that’s where we differ. I say you need another man to get over that louse.” “But you’ve never been engaged. You’ve never found a man that you felt strongly enough about to consider marrying. I think that’s the difference.” “Nonsense. There is another man for you, and he’ll be head and shoulders better for you than Calvin Smyth ever could be. You have to be ready to open your heart again, Em.” “I’m not closing off my heart. I’m just not going to try to lure a man right now.” Gwen looked at her watch. “Oops, gotta dash.” She ran back in her room, threw on the outfit Emma had recommended, and ran out the door of the suite, all in what seemed like one motion. As the door slammed behind her, Emma said, “You wear me out.” **** Emma lay out by the pool in her blue plaid bikini, reading the latest issue of Tatler magazine. There was an article on her father, and she smiled as she looked at his picture. He looks so happy. I never thought he’d be okay again after Mum died. She looked up to see Gus on the pool deck in his Speedo and waved him over. “Come sit with me, Gus. I’m just reading a magazine.” “I will in a minute. Just going in for a dip,” he said as he dove into the pool. Behind her, a man drawled, “Can I get an invitation to sit with you?” She turned around and paled when she saw Dario in his own Speedo that left nothing to the imagination. “If you think we can have a civil conversation, yes. If not, no.” “I didn’t hear you give Gus any such rules, signorina,” he said

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with a slight bow. “Gus has given me no cause to think he would be rude to me.” “So sad that he’s so insipid.” “Did I say he was insipid?” “No, but you inferred he was dull.” “Not being rude has nothing to do with being dull. Perhaps we have a language barrier, Signore Conti?” “There is no language barrier, signorina. I understand the English very well.” “Maybe the English language but not the English woman.” “Touché, Miss, touché.” He picked up her magazine. “What caught your attention?” She reached for the book. “Nothing to concern you.” “Now who’s rude?” He opened the magazine to the page she had been reading. “Give me that,” she demanded. “Ahh. This is your father, no?” “Yes. It is.” “The famous Chauncey. Tell me, do you have the singing voice as well?” “No. I don’t.” “Too bad. He’s an impressive singer. Wouldn’t it be nice to sing duets with him?” asked Dario. “My brothers used to sing with my dad sometimes. I never could carry a tune.” “I was sorry to hear when they died.” “Thank you. It was very difficult for my father as well as me.” “I’m sure it was. It was news even here in Italia. The great Chauncey, famous one-named singer from the 1960s and ’70s, loses his wife and two sons in a horrific polo club fire in Miami. It must have been awful for you both.” “It was,” Emma said. The tears welled in her eyes as she added, “Still is.”

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Dario placed his hand on hers. “Again, I’m sorry, and I shouldn’t have brought up such sadness today.” She looked at his hand on hers, again surprised at her reaction at his touch. “I’m okay. Really. You made me see you can be kind.” “Ah, well, then, it was worth it.” He shrugged one shoulder. She laughed. “I think I’ll cool off in the pool. Want to join me?” “Sure.” As they strolled to the edge of the pool, Emma couldn’t resist a peek at Dario in his Speedo. He looked amazing. He had a nice tan, and his chest was large and tapered down to a small waist. He had black hair on his chest but not so much that he looked grotesque. He had just the right amount of hair, and it also tapered down toward his...She stopped her thoughts there and blushed. His legs were muscular and had lots of curly black hair. Now I really need to cool off. They both dove into the pool, and as she swam laps, she noticed that he was keeping pace with her stroke for stroke. She was surprised, as she was a former competitive swimmer and she could still outswim most people of her age and certainly most people older than her, which she was sure he was. They each swam twenty laps and stopped at the deep end of the pool at the same time and held on to the side. Dario said, “You swim well for an English girl.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked in a huff. “Now, don’t go getting angry. You are a very prickly person, aren’t you? All I meant was that our climate and our seas are warmer than yours. That’s all. No insult intended.” “You do know my entire country is an island, don’t you?” “I think I must bring out the worst in you, signorina. Of course I know your country is an island. I have even been to your little island. More than once, even.” He lifted one eyebrow as he looked at her. “I’m sorry. I’m still a bit off-kilter over my broken romance. Forgive me for being shrewish?”

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“Only if you allow me the privilege of calling you Emma. Such a lovely name it is.” “Of course you can, and it was churlish of me not to allow it last night.” He laughed. “Yes. It was.” She swatted at his arm as he hung on the side of the pool, and he suddenly hoisted himself up to sit on the pool deck. She looked up at him as he sat there. God, look at those dark, muscular thighs. He offered his hand. “Need assistance?” She placed her feet on the pool wall, and ignoring his hand, pulled herself partially out of the water and lost her balance. As she was about to fall backward into the water, he grabbed her forearm with his right hand and pulled. He placed his left hand on her bottom to give her a boost out of the water. She blushed at his touch. My God. His hand feels as hot as a poker to my skin, even through the fabric of my suit. Out of the pool, she said, in a quavering voice, “Thanks, I guess I needed help after all.” He smiled. “Can I bring you a drink?” “Sure. Just some sparkling water.” “Lauretana?” “Yes. That would be brilliant.” “Be right back.” Emma walked back to her lounge chair where she had left her towel and magazine and sat down hard. What the hell was that? As soon as he touched me, I wanted him to kiss me and never stop. What is wrong with me? He’s so overbearing. I don’t even like him. Why did I almost lose it when he touched me? “Emma? You all right?” Shaken out of her reverie, she looked up into Dario’s eyes. “I’m fine. Just too much sun. I think I’ll go up for a lie down.”

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“Don’t forget your glacier water.” He handed her the bottle. She took it from him, careful not to touch his hand. “Thanks. I’m sure it’ll help me cool off after all the sun.” “I enjoyed our swim, Emma.” “So did I. I was surprised you could pace me for all the laps.” “I grew up in a pool. Perhaps I can challenge you again later in the week?” “Perhaps. Please excuse me for now,” she replied. She was desperate to get away from him and his too masculine presence in his Speedo. He disturbed her very much. She fairly flew up the stairs to her suite and didn’t stop to breathe until she had slammed the door behind her. She took a hot shower, but it was a long time before she calmed down. **** By the time Gwen returned from her date with Tonio, Emma was dressed for the evening in her coral lace gown. She sat on the sofa in the suite still in a daze from her swim with Dario. The frock she wore had a liner of dark coral satin covered in a slightly darker coral knitted over dress. The neckline was more demure than the white dress she wore the previous evening. The coral frock was also new for Emma’s trousseau, and she had searched long and hard for the perfect shoes to match the color but had had to settle for a pair of bonecolored sandals as there was no coral to be had in all of London. She sighed as she sat and waited for Gwen to return. She tried to keep her mind off her visceral reaction to Dario’s touch by bemoaning the fact that she had no coral shoes. Gwen came breezing in about fifteen minutes before dinner was to be served. Her hair was mussed, and her smile was huge. As she waltzed into the suite, Emma said, “Nice lunch?” “Oh, gawd, yea. He’s marvelous.” She plopped down in the chair across from Emma.

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“He must be since I believe luncheon would have been over several hours ago.” “The day just got past us. Oh, Emma. He’s brilliant. Just brilliant.” “I’m sure he is, but you’re going to be late to dinner.” “Would you mind if I didn’t come down? I’m wiped out and really want a shower and a lie down.” “Of course I don’t mind. I was hoping to get some details about your day. But I guess it can wait.” Gwen danced around the room. “I’m in heaven, and I promise all the details when you get back up here from dinner, but I need to skip the formalities tonight.” “All right then. I’m going. I’m going.” Emma rose from the couch. “Hey. Sorry I didn’t ask about your day. I see you were in the sun. You have a bit of redness across your nose. It looks cute.” “Shoot, I thought I covered that with makeup.” “Na. But it looks sweet.” “Bah. Sweet, my butt. See you later.” “Bye now. Have fun. I feel for you having to sit across from the odious Signore Conti. Did you ask Vincente to move you? Hey, you could sit in my spot.” “Oh. He’s not so bad,” Emma replied. “Huh? What’d I miss?” “Nothing. He was just nice to me at the pool.” “Nice? That one?” “Like you said, I’m late, and I’ll give you details later,” Emma said as she ducked the pillow Gwen threw at her as she went out the door of the suite. **** That night, there were less people in the dining room. Emma was

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able to relax and enjoy the meal. Dario was seated across the table from her again, and after their afternoon in the pool, he seemed more relaxed as well. The conversation of the few guests at the table was spirited and easy. Over the main course of veal piccata, they discussed the wonderful weather and the many activities they had each enjoyed during the day. Gus said to Vincente, “I think I’m going to have a lot to say about what your castello resort and vineyard have to offer the tourist. The food and wine have been divine, and the amenities are great. The nearness of the sea is also a draw for my readers.” “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself and will be recommending my villa,” replied Vincente. Gus said, “I especially enjoyed my swim today. Even after Miss Chauncey and Senore Conti decided to compete by swimming laps against each other, I had plenty of room still to enjoy my rather more leisurely swim.” Emma, embarrassed, said, “Oh. I’m so sorry if we got in your way. I didn’t intend to race Senore Conti, it just happened. And please, call me Emma.” Dario lifted one eyebrow, looked over at her, and said, “Emma, you are supposed to be calling me ‘Dario’ not Senore Conti. Did you forget?” “No.” She blushed. “I was referring to you in the same manner as Mr. Phillips did.” Gus said, “Please call me Gus. Both of you.” Dario inclined his head regally at Gus. “You may call me Dario.” Vincente looked at the three of them. “I feel like I’m back in the 1800s. You’re all so formal with each other.” They all laughed at Vincente’s comment as they each secretly agreed that the conversation had taken off in an inane direction. After dessert, Vincente offered his arm to Emma. “Will you join me for a stroll on the terrazza?” “Sure. I need to walk off that wonderful zabaglione. I tell you,

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I’m going to gain a stone while I’m here if I don’t stop eating all this wonderful food.” “You’d still look lovely even with the extra weight.” “Sure. You say that now.” She laughed and punched his arm. As they strolled out past the terrazza toward the vineyard, Vincente said, “I hope you’re enjoying your time with us even though it was not what you wanted for yourself.” “I’m actually doing pretty well, considering that my whole life fell apart less than a week ago. I feel a bit guilty for not feeling sadder at my loss, if you can follow what I mean.” “I think I do follow. Perhaps you had a lucky escape, and your heart knows it even if your mind doesn’t recognize it yet.” “Hadn’t thought of it that way, but you could be right. By the way, did you have a reason to ask me out here or did you just want my company?” “I confess, a little of both. I enjoy your company, but I wanted to warn you that my own fiancée will be here tomorrow...” “Warn me? Why?” She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him with a look of incredulity on her face. “You see, she’s a huge fan of your father’s, and she might do something embarrassing.” Emma laughed. “Oh, good grief, don’t worry about that. We get that all the time. It has been a part of my life for so long, I don’t even notice it anymore. Please, put your mind at ease. I’ll have Pops send her a signed photo. What’s her name?” “I’m so glad you understand. I didn’t want her bothering a guest, but I didn’t want to upset her either.” “Yes, I think I can see your dilemma. Fear not.” Emma laughed again. Dario walked up to them. “Vincente, Celia is on il telefono.” Vincente bowed to Emma. “There’s mia amore now. Would you please excuse me?” “Sure. Sure. Go.” She waved him away with her hand.

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Dario said, “May I take the place of my paisano and escort you?” “Paisano? I can understand who his amore is, but what is a paisano?” “Paisano means pal or friend.” “Aha. I like that,” said Emma. “Paisano.” “I should like very much to call you mia paisana.” “Sure. I’d be happy to be your friend,” she said as they continued on the walk she had started with Vincente. “That’s nice,” Dario said. “May I take your arm and escort you over to look at the best view of the vineyards on the entire estate?” “Sure.” “You may want to take off your shoes as there is a spot we must cross that could break the heel.” “That would be okay. I don’t really care for this pair anyway. I’m only wearing them because I couldn’t find a pair to match the dress. Made me mad. No coral shoes in all of London...” She stopped short. “Oops, sorry. That’s more of a conversation to have with a girlfriend.” She tittered a bit as she realized she had prattled on. “Quite all right. It’s no matter. Maybe we should wait and take the path when you have on a more casual shoe, but I’d hate for you to miss the full moon over the vineyard. There’s nothing like it in the world.” “Sounds heavenly.” She giggled. “Sorry. Didn’t mean that—you know, heavenly and moon.” God. Why does he make me natter on like a fool? He must think I’m a moron. “You, I think, had too much vino at dinner, Emma. You’re being quite silly.” “Well, excuse me. So sorry. If I’m too silly, just go away and be haughty on your own.” “I meant no offense. Why are you so prickly all the time?” he asked. “I dunno. I guess you just bring out the worst in me.” He whispered, “Why do you think that is? Are you attracted to me

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and fighting it?” “Oh. Please. What makes you think that?” “The fact that you react every time I touch you.” “React? I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,” she huffed. He stopped, reached out, and touched her face. “Like this. You flinch as soon as I touch you.” “Did it occur to you that I might be flinching in revulsion? Or are you so arrogant that you believe every woman wants you?” He leaned in to her and whispered, “Not every woman wants me, but I think the one in front of me does.” She looked at him, turned on her heel, and stalked off. When she got to the area near the stone wall where there was a break in the trees, she stopped still at the sight of the full moon hanging over the vineyard. She took a deep breath at the beauty of the scene. They stood in the same spot where she had seen Dario for the first time the day before when she had the thought that he was lonely. She felt, rather than saw, him come up behind her as she stood there amazed at the scene. He was standing very close behind her, and she could feel his breath on the back of her neck and upper back. She was disquieted by his nearness. He touched her elbow and leaned into her back and said into her ear, his words a caress, “Il sangue nelle mie bolle con passione per te.” Emma turned to him. “What did you just say?” “Nothing.” “You did. It was Italian, and I want to know what it meant.” “Nothing. I’ll tell you someday.” “Tell me now.” She stomped her foot. In answer, he slipped his arms around her waist. He bent her back and kissed her on the collarbone. She groaned at the touch of his hot lips on her skin. At the sound, he pulled her even closer and captured her mouth with his and plundered the depths of her with his kiss. She sagged against him and almost fell down with the heat of the passion

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that engulfed her. She would have fallen but for the strength of his arms holding her. When he finally released her from the kiss, she said, “My God. What was that?” “That, cara mia, was passion. Pure passion. Have you never felt it?” “Not like that.” She sighed. “Not even with the elusive fiancé?” “Not even then.” “Why agree to marry a man that can’t excite your passions?” “I didn’t say he didn’t excite me.” “Oh, yes, you did, cara. You did.” He laughed softly in her ear. “Why are you calling me cara?” “Do you know any Italian at all?” He smiled, paused, and added, “It means dear.” “Oh.” She sighed again. “I see.” “I wonder if you do see.” “Huh?” she asked. “Never mind. But tell me, can you now deny that you want me?” “I guess it would be hard to deny it after that kiss, but I don’t plan to act on it.” “Why? You have no ties? Correct?” “No. I have no ties, but I do still feel tied to my fiancé.” “What better way to untie him than to make love to me?” he asked. After a pause, he added, “Why the loyalty to such a man as he?” “I don’t know. But I do know I’m not a casual sex kind of girl.” “Who said it would be casual?” he asked. “Please, Dario. You barely know me. How could it be anything other than casual?” “I may not know you very well, but I’m sure I want to know you much better, piccola.” “Dario, I’m going upstairs now. Alone.” She tried to pull away

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from him. He pulled her to him again and rested his chin on the top of her head. “I’ll let you go only because you ask. I’d never ask you to make love to me if you didn’t want to. I will promise you this, though, when you’re ready, you’ll ask me, and I’ll be there. Anytime. Anywhere.” “You may be waiting a long time, Dario.” “I don’t think so,” he replied as he kissed her on the top of the head and released her. She walked away without looking back at him. She felt the heat of his stare as she walked away. She fought the urge to look back. She fought the urge to turn and run into his arms. She fought her urges and herself all the way up the stairs to her suite.

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Chapter Five Short is the joy that guilty pleasures bring. —Euripides (484–406 BC), Greek tragic dramatist After a sleepless night where the bedclothes lost their battle to remain off the floor and on the bed where they belonged, Emma groaned as the sun peeked through the blinds. She grabbed the pillow and slammed it over her head and turned over to try to sleep. Just a few minutes. I’m so tired. A second later, Gwen bounced in and flopped down on the bed and said, “I’ve been listening to hear you stir. What a great day. I’m so happy you brought me with you. I love Italy...” “For the love of God, would you quit nattering on?” “Ooh, someone is testy today.” Gwen giggled and swatted Emma on the rear. “Ya think?” Emma sat up, her hair wild, and glared at Gwen. “What happened last night? What’d I miss? What upset you?” “Oh, Gwen, Nothing bad happened. Dario kissed me...” “Ooh, lovely. Go on, go on,” Gwen urged her. “Oh, stop. Nothing else to tell.” “Sure. Sure. I believe that. Why so surly then?” “His kiss caused me a sleepless night, is all,” Emma replied. Gwen fell over on the mattress, threw her feet in the air, kicked them about, and laughed loudly. “Oh. God, Emma. Only you would fret up here all night over the man. You should have gotten yourself up, went to his room, and banged on his door and then banged him all night.”

