Under The Tuscan Sun...: A Bride for the Italian Boss / Return of the Italian Tycoon / Reunited by a Baby Secret. SUSAN MEIER
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Day quickly became night. Before Rafe could draw a steady breath the restaurant filled again. Wasn’t that the way of it when everything was falling apart around you? With work to be done, there was no time to think things through. When the last patron finally departed and the staff dispersed after the kitchen cleaning, Rafe walked behind the shiny wood bar, pulled a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, along with a glass, and slid onto a tall, black, wrought iron stool.
Hearing the sound of the door opening, he yelled, “We’re closed.” Then grimaced. Was he trying to get a reputation for being grouchy rather than exacting?
“Good thing I’m not a customer, then.”
He swiveled around at the sound of his friend Nico Amatucci’s voice.
Tall, dark-haired Nico glanced at the whiskey bottle, then sat on a stool beside Rafe. “Is there a reason you’re drinking alone?”
Rafe rose, got another glass and set it on the bar. He poured whiskey into the glass and slid it to Nico. “I’m not drinking alone.”
“But you were going to.”
“I lost my maître d’.”
Nico raised his glass in salute and drank the shot. “You’re surprised?”
“I’m an artist.”
“You’re a pain in the ass.”
“That, too.” He sighed. “But I don’t want to be. I just want things done correctly. I’ll spread the word tomorrow that I’m looking for someone. Not a big deal.” He made the statement casually, but deep down he knew he was wrong. It was a big deal. “Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t have the week or two it’ll take to collect résumés and interview people. I need somebody tomorrow.”
Nico raised his glass to toast. “Then, you, my friend, are in trouble.”
Didn’t Rafe know it.
THE NEXT MORNING, Daniella and Louisa found a tin of tea and some frozen waffles in a freezer. “We’re so lucky no one had the electricity shut off.”
“Not lucky. The place runs off a generator. We turn it on in winter to keep the pipes from freezing.”
Daniella and Louisa gasped and spun around at the male voice behind them.
A handsome dark-haired man stood in the kitchen doorway, frowning at them. Though he appeared to be Italian, he spoke flawless English. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’ll let you finish your breakfast, but this is private property.”
Louisa’s chin lifted. “I know it’s private property. I’m Louisa Harrison. I inherited this villa.”
The man’s dark eyes narrowed. “I don’t suppose you have proof of that?”
“Actually, I do. A letter from my solicitor.” She straightened her shoulders. “I think the better question is, who are you?”
“I’m Nico Amatucci.” He pointed behind him. “I live next door. I’ve been watching over this place.” He smiled thinly. “I’d like to see the letter from your solicitor. Or—” he pulled out his cell phone “—should I call the police?”
Louisa brushed her hands down her blue jeans to remove the dust they’d collected when she and Daniella had searched for tea. “No need.”
Not wanting any part of the discussion, Daniella began preparing the tea.
“And who are you?”
She shrugged. “Just a friend of Louisa’s.”
He sniffed as if he didn’t believe her. Not accustomed to being under such scrutiny, Daniella focused all her attention on getting water into the teapot.
Louisa returned with the letter. When Nico reached for it, she held it back. “Not so fast. I’ll need the key you used to get in.”
He held Louisa’s gaze. Even from across the room, Daniella felt the heat of it.
“Only if your papers check out.” His frosty smile could have frozen water. “Palazzo di Comparino has been empty for years. Yet, suddenly here you are.”
“With a letter,” she said, handing it to Nico.
He didn’t release her gaze as he took the letter from her hands, and then he scanned it and peered at Louisa again. “Welcome to Palazzo di Comparino.”
Daniella let out her pent-up breath.
Louisa held his gaze. “Just like that? How do you know I didn’t fake this letter?”
Giving the paper back to her, he said, “First, I knew the name of the solicitor handling the estate. Second, there are a couple of details in the letter that an outsider wouldn’t know. You’re legit.”
Though Daniella would have loved to have known the details, Louisa didn’t even seem slightly curious. She tucked the sheet of paper into her jeans pocket.
Nico handed his key to Louisa as he glanced around the kitchen. “Being empty so long, the place is in disrepair. So if there’s anything I can do to help—”
Louisa cut him off with a curt “I’m fine.”
Nico’s eyes narrowed. Daniella didn’t know if he was unaccustomed to his offers of assistance being ignored, or if something else was happening here, but the kitchen became awkwardly quiet.
When Daniella’s teapot whistled, her heart jumped. Always polite, she asked, “Can I get anyone tea?”
Watching Louisa warily, Nico said, “I’d love a cup.”
Drat. He was staying. Darn the sense of etiquette her foster mother had drilled into her.
“I’ll make some later,” Louisa said as she turned and walked out of the kitchen, presumably to put the letter and the key away.
As the door swung closed behind her, Nico said, “She’s a friendly one.”
Daniella winced. She’d like to point out to Mr. Nico Amatucci that he’d been a tad rude when he’d demanded to see the letter from the solicitor, but she held her tongue. This argument wasn’t any of her business. She had enough troubles of her own.
“Have you known Ms. Harrison long?”
“We just met. I saw someone mistakenly take her bag and helped because Louisa doesn’t speak Italian. Then we were on the same bus.”
“Oh, so you hit the jackpot when you could find someone to stay with.”
Daniella’s eyes widened. The man was insufferable. “I’m not taking advantage of her! I just finished a teaching job in Rome. Louisa needs an interpreter for a few weeks.” She put her shoulders back. “And today I intend to go into town to look for temporary work to finance a few weeks of sightseeing.”
He took the cup of tea from her hands. “What kind of work?”
His softened voice took some of the wind out of her sails. She shrugged. “Anything really. Temp jobs are temp jobs.”
“Would you be willing to be a hostess at a restaurant?”
Confused, she said, “Sure.”
“I have a friend who needs someone to fill in while he hires a permanent replacement for a maître d’ who just quit.”
Her feelings for the mysterious Nico warmed a bit. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all? “Sounds perfect.”
“Do you have a pen?”
She nodded, pulling one from her purse.
He scribbled down the address on a business card he took from his pocket. “Go here. Don’t call.