Summer Romance With The Italian Tycoon. Jessica Gilmore
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spoke for itself.
Maddie led the way into the grey flagstone entrance hall which linked the two stable blocks and paused by the comfortable leather sofas, cushions plumped up perfectly to welcome weary revellers. A coffee table between them was heaped with crisp new magazines and literature detailing walks and day trips. The sideboard held jugs of fresh mountain flowers and a chalkboard was propped against the wall opposite, the names ‘Tom and Nicky’ written in a swirly script, ready to welcome the next happy couple.
‘Although the castello is very beautiful, and architecturally sound, bookings were a little more intermittent than I would have expected,’ she explained, proud of how firm her voice was. But why shouldn’t it be? She had this.
‘This is why I wanted a dedicated wedding planner,’ Guido said. ‘We got many enquiries, but only a few converted into bookings. We are so remote here, and the winters can be harsh, so our summers were busy but the rest of the year not so much.’
‘It’s just a case of turning those perceived negatives into positives,’ Maddie said. ‘Positioning the castle as a winter wonderland through the colder months, making the isolation a strength by ensuring everything they could possibly need is right here, although we can organise trips to Garda or Verona or Milan. We organise airport pick-ups, help brides and their guests with travel itineraries either side of their stay with us.’
She opened the door that led into the dining room. The wooden tables were set out café-style, each with small jugs of fresh flowers in the centre. ‘There is always coffee on the go in here, along with iced water, but guests can order any other drinks they need from the kitchens. Depending on the arrangements we have with the bride and groom, this might be free, or the guests might have individual tabs. We usually have some kind of cake or biscuits and bowls of fresh fruit available all day as well. Breakfast is always served as a buffet, dinner too unless the couple pay more for a more formal serving.’
Maddie was aware of the Conte’s gaze, fixed firmly on her as she talked, but she blocked it out, determined that by the time her tour was concluded that sardonic gleam would turn to interest and the only expression on his admittedly handsome face would be approval.
* * *
Dante had to admit that the English girl had done wonders. The last time he had seen these rooms they had been furnished formally, antiques from the castle forming the bulk of the furniture, ancient mountain views and various ancestors framed in thick gilt decorating the walls. It had all been stripped away, plain white walls now livened with colourful abstract prints, and rooms filled with comfortable-looking brown leather sofas and chairs, heaped with bright throws and cushions. Shelving had been erected in both rooms, filled with books and board games. It looked clean, comfortable and homely, despite the size of the rooms.
The same magic had been wrought upstairs. The bedrooms were also freshly painted in white, the wooden beds made up with white linen and cheerful silk cushions and throws, with matching rugs on the polished floorboards. ‘Sometimes a bride and groom like to decorate to a theme, so we’ve kept the accommodation neutral in case we need to dress the rooms up to match,’ Maddie explained. ‘There are still some of the castle antiques around—that huge vase, for example, but they’re accents now, not overshadowing the whole. What we haven’t stinted on is quality. All the toiletries, the linens, the chocolates are locally sourced. We want the stables to feel more like a high-end hotel, not like a hostel. All the rooms are Austrian twins so we can make them up as twins or doubles, depending on what we’re asked to do.’
‘It’s very impressive,’ Dante admitted as they reached the final room on that corridor, a sunlit room with cheerful yellow and orange hints. It was, and he especially liked how Maddie had managed to ensure that no two rooms felt the same, her judicious use of pictures and ornaments giving each one its own identity. ‘But new sofas, new beds, new linen—it can’t have been cheap.’
Not that he couldn’t afford it, but the wedding lets were just a tiny part of his business concerns. The Falcone fortune came from agriculture, from shipping, from olives and wine. He was glad the castle was more than a glorified summer residence, glad to provide legitimate employment for those villagers who needed it, but he wasn’t running a charity and the Castello Falcone needed to pay its way.
‘It wasn’t. But I believe the results speak for themselves. We’re already fully booked for next year and a third of the year after, and we managed to fill every spare week this year from April onwards.’ Maddie met his eyes with a cool gaze of her own, but Dante could see a swirl of uncertainty behind the grey depths.
‘Impressive,’ he said softly and watched, fascinated, as the uncertainty dissolved, her eyes lightening to silver, her diffidence disappearing until she was glowing with achievement and pride—deservedly so.
The air stilled, thickened as their gazes locked. Guido and Toni, his accountant, had returned downstairs to look at something that needed replacing, leaving Dante alone with his new event planner. And suddenly that felt like a dangerous place to be.
This was his home, his workplace—and more importantly his daughter was arriving in two days. There was no time for a discreet affair, even if Maddie was interested.
No, better not to think about an interested Maddie, not with the two of them alone, with her eyes still fixed on his, her lips parted. Not with the memory of how she had watched him across the lake still crystal-clear in his mind.
‘I think that’s everything,’ she said a little huskily, colour mounting in her cheeks as she practically marched out of the bedroom and headed towards the stairs. ‘I’m sure Guido has already talked you through the strategy we put together.’
‘Have you also made changes to the master bedroom suite?’ Dante stayed as still a predator as Maddie stopped, one hand on the top of the stair rail.
‘A few.’
‘Show me.’
Her eyes flashed at the order, but she didn’t speak, just nodded her head slightly before descending the narrow staircase. Dante followed, trying not to watch the sway of her hips, the way her hair moved as she walked. If he had any sense he would allow Madeleine Fitzroy to get on with her evening and check out the honeymoon suite by himself. After another dip in the freezing lake.
Not that he had any interest in spending more time with Maddie. This was business, plain and simple. If she had made changes it made sense that she was the one to explain her rationale to him. His decision was completely unconnected to the knowledge that ever since he had seen her across the lake staring at him with such unabashed curiosity something dormant had woken inside him, running insistently through his blood. Not because describing his fake relationship to his sister had made him aware of just how cold his life really was.
Intentionally cold, but when loneliness bit it did so with sharp intent.
It only took a few moments to cross the courtyard to the big, arched wooden door studded with iron which led into the oldest part of the castle. The wing where the staff quarters and offices were sat at a right angle to the ancient hall, with the more modern parts of the castle—a mere five hundred years old—complete with the famed turrets and terraces, faced the lake beyond that.
‘I changed nothing in here,’ Maddie said quietly as she preceded Dante into the vast room. ‘It’s perfect as it is.’
It was, with its arched ceiling criss-crossed with beams, the stone floor and the leaded stained-glass windows shadowing the floor in colour. A dais stood at one end filled with flowers. Chairs were already laid out in neat rows, each one dressed in white linen, more flowers punctuating the end of each row on tall plinths.
‘Tomorrow’s couple are getting married the day after they arrive, so we’re all set up and ready,’ she said.
Dante watched her as she stopped and surveyed the room, her sharp gaze sweeping every corner, making sure nothing was missed, pulling a notebook out of her bag and scribbling a few words. It was like watching a dance, or listening to finely read poetry, she was so in tune with her surroundings, oblivious to her companion as she wrote, paced