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“You’re so vulgar. Why do I even like you?” Emma asked. “Because I’m so witty and charming?” “That must be it because its not because you have any morals.” “You know, Emma, you should’ve been born in another century with all your ideas about morality.” “I know. I know.” She sighed. “Wish I could change that.” “Just do it. Go downstairs right now. Well, maybe after a shower and a toothbrush. Then, go find that man and tell him you want him,” Gwen said. “Interestingly enough, the last thing he said to me last night was that I’d be asking him to make love to me, and I told him he would be waiting a long time for that. He said he didn’t believe it would be long at all. So how can I march down there this morning and prove him right?” “Even better that he’s expecting it.” “No. It’s not. It’s worse because the insufferable man will know he was right, and he’ll never let me forget it.” “You’re killing me here. Listen to you. You want the man, and he is ready to have you, and you’re setting up crazy barriers. Just go for it. It’s not forever. It’s a day or two or a week. What better way to get Calvin exorcised than to shag a hunky Latin guy with a beard? Further from blond, British, sallow Cal, you couldn’t get.” “That part, at least, is true. All right. I’ll do it. After my shower, I’ll find him, and you need to just stay away from the suite as we will be all over it, using every surface.” Gwen burst out laughing again. “Yeah, sure. I believe that.” “Go away. I’m going to shower.” “I’m gone. Tonio and I are going into Milan to shop and have lunch.” “If this lunch lasts as long as yesterday’s, I’ll see you tonight.” “I hope not. He’s got a flat in the city, and I’m hoping to be invited to stay. Then, you and Dario can have all the surfaces to shag on that you want.”

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Emma threw a pillow at Gwen’s back as she waltzed out of the bedroom, trailed by her laughter. **** When Emma reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw a tall woman with dark brown hair with red highlights. The woman stood in the atrium. She was a stunning creature, and as Emma approached her, Vincente came through the door leading to his office, swept the woman into his arms, and gave her a hug. Emma turned to walk in the other direction to give them some privacy. Vincente noticed her over the shoulder of the woman he had in his arms and said, “Emma. Come meet my fiancé.” Emma walked over to them, and Vincente said, “Celia Lamolinara, meet Emma Chauncey.” Celia’s eyes lit up. “It is such nice…I mean, so nice to meet you. I have loved your father’s singing for so long. I own all his recordings. I’m too happy to make your acquaintance.” Emma, charmed by Celia’s accent and attempt to speak proper English, said, “I’m also glad to meet you. I told Vincente I’d have my pops send you a signed picture when he told me you’re a fan.” “Ooh. I would be so forever grateful for that.” Celia clasped her hands to her chest. Emma turned to Vincente. “I don’t want to interrupt you or hold you up, but I’m looking for Dario. Have you seen him today?” “Oh, Dio. Dario, he is attraente…I mean, handsome, yes?” said Celia. Vincente said, “Hey. Stop that, I thought I was your attraente amore.” “Ahh, mio amore, you are, you are. But it cannot be denied that Dario is handsome, no?” Celia kissed Vincente on the cheek. Feeling distinctly redundant, Emma asked again, “Dario? Where is he?”

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“Oh. Sorry, Emma,” said Vincente. “He got called into Milan on business this morning and to luncheon with his mother and uncle. Why? Did you need something? Can I help you with it?” “No. He and I had a conversation last night, and I just wanted to finish our discussion. I’ll catch up with him later.” “Okay, then. I’m going to settle Celia in, and I’ll be around if you need me.” Emma walked away from them, puzzled. What kind of business calls a dance instructor back to the city in the middle of his vacation? A mambo emergency? She giggled. **** Emma spent the day tucked up on a bench in the arbor reading a novel. The day passed slowly for her, which caused her some consternation. She caught herself looking at her watch throughout the day and started at every noise she heard, hoping it was Dario. How is it that I can miss a man that I’ve known for two days and that I spent the first day despising? How crazy is that when I just lost my fiancé? I’m an idiot. Around four o’clock in the afternoon as she went up the main staircase to her room, she thought she heard a helicopter. When she got to her room, she heard the sound again and walked to the window to peek out over the front lawn to see what the noise was. She was surprised to see a helicopter flying low over the outbuildings. It had a gold and blue logo on the side. As it rose to fly away, she thought she saw Dario walking across the yard to the main entrance of the castello. He was dressed in a suit and carried a briefcase. Curious. Why a helicopter to come back in? Wouldn’t that be expensive to rent? She shrugged off her questions and dressed for dinner. Tonight,

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she decided to wear the new navy blue jersey knit dress. It had a short gored skirt that flipped when she walked. The front of the dress was cut high on the neck and draped a bit at the collar. The back was the stunning part of the dress. It was cut in such a way that it exposed almost all of her back. She loved the fact that the front the dress was demure, and when she left the room, people would gasp at the amount of skin exposed. She hoped so anyway. She giggled as she put it on and smoothed the front. Wonder if Signore Conti will like this frock? A knock on the door pulled her from her reverie, and she rushed to the main room of the suite to open the door. In the hallway stood a young man with an envelope. He held it out to her. “Signorina, mi scusi, annotazione per voi.” “For me?” she asked. “Sì.” He nodded. She took the envelope from his hand. “Thank you.” He nodded and dashed down the hallway. She turned back to the room and noted the nice thickness and texture of the envelope with her name in slashed writing on the front. She slit it open carefully and opened the thick folded note paper. Inside was the message. Emma, Come to the conservatory. I missed you today, piccola mia. D The signature D was slashed across the page boldly, almost cutting into the paper. She said to the empty room, “Even his signature is arrogant. Just a D across the page like he’s the only person on the planet with that initial.” She slipped on her navy pumps, ran her hand through her hair, and left the room to find the conservatory and the man that both intrigued and irked her at the same time. She was in such a rush to see him, she almost ran down the hallway and the stairs. She slowed only when she saw the couple from Brighton ahead, and she didn’t want to look

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like she was sprinting. In pumps no less. When she got to the conservatory, she was shocked to see how it had been transformed from the first time she had seen it when she and Gwen had explored the estate. The plants were all still there, but there was a space cleared in the center with a round table covered in a white cloth set for dinner for two. There were lit candles placed all around the room, and the glow was very seductive. The door of the conservatory leading to the orangery opened, and Dario walked in holding two limes in his hands, and he smiled at her. His smile nearly took her breath way, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to walk away from him tonight. “Did you have a nice day, Emma?” he asked. “I did. I read a book and relaxed. What did you do?” “I went to Milano to dine with my mother and uncle. It was not pleasant.” He laid the limes on the table. “I’m sorry it wasn’t nice. What I wouldn’t give to have a meal with my mother.” “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me.” “No, Dario. Please don’t start mincing words with me now. You never have before. Always say what you mean to me.” “So, there will be an always?” “As much of an always as anyone can anticipate.” “Oh, Emma, that was very philosophical there.” “Do shut up.” Dario came around to the side of the table where she stood. “I’ve taken the liberty of having dinner served to us here in the conservatory. Please be seated, and the chicken sorrentino will be served.” He pulled out her chair, and she sat. “What’s in chicken sorrentino? I’ve never had it.” “It’s chicken, eggplant, two kinds of wine, and mushrooms.” “It sounds divine,” she said. “Why the limes?” “I had the chef pour some marsala in a pitcher, and I like to add lime juice to it as a aperitivo. Would you like to try it?”

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“Sure.” He took a knife from the table and cut the limes open. As he squeezed the limes and smiled at her, she felt her insides melt at the intensity of his stare. His dark brown eyes were bottomless, and she knew she could lose herself in them and never want to come up for air. His hands were strong and capable as they pulverized the limes, and she blushed to think what those hands could do to her body. “How do you say it…‘a penny for your thoughts,’ Emma?” he asked. “I have no thoughts.” He laughed. “So, you’re just sitting there watching me and your mind is blank?” “Of course not. It’s just that I’m really just relaxing and have no specific thoughts.” “Sure, cara, sure.” He smiled again at her. Thankfully, the young man that had brought Emma the note earlier brought in the plates of food at that very moment, and she was spared having to come up with a plausible story of what she had been thinking. Wonder what he would say if I told him I was thinking of those big strong hands squeezing my… “Emma, are you all right?” Dario asked, interrupting her thoughts. “Fine. Fine,” she replied as she picked up her fork and took a bite of the chicken. The food was delicious, and Dario seemed to be on a charm offensive with her as he told her stories of his childhood days with Vincente and their adventures at the estate when they were on holiday from school. Once the plates had been cleared, Dario stood. “I’ve brought in an old Victrola and would love for you to dance with me. We didn’t get a chance at the town party, and as dancing is my passion, I’d like to share it with you. Will you?” He stood and took off his dinner jacket. The white dress shirt he had on clung to his body. He held his hand

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out to her, and she rose from her chair and took his hand in her own. They walked over to the Victrola, and Dario picked out a Viennese waltz by Strauss and put it on the turntable to play. As the scratchy sounds came from the machine, he held out his arms to Emma, and she moved into his dance space, and they began the first steps of the waltz. As soon as Dario touched her back, he stopped short. He spun her around to face away from him. “Nice dress, Emma. I’m glad your seamstress ran out of fabric and couldn’t finish the back.” “Very funny, Signore Conti.” She shuddered at his touch. “Come here, woman,” he said in a low voice as he pulled her to him again. They danced until the song ended. After the song ended, they stared into each others eyes and kept dancing as Dario hummed until the candles sputtered and went out. At some point, Dario’s hand on her back changed from the waltz position to a caress. She pulled herself closer to him as his hand ran up and down her back and eventually inside the fabric of the dress around to the side of her breast. As soon as his fingers touched her breast, she stopped moving. He stopped as well and, as his thumb inside her dress thrummed her nipple, he bent and kissed her. She groaned, and he said, “Will you go alone again to your bed tonight, bella mia?” “No. I don’t think so, but I don’t think I can move right now to go anywhere.” “No matter, bella, I’m not sure I can either. My passione is inflamed for you.” “I know.” He smiled. “You noticed?” “Of course.” “What are we going to do about this?” he asked as he looked down at himself. “I’m not sure. Are we alone?” “Quite,” he replied as he kissed her again. As his tongue

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plundered her mouth, he slid his hand that was not on her back up her thigh and under her skirt to her rear. She pressed her hips against his, and it was his turn to groan. His hand continued its exploration of her bottom and into her panties. She whimpered as his finger entered her, and he took her gently to the floor of the conservatory. Somehow, her panties were off, and he was inside her. She was a little dizzy at how fast it had happened, but it was a wonderful sensation. He plunged into her over and over, murmuring in Italian, and she reached climax very quickly. He was right behind her with his own climax. As they each gasped for air, she said, “Wow. That was something. How’d you get out of your pants that fast?” “If you look, bella, you’ll see I’m not. I haven’t had such rushed sex since I was a teenager. I just couldn’t wait to be in you. I’m still fully clothed. I’m sorry that I didn’t take the time for a condom, I don’t think I could have. I promise next time will be better.” “Dario, that was spectacular.” “Ahh, but you see, I can do so much better.” “I look forward to that.” He said, “Let’s go upstairs and spend the night together exploring each other, and I shall show you what spectacular really is.” **** Dario stood and held his hand out to Emma. He helped her off the floor of the conservatory. While he zipped his trousers, she straightened her dress and bent to retrieve her panties. As soon as she stood up, he took them from her and tucked them in his pocket. “Thanks for those. I’ll treasure them forever, cara.” Emma slapped him on the shoulder. “No, you’ll give them back.” “No. I don’t think that will happen,” he took her hand, “C’mon, let’s go to your room so I can ravish you some more.” Emma smiled, “how can I turn down such an offer?” He looked down at her, “how can you, indeed?” He tugged her

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hand and they left the conservatory. They made it to the lobby without seeing anyone and went up the stairs to her room. She unlocked the door. As soon as she opened it, Dario turned and swept her into his arms. He carried her into the room and kicked the door shut with his heel. He continued through the sitting area to the bedroom. He tossed her on the bed and fell across it on top of her. She gasped as he started to nibble on the side of her neck. His hand slid up one side of her dress to her naked bottom and he cupped her cheek in his hand. “See how nice it is that I have your panties in my possession, darling Emma?” “I guess it is nice.” She ran her hand over his chest and kissed his throat that was exposed by his open collar. He lifted his head and looked at her, “you guess?” She laughed, “yes.” In answer, he slid down the bed and grabbed her right leg at the calf. He slid his hand up very slowly as he rained kisses on her. “I’ll make you know for sure. No more guessing, cara.” He kissed her leg until he got to the top of her thigh. She murmured, “ok, you convinced me, you can keep the panties. This is nice.” “Nice?” he growled as he took possession of her with his mouth. His tongue found the right spot and she writhed in ecstasy. She ran her hands over his shoulders. “Can you lose the shirt? I want to feel your skin.” He let go of her long enough to rip his shirt off and toss it to the floor. He went right back to what he was doing. Emma ran her hands over his shoulders again and onto his head. She murmured, “You ever think of growing your hair out? It might look nice a little longer.” He leaned his chin on her pubic mound and looked up at her, “you have a strange idea of what lovers should say in the middle of making

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love, Emma.” She blushed, “just asking.” He grinned, “I think I like you, Miss Emma Chauncey, my groomless bride.” She swatted him on the head. He suddenly sat up. He leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed his shirt from the floor. “Did I make you mad? Are you leaving?” Dario leaned over and kissed her on the lips. “No. But I need to go back to my room and get some condoms if I’m going to stay here much longer. I have a feeling I’m going to need quite a few.” He raised one eyebrow. “You can be getting rid of that dress while I’m gone.” She sat up and pushed him back down on the bed. “Stay there. I know exactly where we can get condoms right here.” “You came to Italy without a groom but with condoms?” She slapped him on the chest. “No. My friend keeps a supply.” “A wild woman, huh?” “No, just a prepared one.” Emma hopped off the bed and went to Gwen’s room to grab some condoms. When she got back to her own room, she stopped short in the doorway as the sight that greeted her. Dario was sitting on the bed, nude. Spectacularly nude. She’d thought he looked magnificent at the pool, but the full effect had been lost by the suit he wore. “Emma, you still have on your dress. Do you need help?” “What kind of help did you have in mind?” He stood and stalked over to her. He took the condoms out of her hand, turned and laid them on the foot of the bed. He then turned her around and kissed her on the back. As his tongue slid down her spine, he slid the dress off the front of her shoulders and down to the floor. When the dress was pooled at her feet, he put his arm around her waist and lifted her off the floor. He pulled her back against him and she could feel the hardness of his chest and thighs, to say nothing of

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his penis pressing into her back. He dragged her backwards to the bed and lay down with her on top of him. He ran his hands across her abdomen and up to her breasts. His large hands engulfed her breasts and he teased her nipples with his thumbs. Then his left hand slid down and his fingers went inside her. Emma moaned, “Dario, please-“ “Please what?” He kept up his assault of her body. “Please let me look at you.” “You don’t like this?” “I do. But I want to look at you as we make love.” In one movement, he flipped her off him and over onto her back. “Better?” She nodded, “better.” He looked at her body as she lay on the bed. “You’re more lovely than I imagined you’d be.” He ran his hand up and down her abdomen and leaned in to take her left breast in his mouth. While he laved her nipple, his other hand took her right nipple and tweaked the nub. She moaned and ran her hands down to try to reach his erection. He moved her hand away, “not yet, cara, not yet.” He continued to lave her left breast as his hand snaked down and cupped her buttock. He then slid his other hand down to take her other buttock and buried his face in her. As he licked her most intimate parts, Emma ran her hands up and down his back. She arched her spine to press herself closer to his lips. His lips that were driving her insane. Just when she thought she would explode with her need for him, he grabbed one of the condoms from the foot of the bed, opened the package and slid the condom on. As soon as it was on, he thrust into her. All the way to his balls. She gasped as he slid out and then slammed back into her. Over and over. It seemed like the exquisite torture would never end. She grabbed his buttocks and held on as he continued to move in her until

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they were both climbing over the edge to climax. Emma was the first to go over the edge and Dario was right behind her. They lay spent in each other’s arms for several minutes. Dario was the first to recover and he rolled off her and pulled her head over to lay on his chest. “That was beautiful, cara. Such passion you have.” “You keep saying that.” “Because it’s true.” “I never thought so. I’ve never been made love to like you make love.” “You don’t know how sad and yet how happy that makes me, Emma.” She looked up from his chest and into his eyes, “what do you mean?” “I mean that I’m sorry you’ve lived this long without such joy in your life, but I’m glad to be the man that awakened it in you.” She sighed, “that’s nice.” He kissed the top of her head. “Rest, mia amore, rest now. For later, we shall share more joy and passion.” She closed her eyes and did as he said. **** Emma woke in her bed in the suite. She stretched out in satisfaction. What a night. Dario didn’t lie about his skills. Her hand stretched out to the left side of the bed. She expected to find him beside her and was disappointed to find his side of the bed empty. As she wondered what happened, the door of the bedroom opened, and Dario, dressed in a pair of pajama bottoms, entered carrying a tray with two pots of coffee, two cups, and a pile of cornetto. He smiled and raised one eyebrow. “I had these delivered. I thought perhaps you had worked up an appetite last night, tesorino.” “I did.” She blushed as she sat up, and the bedcovers fell to

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expose her breasts. “Did you?” “Oh, sì, I did. I did. And to return to such seno bellissimo is a wonderful reward for my efforts to get breakfast.” “What is a seno bellissimo?” “Your beautiful breasts,” he said with a pointed stare at her nakedness. She groaned, then pulled the covers back up and over her head as she flopped back onto the bed, embarrassed that she hadn’t even realized she was on display for him like some harlot. He placed the tray on the bedside table and sat down on the bed. He pulled the cover off her face and breasts and smiled at her, his gaze traveling slowly down from her eyes to her navel. She tried to pull the covers back to her, and he held them off in an iron grip. She started to twist away, and he leaned in toward her and whispered, “Cara mia, I have seen you all night. Why the embarrassment?” He planted a kiss on her nipple. “I don’t know. I’ve always been modest, and your eyes seem to bore through me, and it makes me uncomfortable.” “Ah. But you are lovely, and I enjoy looking at you. What about the first night at dinner when you wore the white dress casually exposing your cleavage? You weren’t modest then, were you?” “That was a dress I bought to seduce my soon to be husband, and I had to wear it to show myself that I could. I had to put it on that night, or I might never have worn it. I didn’t think it immodest as it covered all the relevant parts.” He threw his head back and laughed. “Relevant parts? That dress left nothing to the imagination, piccola. I don’t know if you noticed, but I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” “I did notice, but I thought you were glaring at me.” “Oh. No. I was fascinated. Fascinated.” “Really?” she asked. “Really, Emma. You’re a beautiful woman. You must know that.” “No. I’m not beautiful, Dario. I’m ordinary.”

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“Is that what your former fiancé told you?” “No. He didn’t say that,” she replied with a shake of her head. “But you think it because he betrayed you?” The tears streaming down her face, she could do nothing but nod at him, and he reached down to enfold her in his arms. He held her as she cried, and as he did so, the door between the living area and the bedroom of the suite slammed back against the wall. Dario looked up at the sound and standing in the doorway was a thin blond man with the bellboy behind him. The bellboy said, “Sir, sir, you can’t go in there.” “Be gone, boy! This is my fiancé’s room, and I can go in.” Dario released Emma, stood, and in a haughty tone, said, “The brideless groom, I presume?” This comment sent Emma into hysterical peals of laughter. First she was the groomless bride and now Calvin was the brideless groom. Calvin? What was he doing here? She suddenly sobered and pulled the blanket over her nudity. “Well, well. What do we have here?” sneered Calvin as he took in the scene before him. The state of dishabille of the occupants of the room and the state of the bedclothes and the breakfast things were a pretty good indication of what had happened in the room. “What does it appear it is, signore?” Dario asked in a dangerous tone. “That my fiancé is cheating on me with some goombah.” “Figlio di puttana.” Dario snarled. “Get out of here. Now.” “Not until I talk to Emma,” Calvin said. “You will talk to Emma when I say you can talk to Emma,” Dario said icily. “Excuse me?” Emma practically shouted at Dario. “No one, and I mean no one, tells me to whom I may speak. Both of you can leave. Right now. And take the bellman with you.” Dario turned to her. “I would not leave you, Emma.” “You will, Dario. Both of you will leave, and once I’ve showered,

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I’ll come downstairs and speak to you, Calvin. Wait for me in the bar, Cal.” “And I, Emma? Where should I wait?” Dario asked with a shrug. “Dario, I don’t know. I don’t.” She shook her head. Dario bowed to her. “In one hour, I shall be in the conservatory. If you wish, you may see me there. If not, I’ll return to Milano.” He turned on his heel and strode from the room, dignified despite being dressed only in silk pajama bottoms. “What’re you doing with that wop?” snarled Calvin. “I might not want you back now that you’ve been despoiled by that.” “Get out of here, you bastard!” she screamed as the threw the water glass from the bedside table at him. “You and your lover need to get more creative in your insults as you both called me the same thing. I’ll see you downstairs in thirty minutes, or I’ll be back up here.” As he left the room, she said, “We both called you the same thing because that’s what you are.” **** She came downstairs, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, just outside of the thirty-minute deadline set by Calvin. He was in the bar area, drinking a Guinness. She walked over, sat across from him, and, without preamble, said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing here? I told you I was done with you. I meant it.” “I followed you because I wanted to apologize to you and try to work this out. And what do I find? You in bed with a Latin.” “So what? You got your leg over with my friend, Natasha. My friend, Calvin, my friend.” Her voice shook as the tears threatened again. “See, you still care about me. You’re almost in tears.” “These are not tears over you, you stupid ass. These are tears of anger. Every time I think about that scene on the floor of my flat

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where my world fell apart, I get so angry at your treatment of me that I want to strike you or Natasha, or the nearest wall.” In a soft voice, Calvin said, “You know you still love me, Emma. You can’t turn it off in a week.” “Cal, even if I thought I was still in love with you, the minute you came in that room upstairs and showed yourself for the racist that you are, all that imagining I had been wronged by you and that you were the love of my life was over. I have even less use for you than before. I can’t tolerate racism in any form.” “You think I’m a racist?” he asked, incredulous. “You are, Calvin Smyth. That’s clearer now than anything I know about you. And I think perhaps I never knew you at all.” “I’m not a racist, and I’m going to prove it to you.” “You aren’t going to prove anything to me. I plan to never see you again. Period. You need to leave. Now.” “You can’t mean it. After all we’ve been to each other?” he asked. “What exactly have we been to each other, Cal? Nothing. Less than nothing, even. I made a good escape. It would’ve been a huge mistake to marry you.” She rose and took a step away from the table. He grabbed her arm as she stepped away. “Don’t you walk away from me, Emma. Don’t you dare.” “I’ve already walked away. You just still see me.” “Nice. So, you’re choosing that Italian over me?” he asked. “No. I’m not choosing anyone. I’m only choosing not to be with you.” “You do know that Latins are known to love them and leave them, right?” “And you didn’t?” “I didn’t leave you, Emma,” he whispered. “Yes. You did. You may be able to delude yourself that you didn’t but the minute you stuck your penis in Natasha, you left me.” “Nice language, Emma.” “It is a penis, Cal. That’s the word for it.” She shook his hand off

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her arm and strode toward the conservatory. He yelled after her, “This isn’t over! Not by a long shot.” She ignored him and dashed down the hallway to the conservatory. When she reached the door, she flung it open and ran into the room. It was empty.

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Chapter Six He is a man of courage who does not run away, but remains at his post and fights against the enemy. —Socrates (469–399 BC), Greek philosopher She finally sat down in dismay in the pool area after her dash around the castello in her quest to find Dario. When she asked at the front desk to ring his room, the clerk on duty told her that Signore Conti had called for a car to take him to Milano. She’d reeled from the desk, wandered over to the pool deck and sat in one of the chairs. She was alone for a few minutes until Celia, Vincente’s fiancé, sat in the chaise next to her. Celia said, “You look very sad, Emma. What has happened?” “Oh, nothing. I’m fine.” “Amica mia. Sorry, I mean, my friend. Oops. Can I call you friend?” “Sure. I hope we can be friends,” Emma replied. “Well, amica, you look like you have lost the only friend you have. I hate to see you so sad. Can I help?” “No. I just have the blues. My friend that came with me is in Milan for the day, and I’m a little sad.” “I did hear you ask for Dario at the desk. Seems you’re always looking for Dario. That was also your, how you say, task? When I met you, sì?” Celia asked with a smile. “I was. That makes you pity me, huh? Chasing a man?” “No, I don’t think that. Perhaps he’s someone you like to spend time with. Who am I to judge?”

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“You know, you’re right. I’m just paranoid. I’ve had some trauma lately, and I’ve become morose and paranoid. I need to shake off this mood.” “I can tell you where Dario is if you want,” Celia said slyly. “Milan?” “Ah. So, you look for a man yet know he’s absent?” Emma said, “He told me he might go. I was just guessing. I suppose he did?” “He went. He didn’t want to, but his zio, I mean, uncle, Mario, insisted he come back today. Vincente tells me that he’s afraid Dario and his zio will come to blows over Guilia before long.” “Gulia? Who is Gulia?” Emma asked. “Guilia is the signorina that Dario’s madre and uncle have chosen to be his bride.” Celia smiled with another sly look at Emma. “I can’t believe they’ve chosen his bride. He seems like he wouldn’t stand for that.” “He’s not. He argues all the day with both of them that he won’t do it. He insists to find his own wife.” “Why do they care who he chooses?” “These old families are like that. In fact, Vincente and I were chosen for each other by our families. We are lucky to have fallen in love anyway.” Emma looked at her, aghast. “I feel like I’ve fallen into another century or maybe down Alice’s rabbit hole.” Celia laughed. “You’re a funny woman, Emma. Maybe we have old world ways, but it mostly works out.” Emma shook her head. “Sounds insane.” “Emma! Emma!” Gwen shouted across the pool deck as she ran forward followed by a tall, Italian man. When she reached Emma, she leaned in and gave her a huge hug. “Gwen, glad to have you back. This is Celia Lamolinara, Vincente’s fiancé.” Emma indicated Celia beside her. “Nice to meet you, Celia. This is Tonio DeMarko,” said Gwen.

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“I’m happy to meet you at last, Tonio.” Emma held out her hand to Tonio. Tonio bowed and kissed her hand. “As am I to meet you. Gwen has told me all about you.” “I hope not all.” “All good. I promise you.” Tonio turned to Gwen and added, “I must go, topina. I’ll see you later.” He kissed her good-bye and waved to the other ladies as he dashed back toward the front door. Emma laughed. “What did he call you?” “Little mouse,” said Celia and Gwen in unison. They giggled at each other. Celia said, “I must go and find Vincente. I’ll leave you to talk to your friend, Emma.” When Celia had gone, Emma said to Gwen, “Let’s grab a couple of salads and retreat to the suite. I want to hear all about Milan.” **** Settled in with green salads and a bottle of Chianti, Gwen regaled Emma with stories of her day and evening in Milan with Tonio. Eventually, they got around to the subject of Dario when Gwen said, “Hey, by the way, I insisted that Tonio take me to the fashion district in Milan just so I could say I’d been there. We happened by the atelier of that shoe designer, Dario de Luca. You know, the one I thought Dario Conti looked like?” “Yeah. So?” “So? I’m telling you they could almost be twins.” “Did you see him then?” asked Emma. “No, the great man wouldn’t be in the shop, silly.” “Then what?” “The decor of the shop was a stark background of white walls and black fixtures. There were black sofas, rugs, and shelves. The walls had huge black-and-white photos of the man in various poses. Some

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were of him alone and some with women. The only color in the place was the colors in the shoes on the shelves. And there were precious few of them, let me tell you. It was beautiful but very cold,” said Gwen. “Sounds like de Luca thinks he’s handsome. All those pictures. He sounds arrogant enough to be related to Dario Conti, for sure. And why not many shoes in a shoe store?” “Oh, they had more shoes. Just not on display. You have to sit on these posh leather ottomans with tiny backs, and they bring out the shoes they think you might want to see.” “Good grief,” Emma said. “How terribly tedious not to be able to look at your own pace. I’ve never gone into a place like that. No patience for that stuff.” “It was kind of fun, and Tonio bought me a gorgeous pair of black suede pumps. Let me get them.” When she showed her the shoes, Emma said, “Wow. These are exquisite. I love them. Shoot. I might have to go there myself. Wonderful craftsmanship and style.” “I wish you would go. You could see those pictures. I swear, if your Dario didn’t have a beard and grew his hair out where he had a cute curl like de Luca has that falls over his brow, they could be related.” “First, he’s not my Dario, and second, I don’t think the Dario here has curly hair.” “How can you tell? His hair’s so short, if he didn’t have the beard, you couldn’t tell what color it is at all.” “Shush, anyone can see that the color is black.” “Well, truly, how hard is that? You know many blond Italians?” said Gwen. “Stop it.” Emma slapped her hand on her forehead. “Oh, yeah. Speaking of blondes, I can’t believe I didn’t tell you about Cal being here.” “Calvin Smyth, here? When?”

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“Earlier today.” “What did he want? What did he say?” “Wanted me back. Acted like an ass.” “Details, woman, details.” “I don’t want to relive it. It was ugly and quite honestly, he scared me. He seemed a bit unhinged. Said things I never thought I would hear coming from his mouth.” “Really? Should we call the coppers?” asked Gwen. “I think he’s gone. I hope so.” “Me, too. He’s daft to follow you here,” Gwen said and added as she stretched, “I’m knackered. Need a nap to recover from my night. Would you excuse me?” “Sure. I need one myself.” “Poor baby, I left you here all alone to run off with a man. A divine man, by the way, but still, I abandoned you.” “I managed. Don’t feel guilty,” Emma said with a secret grin. She wanted to keep her night with Dario to herself for now. She went to her part of the suite to take a nap as well, but she couldn’t stop reliving her night of passion with Dario. She worried about whether he’d ever come back. She half wished the maid hadn’t made up the room so that his scent would still be on the pillow. Stop it. He’s gone, idiot. You should have gone straight to him this morning when he left the room. She bit back a sob. It was a long time before she dozed off. **** Gwen was ready for dinner before Emma and went down ahead of her. Gwen had invited Tonio to dine and was eager to get to him. Emma sat at the makeup table in her dressing gown in her room. She peered at herself in the mirror and said, “You are so stupid. How can you already think you’re ready for another man?” When she got no answer from herself, she laid her head down on

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the tabletop and mumbled, “Hopeless, hopeless.” “What is hopeless, bella mia?” She gasped at the sound of his voice, and her heart soared into her throat. She lifted her head and said in a breathless voice, “You came back.” “Of course, I did. Did you think I would leave you so easily?” Dario asked in a whisper. “Do you not know me at all, Emma?” “No. You’re too enigmatic for me, Dario. You gave me an hour. You said you’d be in the conservatory, and when I got there, in under an hour, by the way, you were gone. To Milan. Celia told me.” “Did Vincente not find you?” “No. I haven’t seen him today.” “You say Celia told you I was in Milano?” asked Dario. “Yes. She did. She said you had to meet your mother and uncle. I thought that was an excuse you made to them so you didn’t have to tell them about me and Calvin.” Dario said in a dangerously quiet voice, “Celia didn’t tell you I left a note for you explaining my absence? I left it with Vincente. She was there when I handed it to him, and she heard me tell him to be sure you received it as soon as possible.” “No. She didn’t say anything about a note.” “Damn woman! She’s in cahoots with my madre. I knew it. I’ll show that interfering—” “Dario, stop,” Emma interrupted. “I’m sure she just forgot.” “No, cara, you don’t understand. I have long suspected Celia of being a spy for my dear madre, and now I know.” “Dario, I don’t get it. Why would your mother need a spy?” “Never mind, it matters not. I’ll deal with Signorina Lamolinara in my own way. Right now, I’d like a kiss from my special lady.” He pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arm around her. He kissed her forehead, her eyelid, her cheekbone, and finally, his lips found hers. As soon as his tongue entered her mouth, her knees buckled and she ran her hands up his chest to his neck and pulled his mouth even

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closer to hers. She thrust her hips into his and he groaned. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, and as he laid her down, he murmured, “I hope you know you’re going to be late to dinner.” “You can be my dinner, Dario.” “Ooh. That sounds delizioso.” He lay down beside her on his side and started to unbutton his shirt. She grabbed his hand and stopped him. “Let me.” She leaned over and unbuttoned the second button, and as she did, she licked him on the hollow of his throat. As she worked her way down the shirt, she continued her exploration with her tongue. When she pulled his shirt tail out and opened the zipper at the waistband of his pants, he put his hands on either side of her head and pulled her back up to him and kissed her deeply. He flipped her on her back and opened her robe to his view. He kissed her breasts. “Here are the bellissimo seno. I have missed them this afternoon.” She giggled. “I remember that one. How could I forget my beautiful breasts?” “How could you indeed?” Dario said as he showed her how much he appreciated them. Eventually, his tongue worked its way down her stomach and as she held on to his head, her fingers in his short hair, the devil thrust his tongue in her and drove her to the brink of ecstasy. As soon as he felt she was on the edge of release, he slipped his trousers off, slid on the condom, and shoved into her, seemingly all at once. As he thrust into her, she held on to his bottom and rubbed her hands over his perfectly formed cheeks. When she did, he moaned, “You drive me mad with desire.” “You drive me mad, too.” She was breathless in her need for him. As soon as the words left her mouth, he came inside her in a huge explosion, and a series of Italian words came out of his mouth in a whisper that she couldn’t even dream of trying to decipher. As he lay on her, he averted his face from hers. Once he rolled off and faced her, she could see that he had been crying, and she was confused.

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This is the man I thought was so haughty and aloof? **** After all that, Emma and Dario were only slightly late for dinner. They missed apertivos with olives and fresh mozzarella but arrived in time for the main course of lobster spaghetti. As they walked into the dining room, Emma noticed Celia blanched when she saw them together. Emma looked up at Dario and saw his eyes narrow in anger as he looked at Celia. Celia, embarrassed, looked away from Dario and cast her eyes downward toward her plate. When he noticed Dario and Emma, Vincente stood. “Glad you made it back, paisano.” Dario shook his hand. “I did. Thankfully, since Emma didn’t receive my note.” Dario pointedly looked at Celia. Vincente also looked to Celia. “I thought you were going to find her to deliver the note, Celia.” “I’m sorry. I saw her, but we were visiting, and then her friend came up, and I forgot,” Celia said with a shrug. She turned to Emma and added, “I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me?” “Where is the note now, Celia?” Emma asked icily. She sounded like Dario. Cold and aloof. “In my room,” Celia replied. “Go and get it,” Dario demanded. “Right now.” Vincente said, “Can it wait until after dinner?” “No. Now,” Dario said. Celia, looking scared, said, “I’ll go now.” She stood and took one step toward the door. Vincente said, “Stop. This surely is not necessary, Dario.” “It is. I get the letter now, or there will be a big problem,” said Dario. “Celia, please retrieve the signore’s letter,” said Vincente coldly. Celia left the room in a scurry.

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Dario said to the other diners, “I’m sorry to bring this to the table, but trust has been betrayed in this house, and I’m determined to put an end to it.” Vincente looked at Dario. “Sit. We shall resolve this matter later between us. In private.” Dario bent his head to Vincente. “As you wish.” He escorted Emma to her seat, and after she was settled, he walked around the table to his own chair and sat. Gwen leaned over and whispered in Emma’s ear, “Wow. What an arrogant man. You were right.” “Tell you later. He’s not so bad,” Emma replied. Gwen looked at her, agape. Emma winked at her and whispered, “Trust me, he’s not what he seems.”

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Chapter Seven The omission of good is no less reprehensible than the commission of evil —Plutarch (46–120 AD), Greek philosopher As the sun peeked over the horizon, Dario and Emma lay in the bed in his room asleep with their limbs entangled. The telephone next to Dario rang, and he reached over and slapped it as if it was his alarm clock. When he realized it was a telephone, he snatched it from the cradle and barked “Che?” into the receiver. Vincente said, “Your Zio Mario is on his way to your room right now. He’s very angry. You need to get Emma out of there.” “No. I don’t. I am Conti. I do what I want,” Dario barked into the phone in an angry tone. . The loudness of Dario’s voice woke Emma. Conti? What a strange thing to say. I am Conti. That would be like me saying, “I am Chauncey.” How odd. Emma tilted her head at Dario, confused at his tone.. He gave her a tight smile and a curt nod. He placed his forefinger on her lips and shook his head as he continued to listen to Vincente. A loud hammering at the door to the room made Emma jump in surprise. Dario rose and slid into his silk pajama bottoms, giving Emma a fine view of his naked butt. What a beautiful ass he has. All brown and rounded. Whew! Dario yelled, “I’m coming, Zio Mario, hold on! Keep quiet.” Dario opened the door to a large overweight Italian man of about sixty years of age. Dario stepped back and gestured toward the room.

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“Come in, Uncle.” The man entered the room and let loose a long stream of words, all in Italian. “In English,” Dario said icily. “There’s a lady present that doesn’t speak your language, sir. I suggest you restrict your language to one she understands.” The man replied in another string of Italian. Dario said, again in English, “As it’s the height of rudeness to have a conversation where one person in the room does not speak the language, I am no longer suggesting that you speak English. I’m requiring you to do so.” At that, the man turned even redder and replied, “Very well then. I shall speak English, nephew. What I need to say to you should be said in private.” He looked pointedly at Emma, still in the bed with the covers pulled up to her chin to protect her modesty. “I have a guest at the moment. You will excuse me, and I will meet you in the orangery in thirty minutes. I will allow you to speak to me for a few moments there, but be warned, I’m tired of you and mia madre. I know about Celia, and I’ll tolerate this no longer,” said Dario, even more coldly, if that were possible. “You will tolerate it, boy. I have Guilia with me here, and we are going to resolve this issue today,” replied his uncle. Dario’s words exploded from him. “I am Conti, and when my padre died, I became the head of this family. I did, not you. You will not speak to me in that tone ever again, Zio. I’ve allowed you some freedom in your dealings with me because you’re the brother of my padre but do not forget who I am again. I’m finished with your matchmaking.” “It is you and your mignotta who are finished,” said his uncle as he pointed at Emma who sat on the bed as still as the statue in the courtyard. She was pale and her hand that clutched the blanket shook. At his words, Dario turned white and raised his hand to his uncle as if to strike him. His uncle backed out of the still open door and left. Dario walked over to the door and slammed it shut. He was

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shaking and sat at the end of the bed and put his head in his hands. Emma inched down to the end of the bed, put her hand on his broad back, and whispered, “What did he call me?” “A whore.” At her gasp, he turned and took her in his arms. “It’s not you. It would be any woman I was with.” He kissed her on the top of the shoulder. “That doesn’t make me feel better, Dario.” “I didn’t mean it the way that sounded. He and my madre are on a mission to marry me off to this woman, Guilia. I’m not interested. I prefer to find my own bride.” “Bride? So, you’re on a quest to marry?” she asked. “Not really. My family is on such a quest. Me, not so much.” He grinned and winked. “Besides, now that I’ve found a groomless bride, I’m content to explore all that she has to offer.” He kissed her on the shoulder again. His lips trailed to her collarbone and down to her breast. She melted at the hotness of his lips on her body and reached down to the waistband of his pajamas. He grabbed her hand and mumbled as his lips continued their assault on her nipple. “Patience, my little groomless bride, patience.” She swatted his arm. “You’re impossible.” “Yes. I admit I am. But you like it, no?” “No,” she replied. “Yessss.” It was almost a hiss as he said it. “You do, piccola.” She fell back on the bed, pulling him with her, and murmured, “When you do that, I can almost forget how annoying you are.” He laughed deep in his throat, and his lips continued their trail down to her belly button, and when he stuck his tongue in it, she almost convulsed. He laughed deeply again. “You have very interesting erogenous zones, Emma.” “I’ve never had anyone do that before. Startled me.” “Sure, mia amore, sure. Startled is all it was.” “Do shut up, Dario, and come here.” She pulled his face to hers

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and kissed him deeply. As she pulled him toward her, she wrapped her left leg around his hip and added in a whisper, “I need you.” She continued to rub her leg along his thigh. He growled, ripped off his pajama bottoms, put on a condom, and entered her. He thrust himself into her with such force, she cried out a little, and he stopped, “Did I hurt you, cara? I’m sorry.” “No. You didn’t hurt me. Just startled me with the intensity.” “We have to work on this ‘startling’ thing, Em,” Dario said. “Seems like I do that a lot.” “Will you quit talking and startle me some more?” As he moved inside her again, he couldn’t resist saying, “You sure do like to boss me around.” “Shouldn’t I? After the way you talked to me that first night, you have a lot to atone for, mister.” “Me? You were ‘insufferable’ like you accused me of being.” He grinned. “There you go again, talking when you should be working.” He shut up then and showed her how well he could work when necessary. **** Eventually, Dario went downstairs to speak to his uncle and Guilia and Emma waited for him. She was very nervous as she sat on one of the marble benches out near the entry to the vineyard. She was scared that Dario would do harm to his uncle. He had been so enraged by the man that Emma was frightened. She decided to take herself out of the line of fire and hid out where she thought she wouldn’t be found. She was not to be so lucky. Celia found her. Celia said, “May I sit with you, Emma?” “I’m not sure, Celia. I don’t know why you think I’d want to talk to you after yesterday. Your failure to give me the note from Dario was not nice. It was devious of you to act as if he didn’t leave a

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message for me. And even more devious for you to pretend to be concerned for me and want to be my friend.” “May I explain?” Celia asked. “You’re welcome to try.” Emma shrugged. “I’m friends with Guilia, and I think she would make Dario happy. His uncle asked me to help him convince Dario to see things his way. That was why I chose not to tell you about the note.” “You knew he left me a note, and you deliberately didn’t tell me. Right?” “Yes. I thought it best.” “Just who the hell do you think you are? Who are you to judge what’s best? Why is Dario’s love life any of your business anyway?” “Because I told his uncle I would help,” Celia replied. Emma stood. “Please excuse me. I have no desire to sit here and listen to your nonsense. You’re a vicious, spiteful woman, and I feel utterly sorry for Vincente that he will be shackled to you for life.” Celia gasped. “That’s cruel, Emma. I don’t see you as a cruel woman.” Emma, shaking, said, “I’m vicious when I’m defending my own happiness, signorina.” Celia threw back her head and laughed. “If you think you’re anything more than another romp for Dario, you’re delusional.” Emma stalked off toward the front of the house. She’s probably right. I’m probably a notch on his belt, but I can’t help how I feel. I want more from him than a romp. When Emma got to the side of the castello, she saw Dario, his uncle, and a tall woman that looked like she stepped out of a magazine standing beside a limousine. She watched as Dario shook his uncle’s hand and kissed the woman on both cheeks. The uncle and the woman got in the limo, and it drove away. Wonder what that was about? They looked like they solved their issues. What does that mean for me? Dario turned to go back in the villa and saw her. He walked over

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and said, “Let’s go for a ride.” “Where?” she asked. “Anywhere away from here,” he said. “You do ride, don’t you?” “Of course. I’ve even been known to play polo.” A shadow passed over her eyes as she added, “Not anymore, though.” He came to her and held her. “I’m sorry, cara. I keep making you sad.” “Dario, you can’t worry every time you say something that might remind me of my mum and brothers. Their deaths are a part of who I am. I loved them and will be sad always at their loss, but I have to live my life. I know they would want that. For me and for pops.” “I’m still sorry to cause the pain I see in your eyes when you think of them.” “It’s all right. Really. Now, where to?” she asked. **** After the horses were saddled, they rode away from the stables. As they rode, Dario grabbed the rein of her roan mare, leaned over to her, and said, “I want to take you to a special place that I love. Will you allow me to lead you there?” “I’d love to see it. Lead on, signore.” She smiled. She was thrilled to be riding again. She forgot how much she missed it. When her brothers had died at a polo match, her father sold the stables as he couldn’t bear to be reminded of his sons. Emma had agreed to give up her treasured horse to one of her father’s friends. It hurt to lose her mare, Sugar, but the reminder of the loss of her dear brothers and mother hurt more. She visited the mare occasionally at the stables where she now lived, but she had not ridden Sugar in years. It was wonderful to Emma to feel the breeze in her hair again as the little roan mare galloped across the countryside. She felt so alive and happy. She’d missed riding and was glad Dario had suggested it. Dario smiled over at her as they rode. He was at home in a saddle

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and was on his favorite mount in Vincente’s stable, a black stallion named Fire. He also enjoyed the freedom being on a horse allowed him. His father had been a strict taskmaster, and Dario’s escape as a child and young man had been his rides. It was a time to think and to be alone. He was enjoying sharing the ride with Emma. He’d never found a woman that liked to ride as much as he did. He began to wonder if she was the woman he’d been searching for. A woman that didn’t care about who he was in the world but who he was in his heart. Emma slowed and pulled her horse close to Dario. “You’re looking intense. What’s wrong? Thinking about your uncle?” “No. Thinking about you.” He goaded his horse on. He yelled over his shoulder, “Race you to that pond over there.” He pointed across the field toward a body of water. Emma spurred her horse, and the mare gave it her best shot, but she had no chance against the stallion. Dario slowed just before he got to the pond and waited for her to arrive. She pulled up, laughing. “Beast. You knew this little lady, and I had no chance against Fire there.” “Tell you what—you ride him back, and we’ll see who can ride this steed better.” “You’re on, mister.” “Speaking of on, cara mia, it has been too many hours since I’ve been on you,” he said as he jumped off his horse and approached her to help her dismount. She blushed. “You’re incorrigible.” “There’s that word again. You use it a lot.” “If the shoe fits, Dario, it fits.” “What do you mean, this shoe fits saying?” he asked. “It’s an idiom. Have you never heard it?” “Oh. Yes. I have heard of an idiom. I was just not sure what you meant.” “I meant the word incorrigible fits you like a shoe.”

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“I see.” He reached up and grabbed her waist. “You know I can get off this horse by myself, Dario.” “But, amore mia, it will be more interesting if you allow me to assist you.” He leered at her. She felt the heat of his hands on her waist and stared at the hollow of his throat that was exposed by the top two buttons of his shirt being undone. She sighed. “Yes. I can see the possibilities there.” He laughed deep in his throat and pulled her toward him and off the horse. She put her hands around his neck, and his arms went around her. He slid her body slowly down his torso, and when her feet touched the ground, he pulled her tight against him. His erection was noticeable in his tight jeans, and she pushed herself as close to him as she could get with clothing between them. He said in a husky voice, “You torture me.” “I can fix that.” And she went to her knees in front of him. She reached for his zipper and opened the fly of his denims. He stood very still as she took him in her mouth. His hands were in her hair, and as she cupped his balls, he tightened his grip on her hair. She smiled at the pleasure she knew she was giving to him. One thing she could do well sexually was this. Cal may have thought I was a cold fish. He said it enough, but he never complained about this part. Her lips tightened at the thought of Cal, and Dario yelped. “Sorry.” After he was spent, he pulled her to her feet and held her close. “That was spectacular, piccola. I want to give you the same pleasure. I have a blanket. Will you allow me to make love to you here?” He gestured toward the grassy knoll near the pond. “I’m not sure, Dario. Anyone could pass by and see us.” “You didn’t worry about that a few minutes ago.” He winked. “I wasn’t the one exposed a few minutes ago.” She laughed. “Oh. I get it. It’s all right for me to be naked in the air for anyone to see, but not you?” “Something like that,” she said with an exaggerated shrug. “Dio mio! You are something, woman. Now, take off your clothes

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while I get the blanket from my horse.” “Excuse me? Stand here and just strip?” she asked. “Is that a command?” “If you wish,” he said with a tilt of his head. He turned and walked toward the horse. He retrieved the blanket from the pack on the horse and also removed a basket. He turned back to her and raised an eyebrow. “You still standing there? Dressed?” “You had better be kidding me.” He spread the blanket out on the ground and turned back to her. “I’ve never been more serious in my life.” She turned white and strode toward her horse, determined to mount the mare and gallop away. She muttered, “Insufferable, arrogant, pigheaded...” “Emma,” he said in a soft voice, almost a caress. “Look at me.” She stood still as an ice sculpture and didn’t turn around. “Emma, look at me,” he said again. She stayed where she was, still not moving. “Emma, please,” he said. At the word please, she turned and gasped to see him standing beside the blanket. Naked. Gloriously naked. God, but he was gorgeous. She laughed and went to him. He pushed her away. “Your turn.” “No fair. I didn’t get to watch you.” “If you had turned when I asked, you would’ve.” He grinned and added, “You see, you should always obey me.” “Don’t hold your breath on that,” she replied as she started to unbutton her shirt. He sat down cross-legged on the blanket continuing his exposure of himself to the countryside and watched her. He seemed comfortable in his nakedness, completely relaxed. As she continued to unbutton the shirt, she turned redder and redder until she stopped in embarrassment. “I can’t do this while you sit there watching me like you’re at the cinema.” “Emma, you are a beautiful woman and should enjoy your lover watching you. Why does this cause you such problems?”

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“Dario, I’m an Englishwoman. We make love in the dark, under the covers. I can’t just not be who I am.” “Is this how you made love with your intended husband? In the dark? Never in the open?” he asked with disbelief in his voice. “Pretty much, yes,” she said, chagrined. “How sad. No wonder you had no true idea of passion when I kissed you.” “Stop it, Dario. I had many opportunities for passion before I met you and will have many more after I leave here,” she said heatedly. “I beg to differ with you, signorina. I shall be your ultimo amante,” he said as he stood and walked over to where she was. He took her unbuttoned blouse by the shoulders and jerked it off her body. He grabbed the front of her bra and undid the hooks there and whipped it off as well. He asked, “Do you want to take off your slacks or do you want me to?” “Oh, you need to, my love, this is very interesting.” She giggled. “Very well. I shall.” He ripped her zipper down and pulled the back of her pants down along with her panties. When he got them down to her ankles, he fell to his knees and buried his face in her, and as his tongue licked her, she opened her legs more so he could have full access. His arms were around the back of her knees, and he was holding her up as she had no ability to hold herself. She moaned, and he lifted his face, looked at her, eyes darkened with passion, and said again, “Tuo ultimo amante.” He stood, swept her up into his arms, and carried her over to the blanket, losing her pants in the process. He laid her gently on the blanket, and then the gentleness was over, and he made love to her with a wildness that scared her. My God, he’s so intense, it’s frightening. When he was spent and lay across her, covered in sweat, she ventured, “Dario?” “Yes, amore?” “What did you say earlier? In Italian?”

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“What?” he asked. “Something about ultimo.” “Just that I plan to be your lover for a long time.” “I’m not sure about that. You know I have to go home soon and back to my real life.” He sat up and looked her in the eyes. “Emma, I’m falling for you. I mean, I’m falling hard, and this can’t just be a fling.” “Dario, I’m just coming off a bad experience and am not ready for a relationship.” “Sometimes life surprises us, piccola. We have to grab the chances we get. Do you understand?” “I understand, and I’m willing to see where this goes, but I’m not sure it’s a long term thing.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. “We’ll see.” He slapped his hands on his thighs. “Let’s jump in the pond and cool off.” She leaped off the blanket. “Race you.” She ran and jumped in the pond and started swimming. Soon, he was right beside her, pacing her again like he did that first morning in the pool. A movement to the east of the pond caught her eye as she caught her breath on one of her downstrokes, and she stopped swimming and stood. She shaded her eyes with her hand and looked across the land but couldn’t see anything. When Dario noticed her, he stopped, too. “What is it?” “I dunno. I thought I saw someone watching.” “It was probably an animal walking by. Forget it,” he said. He looked down at her breasts and added hoarsely, “Dio, I want you all over again.” He grabbed her by the buttocks, and without ceremony, impaled her on his erection. She gasped and moved against him until he lost his balance and fell backward into the water. They both laughed, and she said, in amazement, “I never would have predicted the first time I met you that you could be filled with such joy and be so carefree. You were very uptight.”

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“It is you, amore mia. You make me happy. Happier than I’ve ever been.” “Please don’t put that kind of pressure on me.” “No pressure, I promise. No pressure.” He held his hands up in surrender. She leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you for that.” They exited the water together, walked over to the blanket, and finished what they started in the water before he fell backward.

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Chapter Eight I am sadly afraid that I must have done some wicked thing. —Antisthenes (c. 444–365 BC), Greek philosopher The next morning, they left on the day trip Vincente had organized for those at the villa who were interested in a day at the seaside. They planned to go to Genova, on the Ligurian coast, near the castello. The day was to be spent on Vincente’s yacht, swimming in the Riviera Ligure. Emma and Gwen decided to go and work on their tans. Dario couldn’t go with the group as he had returned to Milan the evening before. He planned to meet them later in the day. Tonio was not invited as Gwen decided that she needed to spend time with Emma since she was on the trip in the first place to be moral support for her friend. As they rode down the bumpy lane, Emma said, “I don’t know why you didn’t ask Tonio to come. He seems like a nice bloke, and you seem to really be hitting it off.” “We are, and he is nice, but I wanted to spend the day with you.” “I know, but you could’ve spent the day with both of us, you know. And besides, when Dario gets there, I may just push you aside.” Emma laughed and poked Gwen in the side. “That would be fine, too. I haven’t seen you this happy in years. Even when you got engaged to Cal, you weren’t like this.” “I know, and it scares me. Terrifies me actually.” “Why? The man is gorgeous, and even though he’s a little overbearing, he seems to adore you.” “A little overbearing?” Emma guffawed. “More like a lot

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overbearing.” “Well, yeah. You’re right there,” Gwen said with a little grin. “Why does he scare you?” “He scares me because he’s so intense, and the feelings he has opened me up to are so strong. I never knew the sex could be so amazing. It is like I’m hanging on to the front of a locomotive, barreling toward a ravine, and I have no control. That lack of control is scaring the hell out of me.” “Emma, believe it or not, this is good for you. You’ve kept such a tight rein on yourself since your mum died. You need to let go a bit and live on the wild side. The world will continue to turn even if you let go once in a while. And as far as the sex being brilliant, are you telling me that the great Calvin Smyth was no good as a lover?” “No. He was adequate but never like this man.” “So, you and Cal had an ‘adequate’ sex life, and you were going to settle for that for the rest of your life?” Gwen asked, clearly horrified at the thought. “I didn’t know what I was missing. Although Cal did, I guess.” “What’s that mean?” “It means he was always telling me I was no good in bed, and all I had a talent for was blow jobs,” replied Emma angrily. Gwen grabbed her by the arm and hissed, “Natasha did you a favor, girl, and you need to send her twelve dozen roses. What a pig he was. I can’t believe you stayed with him.” “I believed him and was grateful he wanted to marry me anyway.” Gwen shook her head and said, “You’re daft.” “Change the subject, please, Gwen, I’m utterly sick of this one.” “How’s this then? Love the red crocheted bikini I saw you put on this morning. It’s wicked cool. Where’d you get it?” Gwen said in her best effort to change the subject. Emma pushed her. “Stop. That’s a pretty lame attempt there.” “You said change the subject. You didn’t say it had to be a brilliant change.”

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They laughed and talked of clothes, shoes, and nightclubs, among other things, until they arrived at the sea. **** The yacht was a Broward sport yacht with four staterooms, a galley, and two salons. The main salon had a glass-enclosed spiral staircase that led to the decks at the front of the boat. The cabinets in the salon were made of red cherry wood with a burled finish. The furniture was plush and covered in leather. Emma gasped at the luxury of it and turned to Gwen. “When Vincente said we were going on his yacht, I confess I expected something more along the lines of a large ski boat. I had no idea he owned something this magnificent.” “Me, either, ducks. It seems very posh.” “Did you think my Vincente is some poor innkeeper? He has great wealth, my friend Emma,” said Celia, who had stepped in behind them. “I didn’t say I thought he was a poor innkeeper, Celia. I hardly think someone like you would waste her time with a poor person, innkeeper or not,” said Emma. Gwen looked at Emma, aghast, and said, “What’s this?” “Oh, nothing, friend of Emma’s, nothing. She’s a bit put out with me and wants me to remember it is so,” Celia replied. “Celia, leave us alone. Like I told you yesterday, I want nothing to do with you.” Celia bowed. “As you wish, Emma, but as I told you yesterday, Dario will do the right thing by Guilia and his family, and you’ll be gone. So, I needn’t worry about you. You will be a distant memory, just una fica pronta.” Vincente, standing behind Celia, said, “What did you just say, Celia?” “Nothing, amore mio, nothing,” Celia replied with a simper at her fiancé.

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“I hope you didn’t say what I just thought I heard, cara,” he replied in a harsh tone. Gwen said, “She said Emma would be just una fica pronta soon to Dario. I, for one, would like to know what that means.” Vincente turned white and grabbed Celia by the arm. “Come with me to my stateroom. I want to know what this is about.” Gwen stepped in front of them. “Not until you tell me what she said. I’m not kidding. You will tell me. I’m not moving till I know. Spill it. Now.” Vincente said very quietly in a clipped tone, “She said Emma was just a piece of ass to Dario. I am deeply embarrassed and sorry for her behavior. And I apologize to you, Emma.” Emma, her face ashen, gasped. She glared at Celia and said to Vincente, “You don’t have to apologize for her. You’re a perfect gentleman. I hope you consider her behavior before you tie yourself to her for life.” Celia hissed and grabbed at Emma. Vincente dragged her away, and she slapped at him and let loose with a torrent of Italian words. Gwen looked at Emma and dryly said, “Bet none of that is good.” “No, I bet not,” Emma agreed. “Let’s go out on deck and sun ourselves with the rest of the tourists. Try to forget that hag and have fun.” “Yeah. Forget her.” **** After a lunch of caprese salad and chilled mint soup, Emma was ready for a swim. There was a helicopter overhead as they came out onto the sundeck. Emma noticed that it had the same logo as the one she had seen near the castello earlier in the week. She dove off the prow of the boat and enjoyed a swim in the warm sea. She spent a few minutes enjoying the water. After a while, she swam around toward the back of the ship and felt a tug on her leg. Before she could scream

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in terror, Dario surfaced and kissed her on her open mouth. She pushed him away. “You beast, I thought I was a goner.” “What did you think had you, cara? A shark?” He laughed. “You could be considered as dangerous as a shark,” she said as she treaded water. He ran his index finger along the edge of her bikini bottom, and she shivered. He said silkily, “Ah, yes, I am dangerous, sì.” “Stop. There’s a boat full of people above us, you insatiable man.” “They can’t see where my hand is,” he said. His finger slipped further into her suit bottoms. “Do you forget how clear these waters are?” she asked. He sighed deeply. “Very well. I’ll leave you alone. For now.” He turned and swam away. She returned to the ladder and climbed aboard. A few minutes later as she and Gwen lay on the sundeck, Dario came over. “I’m diving in. Want to come?” “Nah. I’m gonna lie here and get skin cancer with Gwen.” Dario walked away. As he did, someone from the neighboring yacht shouted, “Hey, de Luca, what’re doing on that tub? Where’s your Ferretti Altura? Lose your own yacht in a card game?” Emma looked up and glanced at Gwen. “Did that guy just call Dario de Luca or did I hear that wrong? As in Count Dario de Luca? That shoe designer that you’ve been trying to convince me he looks like?” “I heard it, too, Em. That’s what he said. Oh, God. I can’t believe it. Why didn’t we see it?” “My Lord, I sure know how to pick men, don’t I? Another liar. Dear God, what’s wrong with me?” Emma felt like crying, but she didn’t want to embarrass herself surrounded by the other guests of the villa. “Maybe there’s a good reason,” said Gwen. “No. There won’t be a good reason. I can’t abide it. I won’t be a victim again of a liar.”

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“Just because he didn’t give you his real name doesn’t mean he is lying about how he feels about you.” “Do you hear yourself? Do you have any idea how ludicrous you sound?” “God, you don’t have to bite off my head, I didn’t do anything to you,” said Gwen as she stalked off and dove into the sea. Once in the sea, she swam over to Dario. “You’re in big trouble, mister. Emma just heard that man call you de Luca. I suggest you get up there and minimize the damage if you care for her at all.” “Thanks. You’re a real friend to her, aren’t you?” Dario said as he swam toward the ladder. Gwen whispered to his retreating back, “You betcha, and you better win her back because she needs you.” Dario came up the ladder and grabbed a towel. He strolled toward Emma with it in his hand, drying his short hair. When he reached her, he leaned in to kiss her, and she hissed “De Luca? Count Dario de Luca, I presume, and not Dario Conti? What an idiot I am. When you said you were Conti to your uncle, you meant you were the count, not your last name. Was that where you got your fake name? Your title?” He sat on the chair next to her. “I wanted to tell you...” “Why didn’t you? You aren’t a criminal, so why the alias? Why the beard and the haircut? Why pretend to be who you aren’t? Why, Dario, why?” “Women chase me because of who I am. Because I’m rich. Because I have a title. Because I have a high profile. I came to stay with Vincente under an assumed name so I could see if I could find a woman who would want to be with me as a man and not as a count or a millionaire or a shoe designer.” “Let’s say I can understand that. For one moment, I’ll agree that that might make sense. But then, I have to follow the next step and ask, once we made love, why didn’t you tell me who you really are? I thought you said you were falling for me. If you were telling me the truth about falling for me, how could you continue the lie of who you

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are?” “I have fallen for you. I do love you, but you had already been hurt by your fiancé, and I was afraid you would think I was a heel like him for lying to you. I was afraid, Emma.” “Well, you got the part about thinking you’re a heel right, anyway. And I find it very hard to believe the great, world famous shoe designer, Count Dario de Luca, millionaire extraordinaire, would be afraid. Of me.” “I was afraid of exactly this. And here it is, just as I thought. You’re angry and hurt. I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. Can we just move on from here now that you know the truth, cara?” Don’t you know I care for you? Don’t you think this thing between us is something to fight for? “No. I won’t be involved with another liar. We haven’t known each other long enough to make it worth it. If you lied to me about something as basic as your name, what’s next?” “Even though I lied about my name, Em, I didn’t lie about my feelings for you, and I certainly didn’t betray you in the horrific way that Calvin did.” “So, you think it’s the size of the lie that matters?” “No. That’s not what I’m saying. I mean that you need to put my transgression in perspective with his and—” “Shut up, Dario. A lie is a lie. You knew you were deceiving me, and yet you continued the charade even while professing to be falling for me.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m through.” She stalked off toward the front of the yacht and ignored both Dario and Gwen for the remainder of the afternoon. Dario tried several times to speak to her, but she turned her head. She wished the day would end so she could go to her room and be alone. It was almost more than she could bear to stay on the deck and act as if she was all right. She saw Celia sitting in the salon with a grin as big as Italy on her face. Emma resisted the urge to go in and slap her into Greece.

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Once they got back to shore, she rode in the back of the van by herself to the villa. Gwen tried to talk to her, but she waved her off. “Please leave me alone. I need to think. I’m not mad at you, Gwen. I just need to process this latest betrayal.” Dario rode back to the castello in his helicopter with the de Luca coat of arms prominent on the side. He was accompanied by Vincente and Celia because Vincente wanted to keep Celia away from Emma. Celia’s behavior had mortified him, and he had tried to keep the ladies apart all day. The day had been long and trying for him as well as Emma. When they returned to the villa, Emma packed her bags and called for a taxi to take her to the Milan airport. As the taxi pulled into the drive, Gwen approached her. “I wish you wouldn’t run off. I talked to Dario while we were still on the boat. He’s devastated that you won’t listen to him. I can’t help but feel that this is a major error you’re making.” “Gwen.” Emma sighed deeply. “I’m just off a narrow miss on a potentially disastrous marriage. You, of all people, know that. I’m doing what’s best for me. Self-preservation, you know. Forgetting this bloke before I get in too deep.” “Who’s to say you aren’t already in too deep?” “I’m saying it.” But I’m lying. My heart is tearing apart, worse than with Cal. Much worse. “But do you believe it?” “I have to. I won’t be able to stay strong and walk away if I think it is already too late.” Lord, it is too late, but I have to get over it. “Emma, you don’t have to walk away.” “Yes. I do. I do. Please understand and let me go.” I’m dying inside, but I have to do this. The cabbie threw Emma’s bags in the boot of the taxi, and she climbed in for the long ride to the airport and the lonely plane ride home. She didn’t cry. She’d given up on tears after Calvin, and she refused to shed any over Dario, even though she could feel her heart shriveling in her chest.

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Chapter Nine Waste not fresh tears over old griefs. —Euripedes (480–406 BC), Greek playwright Emma’s father was at home reading the Daily Mail in his loft on Cheyne Walk when Emma came barging in and threw her valise on the sofa. She flopped down in the chair across from him and burst into tears. Said I wasn’t gonna cry over a man again and look at me. Crying. Sniffling baby. “What’s wrong, Emma?” he said as he looked at his only surviving child. “I thought the tears would dry by now or at least not be quite so fresh. Italy didn’t agree with you?” “Oh, Pops. I adored Italy,” she said through her sobs. “I can see that, my dear. Places I adore always reduce me to tears.” He laid down his newspaper. “What happened? Come and we’ll sit together, and you can tell me what’s bothering you.” They moved to the couch. She sat beside him and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, “Oh, Pops. I found a man there. A real man. Not an insipid fool like Cal Smyth. But I’ve left because there is no future with him. None.” He handed her a tissue from the box on the table beside him and asked, “Why is there no future? Doesn’t the man feel the same for you?” “Yes. He did. It was wonderful until I found out he’d deceived me.” “Not another cheater, Em? Why do you pick those kind of blokes?” her father asked with a shake of his head.

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“No. He didn’t cheat on me, Pops. I hope I learned something with my last experience.” God, even my pater thinks I’m a dolt. “Then how did he deceive you, dear? I’m afraid I don’t understand.” “He lied about his identity. He’s actually a count, a titled man.” “And his family objects to you?” he asked. “No. Well, yes. But that’s not why I left. I think he would’ve defied his family for me.” Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “Maybe Gwen was right, and I made a fatal error by leaving.” “Surely if he loves you, you could go back.” “I’m not sure if it’s love or lust at this stage. It happened so fast. I think I need some time and space from it all. I went there to get over Cal and jumped into something else like I had no sense. Why am I such a mess?” “Darling, you’re not a mess. You have a huge heart and a lot of love to give, and you may be rash on occasion...” He raised his hand to silence the protest he knew was coming and added, “Yes, rash. But with a good heart. What I want for you is the kind of love and marriage that your mother and I had. If this count can give you that, you should take it with both hands.” He kissed her on the top of the head. “I want it, too. I just keep screwing it up. I see now that I’m away from it all that I may have made a big deal over nothing. I just don’t know. I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Two weeks from today is the Music Awards in New York City. I’ve reserved the top two floors at the Marriott Marquis for the nominees and their entourages. Why don’t you go and use that time to regroup? You can go early and stay for the ceremony. You know you always enjoy those things.” “Cal’s not going, is he?” she asked. “No. He’s not. I know you didn’t want me to fire him, but I did as soon as you left for Italy. I couldn’t stand to have him working for me after what he did to you. It got in my craw to have to give the arse a

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paycheck.” “I don’t care that you fired him, really. Gwen said that Natasha actually did me a favor, and I need to send her flowers to thank her.” Her father threw back his head and laughed. “By Jove, I think she’s right. You know I never liked him, Emma. I was willing to try because you chose him, but Gwen’s right, you’re better off without the milquetoast.” “Yes. I think we all agree on that, Pops. By the way, I didn’t tell you yet—Cal actually showed up in Italy and tried to get me back.” “He did? I’d have never thought he’d have the balls to do that after the way he treated you.” “Me either, and he scared me a bit.” “Really? Should I be worried?” “No. I think I got rid of him myself. I hope so, anyway.” “Good. Then we’ll speak of him no more,” he said. “Hungry?” “Famished,” she admitted. “Go wash your face and let’s go to The Ivy. I need an evening out with the prettiest daughter I have.” He kissed her again, this time on the cheek. “No matter how ugly I was, I’d be your prettiest daughter, Pops, because I’m the only daughter.” “Lucky you, then,” he replied. “Yeah. Lucky me.” **** Dario was desperate to get to London to try to win Emma’s heart, but he had to stop in Milan for a little more than a week to approve the final designs on his latest collection to be released in a couple of months. He also had to inspect some suede for the fall line. He strained at the reins at the delay, but it couldn’t be helped. He paced around the studio like he was in a cage. Damn deadlines. I need to get out of here. I should have had this all finished, but I had to stay at

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Vincente’s. She was too lovely to leave. While he waited for the various vendors of fabric in Milan, he had a special surprise prepared for Emma. I hope she likes them. I have to win her back. My life will be over if she won’t have me. After a further delay due to the suede being the wrong shade of gray, he was finally on the plane to London, clean shaven and with his hair almost grown back. Thank God I’m on my way. She must agree to be my contessa. She must. He thought he would lose his mind as the plane seemed to crawl across the horizon. He stared out the window, worrying about finding her and convincing her that she needed him in her life. He fretted that he’d lost her forever. Soon enough, the plane landed, and after an interminable wait, he was through baggage check and in a black cab headed to the recording studio where he knew she worked for her father. It was near Abbey Road, and he had laughed when he looked up the location. A very sixties address. Chauncey hadn’t ventured far from his roots. Once Dario had paid the cabbie, he stalked into the studio lobby. He approached the front counter and said to the sixty-some-year-old woman seated there, “May I please speak to Miss Emma Chauncey?” “Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked. He noticed her name tag and, in a conspiratorial whisper, said, “Mary, I need to see her. Can you help me?” She blushed at his tone. “I’m not sure I can. If you don’t have an appointment...” He leaned over the counter and placed a finger on her lips. “If I told you that I’m her Latin lover, and I’m sure she’d want to see me, would that help?” She giggled. “I don’t think I believe you, sir. That sounds like a line to me.” “Ah, Mary, you wound me,” he replied with a hand to his heart. She giggled again. “I wish I could help. Really, I do.” He slid his card across to her, and she looked down and read it.

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“Count? As in, you’re a real count? With a castle and all that?” “Yes. With a castle and all that.” He nodded. “Can I see her?” Dio mio, the woman is annoying me. “As much as I’d love to let you, luv, I can’t,” she said. As he turned a bit red, tired of the game, she rushed to add, “I can’t, sir, your highness, your grace...” “Never mind all that, just call me Dario,” he said. “Tell me why you can’t let me see her.” “My lord, I mean, Dario, she’s in New York. You know, in America,” Mary said. “Mary, I know where New York is,” he said, chagrined. His face fell, and he thought he would lose his mind. Dio. I’m too late. If I fall apart in front of this lady, will she call an ambulance? “I think she’s at the Marriott Marquis,” Mary said helpfully, concerned that the man had gone strangely silent. “Is her father in?” “He is. I’m not sure what he’s doing. Since its Music Awards week, he may be too busy to see you.” “Could you take him my card and ask him to give me five minutes? Please?” Maybe Emma told her father about me. Maybe he’ll see me and help me find her. “I will. I have a feeling you won’t leave until I try.” “See, you know me well already, Mary,” he said silkily. I’ll move in if I have to. She blushed again, got up from her seat, and walked to the door behind her. She buzzed herself into the back and disappeared from view. After what seemed like fifteen years to the impatient Dario, she reappeared. “He’ll see you. Come with me.” They passed through the security door, and as they walked down the hallway, Dario noticed all the gold and platinum records that lined the walls. Some were Emma’s father’s records from the sixties and seventies, but there were many more lining the walls. He must be a pretty good producer to have all this success. Emma

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can love me for who I am. She doesn’t need my money. When they got to the end of the hall, Mary knocked, and a voice called, “Come in.” Mary showed Dario into the studio and left. Chauncey rose and walked over with his hand outstretched. “Happy to meet you, Count de Luca.” “Please call me Dario, sir.” “Sure, sure,” Chauncey said as he shook hands with Dario. “What can I do for you, Dario?” “I need to find Emma. Will you tell me where she is? Mary said she was in New York at the Marriott Marquis.” “Sounds like you know where she is to me. What else can I do to help you?” Chauncey said, having fun with Dario’s obvious impatience. Dario, flustered, said, “I don’t know. I guess I hoped she’d told you about me, and you could help me.” “Come and sit and have a glass of scotch . You can tell me how you think I can help you,” Chauncey said as he led Dario to sit on the stools near the microphone. After Dario was seated, Chauncey grabbed two glasses from the small table near the wall and poured the liquor. He handed one glass to Dario and sat on one of the other stools. “This is hundred-year-old scotch. I’m sure you have older ones in your cellar, but this one is excellent.” “I’m sure this is fine. Thank you. Did Emma tell you about me?” Dario asked as he took a sip. “She did.” “Sir, I must ask, why are you making this difficult for me?” Dario said stiffly. “What am I doing? I let you in with no appointment. I give you whiskey. What else can I do to be hospitable?” Chauncey asked “You could tell me what Emma said about me.” “Did you ask that question?” Chauncey said. “I asked if she told you about me.” This man is an idiot. What the

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hell is wrong with him? Can’t he see I need him to help me? “And I said she did tell me about you. I just didn’t say what she said.” In a rush, Dario said, “Sir, I must tell you, I love your daughter. I want to have your permission to court her, and you are making the joke, it seems.” Chauncey set his drink down. “Finally. The truth. That’s all I needed to hear. I can’t speak for Emma, but I’m happy to hear you love her. The fact that you came here from Italy speaks volumes. But I needed to hear you say why you came.” “You test me?” Dario asked. What nerve this man has to test me. “I know Em told you about Calvin Smyth. I never liked the chap. Never. I was shocked when she said she wanted to marry him, but I went along with it even though I’d heard rumors about him. I didn’t know him well enough to know if the rumors were true, and I trusted Emma’s judgment. She had to grow up fast when my wife and sons died. She was just a teenager. She took care of me. I don’t mind telling you, as I’m sure if you’ve read any articles about me at all, you know I lost my mind when I lost most of my family. Emma dragged me back from the abyss of drugs and alcohol. I fear this made her a bit of a martyr. I blame myself for the whole thing,” Chauncey said in a choked voice. “I should have fought my demons and not made her do it for me. I should have told her not to marry Cal Smyth. I should have been the father she needed.” “Sir, with all respect, I know your daughter. I know her inside and out. You could not have told her not to marry the man. She would’ve been more determined than ever in the face of your disapproval. You raised a strong daughter, and you should take credit for her strength.” “So, you know my daughter inside and out, huh?” Chauncey said as he took a sip of his whiskey and raised an eyebrow. Needle him a bit more. Dario had the grace to look abashed. “Sorry. But if it makes you feel better, I do intend to make her my contessa if she’ll have me.”

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Dio, what a thing to say to her padre, knowing her. May as well as have told him I made her scream in ecstasy. Stupid. “Relax, relax. I could curl your hair more than it is already if I told you the number of women I have known in the Biblical sense. At least until I found the love of my life, Emma’s mother.” Chauncey laughed. “I, too, have found the love I’ve searched for. I hope she’ll forgive me and let me love her. For the rest of my life.” “What about your family? Will they love her? Is a daughter of an old rock-and-roll singer acceptable as a contessa?” Chauncey asked with a frown. “I’m the conte. As such, I’m the head of the family. If I say she’ll be accepted, she’ll be accepted,” Dario replied. “So easy to command? I find that hard to believe.” “No one defies me.” “I know my daughter is in New York trying to decide what she wants in life. I also know she won’t stand to be treated with contempt, but neither will she stand to be tolerated because it is commanded by her husband. Do you think you can solve that problem?” Chauncey asked. “I’ll think on this. I promise you. I love her, and I want her happiness.” Chauncey poured each of them another whiskey. “Drink up. We’re on the same page. All I ever wanted was her happiness. I think you’re the man for her. You seem honorable. A little stiff, but Emma will loosen you up soon enough.” Dario laughed. “I hope so. I hope to win her heart.” “I think you have it. You just have to get past her wounded pride. You’ll have to set aside your own pride to do that. Are you prepared for that?” Not sure he can do that. “Yes. I’m prepared to crawl to her if needed. I can’t survive without her. And speaking of survival, mine and hers, how do I get to her? Will she see me when I go to New York? What if she refuses to

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talk to me?” Dario asked. “I’ve been thinking about it, my boy. I have a plan. You’re a shoe designer, right?” “Yessss...” Dario began with some trepidation. “I was thinking, you know how you designers always want stars to wear your clothes to these awards shows?” “Yes?” Dario asked. “If you take a few pairs of your shoes for a couple of the nominees to wear at the show, you’ll be at the staging area for the red carpet, right there with her. She’ll have to talk to you. You’ll be dressing the singers, and she’ll be supervising. It’ll work. I think it’ll work.” “It might just be the thing, sir. Can you give me the sizes and colors of the gowns? I can have the shoes sent over as soon as I have that information.” “I’ll get that now. I’ll have Mary call over and have a key left at the desk for you at the Marriott and a backstage pass. You get to Heathrow and get on a flight.” “Sir, I owe you a huge debt of gratitude.” “No. You owe me the debt of making my only child happy. It’s a huge debt, and I expect it to be paid.” “That, sir, is a debt I choose to pay with great gladness. You won’t be disappointed.” “See that I’m not and bring my daughter back with you,” Chauncey said as he left the room to get the information on the gowns. As he shut the door behind him, Dario whispered, “I will. You bet I will.”

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Chapter Ten From the deepest desires often come the deadliest hate. —Socrates (469–399 BC), Greek philosopher The fifteen miles from John F. Kennedy Airport to midtown Manhattan took over an hour and a half with the traffic flow. Dario sat in the back of the limousine in a rage at the delay. He made a concerted effort to get his emotions under control. The combination of the delay in his leaving Milan, the stop over in London, and then the transatlantic flight that seemed to go on forever, made it nearly impossible for him to sit still. His hair had grown out from his disguise, and he ran his hands through it over and over until it stood on end. He didn’t think he could bear one more minute of the interminable travel. He punched the intercom button and barked at the driver, “Today? Will we get there today?” “Yes, sir. I’m doing the best I can. There are a lot of arrivals today for the big awards show tomorrow, and traffic is heavier than normal. I’m sorry.” “Fine,” Dario said, more calmly. “Just get me there as fast as possible.” Dio, I have no time to sit here. I’m going crazy. I wish I had my helicopter. His mobile phone rang. He snatched it open and snapped, “What?” “Sorry to interrupt you, sir. I wanted to let you know the shoes will be arriving at Kennedy tonight, and I’ve arranged to have them delivered to your hotel.”

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“Thank you, Bianca. You did a good job getting them sent quickly. I appreciate it.” Bianca said, “Just doing my job, sir.” “I still appreciate it. I’ll call when I get them to let you know they arrived. Ciao for now.” Dario shut the phone. He looked at the wrapped package beside him on the seat and stroked it. He hoped his gift for Emma would make her happy. Finally, the limousine pulled in under the covered driveway to the entry to the Marriott in Times Square. Dario leaped from the vehicle before the driver or the bellman could open the door. He threw a couple of hundred dollars at the driver and, with his package under his arm, said to the bellman, “Take care of my bags, I have an appointment.” He dashed inside the lobby and crossed the marble floor to the oak wood front desk that lined the far wall. Luckily it was clear, as he didn’t stop to see if there was a line ahead of him. He said to the clerk, “Emma Chauncey’s room?” “Sir, I can ring the room, but I can’t give you the room number,” the clerk replied. “Then please do so.” The clerk looked up the room number. Dario watched her closely as she dialed. He could hear the ring of the phone echoing in the room. “I’m sorry, sir. There is no answer. Perhaps we can try again later, or I can leave a message for her.” “No message. Thank you for trying. I do need to check in myself. Can you assist me with that?” Dario asked. “Oh, yes, sir. I can. Name?” she asked. “Count Dario de Luca.” He slid his card across the counter. “Yes. Yes,” the clerk said enthusiastically. “We’ve been expecting you. You’re on the forty-eighth floor with the CCC record label people. I’m surprised you didn’t know Miss Chauncey’s room was the large suite on that floor.” She added with a giggle. “Oops. I guess I let that slip.”

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Dario took his room key from her and smiled. As he turned to walk away, his smile grew larger. The title works every time to fluster them. Should’ve pulled it out earlier. **** Earlier in the day, Emma had been seated in the box taking in a Broadway matinee production of The Thirty-nine Steps. She had spent the early part of the day solving problems with all the divas of the label as they arrived to check in before the awards show the next day. She decided to treat herself to a show, a comedy, to take her mind off the craziness. Who knew how difficult those singers could be? The men worse than the woman. She was glad that these tasks were not a normal part of her job description. After the show, she stopped in at Junior’s Cheesecake near Schubert Alley to have a slice of chocolate mousse. As she sat outside enjoying the slice and watching the crowd, she noticed a man jump out of one of the limousines that had been going in and out of the drive to the Marriott. Was that Dario? No. Impossible. Must be all the sugar in this slice of cheesecake that’s as big as my head. Just another handsome olive-skinned man. I’m seeing him everywhere. She closed the plastic box with half the cheesecake left in it, got up, and walked across the street to the hotel and rode up the glass elevator to her suite on the forty-eighth floor. The suite her father had arranged for her was immense. It was rather plain with all the white bedclothes and the tan upholstery. She felt it was a place of refuge in its plainness. New York City was always buzzing and humming, and the room was an oasis. Emma put the rest of the cheesecake in the mini refrigerator, kicked off her shoes, and flopped down on the sofa in the living room area of the suite. She snapped on the television just for the noise. The phone rang. She grabbed the receiver. “Hello.”

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“Miss Chauncey?” “Yes? This is Emma Chauncey.” “This is the front desk. I wanted to tell you that there was a Count de Luca, down here at the desk. He asked for you and he also asked me not to tell you he was here but I figured I better since you’re paying the bill.” the voice said with a slight giggle.. “What? What did you say?” Emma sat straight up and practically shrieked at the woman. “I’m sorry, Miss Chauncey. Did I upset you?” the desk clerk asked. “No. No,” Emma said. “I’m sorry I got loud. What was the message?” “He wanted me to ring your room when he checked in. I did, and you weren’t in, and I accidently told him you were in the corner suite on the forty-eighth floor. I’m sorr—” “Wait. He’s here? In the hotel? Now?” Emma said, her heart in her throat. “Oh, yes, ma’am. He’s part of your record label, isn’t he?” the clerk asked. “No. What makes you say that?” “Chauncey himself called to get the room for him,” said the clerk. “Huh? You sure about that?” Emma said, confused. “Yes, ma’am. I took the call myself. Late yesterday. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that Mr. de Luca needed to see you.” “Fine. Thanks. Message delivered.” Emma replaced the phone in the cradle. She sat for a moment. A brief moment. She then snatched the receiver up to place a call to her father to get some answers. As she dialed the country code for England, there was a loud knock on the door. She replaced the receiver, and before she could get to the door, the knocking got louder and more urgent. Damn arrogant, impatient count. Has to be him. She yelled, “I’m coming. I’m coming. Wait just a minute.” She

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slipped on her flats that were by the door, and without looking through the peephole, opened the door. As soon as she saw who it was, she tried to slam it shut, but he had his foot blocking the door. He shoved both her and the door backward. “What’s the matter, darling? Not happy to see me?” Calvin Smyth said with a leer. “Get out. Get out, you bastard!” she screamed. “No. I won’t. We’re going to talk. No, I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen. Sit down, Emma. Now,” Cal said coldly as he came in and slammed the door to the suite. “Who the hell do you think you are, Calvin? Barging in here and telling me to sit down?” “I’m in charge here, my dear. I suggest you sit down.” “What do you want from me?” “I want what you promised me.” “What did I promise you, Cal? What?” “You promised to marry me. I was going to be your husband.” He began to weep. She whispered, “Calvin. I was going to marry you, but you ruined it. Not me. You know it was you that messed us up.” His tears stopped, and he yelled, “No. You came home and found me with Natasha. If you’d stayed away a little longer, we’d be married now. I would still have a job, and I’d be the heir to the great Chauncey’s wealth including all the music rights he owns. You ruined it for me.” Realizing he had come unhinged, Emma was very scared. What the hell am I going to do? Don’t argue. Let him talk. Oh, God. “Calvin, I’m sorry I ruined it all. Really. We can still be together.” “Do you think I’m an idiot? I know you’re trying to appease me because you think I’m crazy. Do you think I’m that stupid? You think you can tell me what I want to hear and run when you get a chance? Hell no, Miss Chauncey.” “What do you want me to do, Cal?”

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“I want you to sign a will in my favor. You will then sign a note saying you love me. You can’t live without me. Then, we go up to the roof, and you’ll commit suicide.” She gasped. “No one will ever believe it.” “Oh, yes, they will, my dear. I’ll be very broken up at your funeral. I know your pater will be crushed, too. First his wife and sons in a fire, then his precious golden girl in a suicide. He’ll be despondent and will probably kill himself within a month of your suicide. It’ll all be quite, quite tragic. Of course, I’ll inherit everything as he won’t have time to change his will in his grief. It will make all the tabloids. I can see the headlines now—‘Chauncey, sixties singing icon, ends it all in his grief over daughter’s suicide.’” Cal raised his hands and spread them as if hanging a sign. “Doesn’t that tear at your heartstrings, Emma?” “You are crazy, Cal, to think this plan of yours will ever succeed. How the hell do you plan to get me to sign that stuff and get me to the roof?” “I have a knife, my dear. I won’t hesitate to use it if you don’t cooperate.” He showed her a huge hunting knife. She shook in terror. “Maybe I prefer you use a knife. Then there would be no doubt that I didn’t kill myself.” How am I gonna get out of this? Maybe I can scream on the way to the roof ? What am I going to do? “Never mind that. There’ll be no doubt it was suicide. But, before we sign the will, Emma, I want to fuck you one more time.” “Never.” She shook her head. “Why not? We both know you’re a whore. If I had known you were whore material, I would have treated you as such.” He sneered. “What are you talking...” “I’m talking about that piece of shit goombah you fucked all over the Italian countryside, you bitch!” he screamed, the spittle coming out of his mouth. He was almost hysterical. “I don’t know what you mean. What’re you saying?” she asked.

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“I saw you. You and that olive-skinned devil. You went down on him by the pond. You fucked him in the pond, and you fucked him on the blanket. I saw you, Emma. He ripped your clothes off, and you laughed. If you had fucked me like that, I wouldn’t have needed Natasha and the others to satisfy me.” “Others?” “Yeah. Others. All the time, others. I wanted you for your money and status. Not because you were a great piece of ass. Although I want to fuck you now to see what you learned from the big asshole Italian. Did you get any better? I hope you used protection as I’d hate to get a disease from the dirty bugger.” He sneered again. “Shut up, you bastard.” “I hate to think of that wop between your legs, thrusting into you. In my place, between your thighs. I can’t bear to think of it, Emma. He was fucking you, fucking, fucking, fucking, and you liked it. I could see. You were like some wanton dirty whore, wanting him to shove into you harder and harder. He was shoving and shoving. He was practically raping you, and you laughed. It was killing me to watch. Killing me, Emma. Do you understand that? Him in my place?” “Was that you I saw at the pond that day?” she asked. “You saw me and still fucked him in full view of an audience? You thought you had an audience, and you showed yourself like that? You surprise me, Emma, dear. You, who never even wanted the lights on. Or maybe,” Cal said silkily, “you saw me and wanted me to watch? Put on a show? Make me jealous?” He paused. “No? You shake your head at that? So, what does he have that I don’t?” “I can’t even begin to respond to that, Cal.” “Because you can’t compare me to him. You know I’m a better man than him.” “You delude yourself again. You aren’t even a tenth of the man he is.” “So, is that it? The big penis is the draw?”

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“You know that’s not what I meant. Although, now that you mention it...” Cal slapped her, and she grabbed her face as the sound of the slap was still ringing in the room. “Shut up, bitch.” The phone rang, and Emma said, “The desk knows I’m here. I just got off the line. Better let me answer.” Calvin pulled out the knife and put it at her throat. “One word of warning...” “Okay. Okay.” She answered the phone. “Hello?” “Miss Chauncey, this is Jennifer at the front desk, and I wanted to let you know that the maid will be up to bring some soaps. We had a delay on our shipment, and the soaps just came. I apologize.” “No. It’s fine. Send her up,” Emma replied and hung up the phone. “Who’s coming? What’ve you done?” Calvin demanded. “The maid. Was I going to say no to soap for my bath?” Emma asked. “Sign this letter and will, right now. Sorry you won’t get a farewell fuck, my dear, but suddenly I’m in a hurry. Maybe on the roof, we’ll have time for you to suck me off since I know you can do that well, anyway.” She was horrified at the thought of her lips on him again. Maybe I can bite it and get away. He held the knife to her throat as she signed the will and suicide letter with a shaky hand. Her tears wet the paper. “The tears make it more authentic, don’t you think, darling?” She didn’t answer. Wasn’t necessary. What will my pops do without me? Will he be the next victim of this mad man? She suppressed the rising hysteria. I have to get away, if only to save Pops. Help me, God. Cal grabbed the papers and shoved them into his pocket. After a second, he took them back out and said, “Better to leave them here, don’t you think, my dear? For the police to find, you see.” Fighting to keep herself from throwing up the cheesecake she had

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eaten, she just nodded. “Good. Keep quiet. Let’s go, bitch,” He pushed her to the door. Calvin held her arm in a death grip as he dragged her to the exit stairs down the hallway. She looked around frantically to see if there was anyone around to help. Pops rents two whole floors of a hotel, and no one is in the hall when I need them? Cal opened the door to the stairwell and dragged her up the stairs. She fell a couple of times, and he yanked her up roughly. She protested, “You’re hurting me, Cal.” He laughed hysterically. “Emma, I’m going to kill you. Do you think I care if I’m hurting you?” “Please rethink this. You won’t get away with it. You won’t. Pops knows I’m not in love with you. He knows I would never kill myself over you.” “Shut up. Shut up,” Cal replied. “Listen to me, this won’t work.” “I said shut up.” They were at the door to the rooftop, and Cal opened it and shoved her through. He dragged her to the edge of the roof. “Look at all the lights down there, darling. Just think, in a few minutes, you’ll be down there with the crowd. Your skull will be crushed. Hey, maybe you’ll land on a taxicab or maybe a limo. Ride out in style, so to speak.” She shrank in fear at the thought of going over the side of the building and fought the bile that had risen in her throat. As she tried to control her thoughts, she turned to the sound of the exit door clanging back against the iron bar of the stairwell. Calvin heard the noise as well and turned. “What have we here? The Latin defiler of English women?” “Dario, go. He’s going to kill me. Get help.” “By the time your goombah lover got back, you’d be dead, my sweet love.” Dario said calmly, “I’m not leaving you, Emma. I’ve flown all this way for you, and I’m taking you home.”

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“You delude yourself, sir. She’s going to die and then, you will, too.” “I don’t think so,” Dario said in a still, quiet tone. “What do you think you’re going to do? I have the knife. I’m on the edge here with her. All I have to do is push, and she’s gone,” Calvin said as he turned and slashed Emma’s shirt open with the knife, drawing blood. At the sight of the blood dripping down her chest, Dario went mad and lunged toward Cal. Cal let go of Emma, and she fell forward on her face. She turned around, sitting sprawled on the roof, to see the two men wrestling with each other, very close to the edge. “Dario. Stop. I’m free of him. Stop, don’t fall!” she screamed. At the sound of her voice, Dario stopped fighting. He looked over at her and, when he was distracted, Cal jumped on his back with the knife at Dario’s throat. Emma screamed. Cal said, “Fucker of my woman, what do you have to say for yourself now? Any last words, asshole?” Dario grabbed the knife that was at his throat and pushed Cal’s wrist backward. Emma heard the bone snap. Cal screamed, and Dario took that moment to shake Cal off his back. Cal fell to the floor, cradling his injured hand. Dario said in a cold, calm voice, “Are you quite finished with your little game, signore? It has become quite tedious.” Emma laughed hysterically. Oh, God. The man is just too arrogant. Unreal. I’m thinking I’m going to die, and he’s bored. She found she couldn’t stop laughing, and then she started crying. Dario looked at her. “Are you quite all right, amore mia?” Cal took advantage of Dario’s distraction with Emma and ran at him again. When he got to Dario, he grabbed him around the knees to pull him to the ground. Dario shoved him back and off his legs. Cal lost his balance, staggered, and fell off the roof. His screams echoed back upward as he spiraled down to the tarmac below.

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Chapter Eleven You don’t develop courage by being happy in your relationships everyday. You develop it by surviving difficult times and challenging adversity. —Epicurus (341–270 B.C.), Greek philosopher Dario held out his hand to Emma and helped her to her feet. “Are you hurt?” he asked. “Just a little shaken. Maybe bruised. Thank God you showed up, or it’d be me down there.” He touched her on the chest. “That’s a lot of blood. Are you sure you’re all right?” Oh, Dio, the blood. This is bad. She looked down, and when she saw the amount of blood flowing down her torso, she got weak in the knees. “Maybe I’m not...” She fainted. He caught her as she fell, and he carried her down the fire stairs to her suite to the sound of sirens in the street below. The maid was in the hallway, and she let him into the room. Once in the suite, he placed Emma gently on the bed. He snatched the phone from the cradle and called the police. He then rang the front desk and asked the clerk to send up the house doctor. He grabbed some towels from the bathroom and pressed them to her chest to stop the flow of blood. Mio Dio, that’s a lot of blood. Hurry. The hotel house doctor arrived with the maid. He looked at Emma and said, “The cut’s not as deep as it seems. There’s a lot of blood but it was on a fatty area of the body so it just looks like she’s lost a lot.” The doctor pressed the towel down again on Emma’s chest and

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looked at Dario as he added,. “That being said, she probably still needs to go to the hospital. Presbyterian is near here. We should have her transported, sir. Just in case. “No. No hospital. We stay here. You sew her. Stop the bleeding.” “Sir, I have to report this. It’s clearly a knife wound. I have a duty to report it. Did you do this?” the doctor asked as he inspected the wound again. The towel had soaked up most of the blood. Dario looked at him, enraged. “No. I didn’t do this to her. Did you hear about the man splattered on Forty-Second Street, you imbecile? He did this to her. I’ve already called the polizia. They’re on the way. She’ll have to give a statement. He, the dead man, tried to kill her. I don’t want him to succeed. There was a lot of blood. Can’t you see? I don’t want to risk moving her. Do you understand me? Now, sew her wound. Sew it like your life depends on it.” “I’m not a surgeon...” “Just do it,” Dario practically screamed. The doctor, his hands shaking, opened his bag and searched for a vial. “You expect me to sew her up right here? I’m not a plastic surgeon. It may not look pretty. “Yes, I do expect you to do it here. Now,” said Dario. The doctor pulled a vial out of the bag along with a syringe and filled the syringe with the liquid. “What’s that?” Dario asked as he held Emma’s hand, towel ready in case there was more blood. “It’s a sedative. She needs to stay still while I do this, and she may wake and jerk away when she feels the needle go in.” “Good. She probably needs something to stay calm after her ordeal, too. She didn’t even know she was hurt until she looked down. Go ahead, give her the solution.” Dario nodded at the needle. The police announced themselves at the door, and Dario left the bedroom to let them in. After the two officers were seated, Dario told them what he had seen. “I was coming down the hallway to call on Miss Chauncey. When

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I got near the exit stairs, I saw Miss Chauncey being pulled into the stairwell. I didn’t see who had her by the arm. I waited a minute or two because I could tell it would be better to wait to be on the open roof before I confronted them. The stairs were close quarters and seemed like a bad place to get trapped. And also, at first, I wasn’t sure it was against her will. It could have been a lover’s tryst. Dario shook his head as he remembered what he’d seen and added, “The more I thought about how she looked as the door shut, I realized that she was in grave danger so I ran up the stairs and found that it was her former fiancé that had her. He was holding a knife on her at the edge of the roof. He was determined to throw her off. When I confronted him, he cut her with the knife. She’s in the bedroom now having the wound stitched. She’ll give you a statement as soon as she can.” “Sir,” one of the officers asked, “how did Mr. Smyth end up on the ground?” “After he shoved Emma away from him to attack me, we fought. I thwarted him by breaking his wrist of the hand that held the knife. I thought he was subdued, and when I checked on Miss Chauncey, he ran up behind me and tried to knock me down. I pushed backward on him with all my strength, and he staggered and fell. That’s it. He simply fell,” Dario said with a shrug. “You understand we have to get Miss Chauncey’s statement to verify this?” asked the second officer. “Yes. I do understand,” Dario replied. “Now, may I call her father? I’m sure this will be on the news, and he’ll be worried.” “Sure, sure,” officer number one said. “We’ll do a quick search of the room to see if there’s any evidence. We have a tech in the hall.” As Dario made his call, the technician found the suicide note and the will laying openly on the side table. He bagged them. Then he dusted for prints in the main room as well as the bedroom and bath. In a few minutes, the doctor came out of the bedroom. “Sir, she’s sewn up. I did the best I could, but there’ll be a scar. The bleeding has

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stopped, but she’s weak. I really recommend you have her transported to the nearest facility. She’s stable but may need more attention.” “Thank you, doctor. I’ll see if she wants to go. If so, it shall be done. Please accept my thanks.” Dario handed the doctor a wad of bills and added, “Will you come back and check on her later? Can she speak to the polizia now?” “Yes. I think so, she’s awake but groggy,” the doctor said. “I’ll be back in a few hours to check on her.” He shoved the money in his pocket and left, glad to be away from the overbearing Italian. Officer number two said to Dario, “You need to stay here while we talk to Miss Chauncey to see if she verifies your story.” “Why does everyone think I did this to her?” Dario demanded. “Sir, we don’t think you did this to her. We have no opinion as yet. All we know is that there’s a dead man on the street, a woman with a knife wound in this suite, and your explanation of both. We need corroboration.” “I’m not used to having my word doubted, officer,” said Dario haughtily as he looked down his nose at the man. “I’m sure you’re not,” the officer said under his breath as he followed his partner into the bedroom. **** After the officers had left, satisfied after their interview with Emma, Dario crept into the bedroom and stood beside the bed looking down at her. He thought she had gone back to sleep, but she surprised him by speaking. “Thank you for saving me, Dario. I thought I was dead.” She patted the coverlet. “Sit.” He sat gingerly on the bed, reached out, and caressed her face. “I don’t know how I could’ve gone on with my life if I’d lost you. I’m just glad I saw you enter the stairwell.” “Dario? Why are you here? The desk clerk said you were part of the record label crew. I know that’s not true. What did you tell them?”

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she asked. “I didn’t tell them. Your padre told them.” “Pops? Why?” she asked. “I’m completely lost. Why?” “Because, mia cara, I asked for his help.” “All right then, I must be delusional. The great Count Dario de Luca asked for help? Maybe I am dead?” “Ah. Mia amore, you must be fine. You’re poking fun at me.” He leaned in and kissed her on the brow. “May I see your wound? I want to make sure I got my money’s worth on that doctor.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. She looked down. “He said there’d be a scar.” Dario lifted her chin. “It is no matter. You’ll still be beautiful.” He pulled back the cover and lifted the bandage. They both looked at her breast. Emma burst into tears. “No more seno bellissimo.” Dario looked her in the eyes, then bent down and kissed the stitches on her breast. He looked her in the eyes again and said in a soft voice, “Bella mia, this seno is my treasure and the most bellissimo of them all. It is a warrior, it has honor and shall be worshiped all of your life. By me.” She cried, and he laid down beside her and held her until she slept. He continued to lay there with her in his arms for hours, content to watch her sleep. For she was safe. **** Later that evening, close to ten PM, he eased himself up from the bed and called for room service. While he waited for the food to arrive, he took the time to return to his own room to retrieve the box he had carried from Italy with him. The doctor came by to check on Emma. After the doctor left, she got up and came into the living area of the suite at the same time as the food delivery. “Yum. That’s smells divine. I’m famished. What did you order?” she asked as she lifted the

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domed lid off one of the plates and inhaled deeply. “Chicken marsala. To remember my motherland.” Dario winked. “As if I could forget.” He pulled her chair out for her. “Signorina, your dinner is served.” He bowed and, with a flourish, placed the white cloth napkin across her lap. He walked around the table and took his own seat. He watched her carefully as she ate to be sure she took in enough food. “Quit watching me. My nanny used to have that look on her face. She looked at me like that to keep me from sneaking my vegetables to the dog under the table.” He laughed. “I see no dog under the table, but I see you not eating much either. You need to recover, cara, and the way to do that is to eat.” “I’m fine, Dario. Really. Just not very hungry.” His eyes darkened and he replied, “I’m hungry, bella, just not for chicken marsala.” She blushed. “I confess, I’m hungry for another kind of Italian, myself.” He leaped from his chair and swooped her into his arms and carried her back to the bedroom. As he laid her gently on the bed, he brushed the hair out of her eyes. “Are you sure you’re able to make love? You just had a threat on your life and a minor surgery.” “Dario, what better way to celebrate being alive than to make love?” He groaned and opened her robe as she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. He finally sat up and pulled the shirt over his head without unbuttoning it, and as she ran her hands and lips over his chest, he pulled off his trousers. As he pulled them off, he stopped short. “I’m sorry. I’ll have to return to my room for a moment. Don’t move.” He made a move to recover his trousers. Emma put her hand on his arm. “Why? Why go to your room?” “My condoms are there.” “We’ve made love twice now without one. The first time and the

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time in the pond. I think it’s all right.” “Are you sure? I’d never force you to do that, and they’re right down the hall. You aren’t an irresponsible woman.” He shook his head. “Dario, I couldn’t bear it if you left now. And I almost died today. I think I’ve earned the right to be rash. Besides, I want to feel you, your skin, you. Please.” At her words, he was lost, and she knew it. She pulled him toward her and guided him into her. They made love frantically, both relieved she was still alive and healthy. When they were spent, Dario said, “I have something for you. Be right back.” He got up from the bed and walked into the living room. The view from the bed pleased Emma. There’s that beautiful round bottom I adore. He came back in with a box in his hands. She admired her view of his body from the front as he strode across the room. What a man. He placed the package in front of her as she sat up with the pillow at her back. “What is it?” she asked. He leaned forward and gently kissed the bandage on her breast. “Open it. I designed them while at the castello and had them prepared when I stopped in Milan before I could come find you.” She ripped the ribbon off the outside of the box and opened the lid. She gasped, “Dario, they’re beautiful.” She lifted a coral colored high-heeled shoe from the box. It was the exact color of her dress that she had no shoes to match. The fabric was a crochet just like the dress, only in soft buttery suede. She stuck her foot out of the blankets and slid the shoe on her right foot and then took out the left one and slipped it on as well. She said, “How did you know my size?” She walked around the room, nude but for the coral shoes. “Gwen told me.” “Ah, she’s a sneaky one. I didn’t know you paid attention when I made that stupid comment about my shoes not matching.” “Emma, I listened to everything you ever said to me. Even when

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you talked about no coral shoes in all of London.” She laughed and continued to admire the shoes. Dario listened to her prattle on about them and watched her as she tested the fit by continuing to walk around the room. His manhood reawakened at the sight of her in the shoes with her only adornment a bandage on one breast. He said, “Il sangue nelle mie bolle con passione per te.” She stopped short. “You said that to me on the terreza that night you first kissed me. You never told me what it means.” He stood, came to her, and wrapped his arms around her, and, with his large hands cupping her butt, said, “It means, ‘You make the blood in my veins boil with passion.’ And you do.” He kissed her hungrily and deeply. When his lips finally let hers go, she said, “That’s poetic, Dario, and it sounds much sexier in Italian. Now, let’s make some poetry with our boiling veins. You know what? You make mine boil, too.” She led him back to the bed, and he entered her immediately. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her feet still in the coral highheeled shoes. **** Much later, they woke to a loud knock on the door. Dario pulled on his trousers. “Wait here. Don’t move.” Dario opened the door to the suite. Chauncey strode in. “Where’s Emma?” Emma came out from the bedroom in her robe. “Here I am, Pops.” Chauncey flew to her, wrapped her in his arms, and hugged her. He cried into her hair and said over and over, “Thank God. Thank God. What would I have done...” “Pops, stop. Stop. I’m fine. Really. Sit down, sit down.” Chauncey sat on the sofa and pulled Emma down beside him. He took a ragged breath. “I brought the plane. I’ve flown all night to get

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here. Dario called and told me you were all right, but I had to see. I had to see. I couldn’t bear to lose another child in America. Emma, I’ve been mad with worry. Mad, I tell you.” He hugged her again. Hard. She winced and looked down as the blood seeped through her robe. Chauncey’s eyes widened. “You aren’t fine. Did you both lie to me? Why aren’t you in a hospital?” He looked at Dario. “Dario, I blame you for this.” Dario turned red, but before he could say anything, Emma held up her hand to silence him. “Pops, Dario saved my life. Because of him, I’m not on a slab at the coroner’s office, and Cal is instead. You need to get a grip. I was stabbed, well, more like gashed, but I’m fine. Your hug must have torn a stitch loose. I’m going to the loo and change my bandage. If I need the doctor to come back, I’ll let you know. Please don’t kill each other while I’m out of the room.” She stalked into the bathroom. Chauncey looked at Dario. “I’m sorry, son. I’m not myself. I’m frantic over this situation. Please forgive my accusation. It seems I owe you a debt of gratitude rather than a lecture.” Chauncey held out his hand to Dario. “Friends?” Dario gripped the older man’s hand. “Friends.” Emma came out of the loo. Both men looked at her and said together, “Do we call the doctor?” Emma laughed. “You two must’ve made up. No. No need for the doctor. Just a bit of seepage.” Chauncey said, “The awards show red carpet starts at five this afternoon. How about we go to lunch at Tavern on the Green? We’ll have plenty of time to get back to dress for the show.” “Are you going to the show? You usually skip those things,” Emma said, surprised. “I’m here. I have a tuxedo. I’ll go,” her father replied. “Besides, I hear my divas are wearing fabulous shoes designed and donated by

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some Italian guy. I need to check those out, don’t you think, Em?” “Oh, Pops, what have you two cooked up?” she asked with a shake of her head. Dario said, “It was our plan to get you to listen to my apology for lying to you. You’d have to work with me, and I’d have a chance to apologize. I never got to put the plan in action due to your former fiancé’s actions.” “So, I’m not getting an apology?” she asked coyly. “No. Looks like you aren’t.” Dario grinned at her. “Should’ve known, you arrogant, haughty, insufferable Italian,” she said with a bigger grin. Chauncey slapped his hands on his thighs, rose from the couch, and said, “I may be old, but I can see when I’m not needed. I’ll see you two in the lobby in”—he looked at his watch—“about an hour and a half.” He looked at Dario. “Is that enough time for you to apologize?” “I think so, sir,” Dario replied. Emma kissed her father on the cheek, and he left. Dario said, “Your father surprises me with his liberal attitude to his daughter’s chastity.” She laughed. “How very old world of you, Dario. My chastity, indeed. Don’t forget my pops was a rock star in the swinging sixties. He has no idea how many women he slept with. He can’t judge anyone. Or he won’t. Either way, it’s all right.” Dario said, “I have another box I brought from Italy with me. I’d like to present it to you as well.” “Another pair of shoes? You’ll spoil me, Dario.” “No. Not shoes. Although it is an advantage to being with a shoe designer. You can forget the troubles with matching your dresses.” He paused. “See, a reason to be with me.” She looked at him, took his hand, and led him to the couch. He sat with her, and she took his chin in her thumb and forefinger, looked him in his deep, deep brown eyes, and said, “You told me on

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Vincente’s yacht that you went to all the trouble of disguising yourself, and pretending to be a dance instructor of all things, in order to find a woman that would want to be with you. You the man, not you the shoe designer, not you the millionaire, not you the count, but you. You. And now you tell me the reason I should want to be with you is that you can give me shoes? Dario, I can buy all the shoes I want. I don’t want a man that can give me shoes, money, or a title. I want a man who can give me love and happiness. Who can give me his heart, his soul, his undying devotion to me. Not a man that wants me because my father is Chauncey, not a man that will cheat on me because I’m no good in bed. Not a man that can’t love me for me. I hope you’re that man. Desperately, I hope you’re that man. But, if you aren’t, I can live with that, too. I have survived being the groomless bride as you called me that first day I met you, and I find that I’m stronger both inside and out. And like you said about my breast, I’m a warrior, and I can take care of myself if I need to. I don’t need a man to validate me. I don’t need to be a martyr. I can stand on my own. I’m strong. You helped me find that out, and I will always be grateful to you for that even if you don’t love me in the same crazy, insane, hopeless way that I love you.” He crushed her to his chest, and with tears streaming down his face, wetting her hair and neck, he said, “I do love you in the same crazy, insane, hopeless way that you love me. I, the arrogant, insufferable Court de Luca, am like putty in your hands. I can hardly hold myself together when I’m near you. That first dinner at Vincente’s when you thought I was glaring at you, I was fighting myself and the feelings roiling in me. You climbed in my heart that very night, and you have taken up permanent residence there. I couldn’t evict you if I wanted to, and believe me, I don’t want to.” He kissed her neck, her breastbone, and her wound dressing, and his tongue found her nipple on the breast that had not been cut, and he took it in his mouth and drove her mad with desire. She shrugged out of her robe and pulled him on top of her on the couch. He worked his

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way down her stomach with his tongue, and when he licked her deep inside, she moaned, and he smiled. “This I could do all day.” She said, “Might be awkward at the Tavern.” He leered up at her. “Quite a show for the tourists?” “Tourists, hell, what about the locals?” He laughed deep in his throat and moved up to her mouth and kissed her. “Let me get the other box. Be right back.” He swaggered across the room as she giggled at his antics. She sat up to watch him better. She couldn’t resist looking at that toned ass and his back muscles. He opened the drawer in the desk where the television sat, turned back, and as he got to the couch, he knelt on one knee. She gasped when he knelt. “Dario, what are you...” He shushed her. “Stop. Let me say what I need to say. I have to tell you this. I was raised by a cruel and overbearing father, the last count. He had rigid ideas about his heir and the proper conduct of that heir. My mother was cold and distant. I have three siblings, a sister and two brothers. My madre had done her duty by giving birth to the heir as well as two spares, and I believe that once my youngest brother was born, she never allowed my father access to her person again. I grew up in this family that tolerated each other, but there was scarce love. “I became a shoe designer by accident. I loved to draw as a child, and when I saw how it enraged my father as a sissy undertaking, I went to art school. Success came easy. I found myself surrounded by models, actresses, and women on the prowl for a potential title. After my padre died, it got worse. Coupled with my uncle Mario trying to find me a bride to secure my own heir and spare, I despaired of ever finding a woman that would love me. Just me, the man, Dario. When you’re world famous, it’s hard to know someone’s true motives. None of the women I dated seemed real.” Dario shrugged, “My friend, Vincente suggested the disguise. The haircut, the beard, the dance instructor line. Since I can dance, we

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figured that was a good cover. Then you walked in the dining room that night in that white dress and stole my breath away. I was stunned at my reaction to you. I had to know if you were for real. I knew you were hurt by Smyth, but I didn’t know if you were one of those shallow women I had been around for so many years. I learned very quickly that I could love you for the rest of my life. “Then, the dilemma. How to tell you who I really was? It had gone too far. I discussed it with Vincente, and we decided he’d ease you into it. Then that day on the yacht, and it was too late. I tried to follow you.” He shook his head, “regrettably, I got delayed. “And here we are. I tell you all this because I want you to know the real me. Warts and all. All the bad. All the hidden stuff. I love you, heart and soul. I want a marriage like no other. I want you. I’ll never betray you. Never. Don’t you ever believe you aren’t a sexual woman. Cal Smyth was a pervert and tried to justify his own indiscretions by tearing you down.” He took her hands in his, “Emma, I want to marry you. I want you to be my contessa. I want to plant my seed in you. I want to watch you grow fat with child, my child. I want us to have a wonderful family. I want us to erase the bad. Erase the bad together. Make me the happiest man and say you’ll marry me.” He opened the box. She gasped again as she saw the ring inside the box. It was a ninecarat square-cut diamond ring with a large square cut ruby set on either side of the diamond. Dario said, “The de Luca diamond. My mother wore it until my father died. Will you take it for your own?” “Oh, Dario, it’s exquisite.” “Do I hear a ‘but’ in there?” Dario asked. “No. No ‘but’ in there. I’m honored and would love to be your contessa.” At the joy in his face, she put her finger on his lip. “Before you get too excited, I have to ask a couple of questions. We both know your uncle thinks I’m a whore, and I have no idea about your mother. How will they accept me?”

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“They will because I say they will,” Dario pronounced. “I can’t accept that. I can’t be in a marriage where my in-laws hate me and only abide me by command. And what about Celia? She’ll be married to your best friend. You can’t command her, Dario.” “Celia is of no concern. She’s no longer engaged to Vincente. He became wise to her ways that day on the yacht when she was so cruel to you. He’s ended their association. In fact, after you left his castello, he was comforted in the aftermath of his breakup by your own friend, Gwen. As for my family, they don’t matter. We never have to see them. No loss to me. I never see them anyway. The pressure to get me married was the most attention they paid to me in years. We’ll make our own family with your father and our children. So, all your questions are answered. Now, is the answer yes?” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Oh, yes. The answer is a million times, yes.” He took the ring from the box and solemnly placed it on her finger and kissed it. She said, “You have to tell me the story about Gwen and Vincente. What happened to Tonio?” “As much as I’d love to regale you with the story, if we’re going to be decent to meet your father downstairs, we better get ready.” “Race you to the shower?” Emma said. “Oh, wicked, wicked Emma, we will be late for sure.” He followed her to the shower, her robe trailing behind her. **** When they arrived downstairs at the limousine, Chauncey looked down at Emma’s left hand and said to her, “Apology accepted, ducks?” She blushed. “Yes, Pops. And this time, I think I’ve got it right.” “I know I only asked for permission to court your daughter but

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implicit in that was permission to marry her. May I have her hand in marriage, sir?” Chauncey clapped him on the back. “Do you think I’d have helped you as much as I did if I were going to withhold that permission? And besides, have you ever tried to tell this daughter of mine no?” “No, sir. I never have and never shall.” Emma laughed and elbowed him in the side. “Right. I’m not counting on that, my count.” They climbed in the limo and rode to Tavern on the Green where they enjoyed lunch and several bottles of Dom Pérignon. They were almost giddy with happiness and relief that Emma had survived her ordeal with Calvin Smyth. Many well-wishers and autograph seekers stopped by the table. It denigrated to a contest between the two men as to who was more in demand, the singing icon or the shoe designer. They were all a bit drunk as they left the restaurant. That night at the awards show, Chauncey took the stage as a surprise addition to the show. He had spent the afternoon writing a new song. The song was entitled “The Italian Shoe Designer Takes a Bride.” It was a folksy song full of love and double entendre and became his next number-one hit. He sang it again at the wedding of his daughter and her count at Vincente’s castello the following month.

THE END http://jillianchantal.wordpress.com/

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jillian Chantal is the pen name of an attorney practicing law in Pensacola, Florida. She escapes from her high stress job by writing romantic fiction. She lives in a suburb of Pensacola with her husband, two sons, and one very feisty cat. She loves to hear from readers and can be reached at [email protected]

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