Falling for the Sardinian Baron

by Rosanna Battigelli

  “You didn’t have to tell me, signor DiLuca,” she replied cheerfully with a heavy Italian accent. “You order that nine times out of ten!”

  He laughed and caught Ella’s gaze on him. She really did have fawn eyes, dark and wide—like the expanse of sea he’d often look out at from his bedroom balcony at midnight—

  Whoa! Why was his mind even formulating such thoughts? She was here on business, and he had no business conjuring up thoughts like that about her. Thoughts that sounded like they were part of a romantic sonnet...

  He was not interested in romance.

  Been there, done that.

  And it had left him with a broken heart.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ELLA’S GAZE WENT from the baron’s eyes to the dimple in his cheek. He was so distractingly good-looking... And although she generally wasn’t a huge fan of beards, his was rather attractive. Thick but tapered in all the right spots, his sideburns descending evenly to his jaw, his moustache perfectly symmetrical. And below his lips—completely visible and perfectly shaped—the inverted triangle of hair above his beard made him look like what she imagined a baron would look like, even though his baseball cap, T-shirt and jeans made him appear an ordinary guy...if you could call strong, tanned biceps, broad shoulders and a muscled chest ordinary.

  God, she was staring! Ella averted her gaze as the waitress arrived with their espressos and sebadas. As she sipped her espresso, her thoughts flew to her previous boyfriends. There were two guys she had dated at university for a while—a short while—but she had been too focused on her studies to even consider letting things develop beyond a certain point. Both had wanted more than she was willing to give, and Ella had been the one each time to end the relationship.

  Her last boyfriend had been a writer named Dustin whom she had met a couple of years after starting her current job.

  As a freelancer, he had contributed to Living the Life magazine. Since he lived in Toronto, Ella’s boss had shared the connection. Dustin had been the one to contact her, first by email and then by phone. Ella had liked his easy manner and sense of humor, and after a few phone conversations, he had asked her out. They had done dinner, the movies, a basketball game, and he had even taken her for dinner at his parents’ home.

  He was good-looking, with dirty-blond hair and blue eyes. They had spent about a month getting together for dinners, shows and the occasional stroll in scenic High Park. They had kissed after about a week of dating, but his kisses hadn’t stirred her. Hadn’t activated her pulse.

  Ella had been comfortable with him, but she had never felt the desire, the electricity—not even a spark—that the heroines in the novels she read seemed to experience.

  She had wondered at her lack of desire, let alone passion, and the thought occurred to her that maybe she was putting all her ardor into her career. She loved traveling, interviewing people around the world and working on her pieces for her magazine in her upscale Toronto condo overlooking High Park. Maybe she just didn’t want to give up her independence... As the weeks had gone by, Ella had realized she liked Dustin more as a friend and colleague than as a date, and she had decided it wasn’t fair to let him think there was a future for them together.

  After the dinner at his parents’ place, it became clear to Ella that Dustin thought things were just fine between them and introducing her to his family indicated his more serious intentions. It had jolted her, and she knew she had to make him aware that they were not on the same page and they should stop dating. He had been hurt—and she had felt bad about it—but ultimately, it had been the kindest thing to do.

  He had sent her an email a couple of months later, saying he had connected with someone he was certain was his soulmate and he hoped he and Ella could remain on friendly terms.

  And they had, occasionally emailing or chatting on the phone.

  Ella thought about what her adoptive mother had told her when she had confided in her about Dustin and guys in general. “If he doesn’t put stars in your eyes, then he’s not the right one for you.”

  This memory made Ella’s heart ache. She missed her mom, and the tight relationship they had shared, which some of her friends had envied. She had been able to talk to her about anything, and Cassandra had listened, encouraged, advised, comforted and cheered Ella on. Every daughter should be so lucky...

  She remembered how one of her classmates had once blurted, “And she’s not even your real mom,” after overhearing Ella say in a conversation she was adopted, and Ella had turned to her, her eyes glinting ice. “She is my real mom,” she had replied in staccato tones, and the girl had smirked and walked off. Later, Ella had shared her hurt feelings with her mother, who had drawn her into her arms and murmured, “If I’m not real, then who was it that made your favorite Sardinian dessert for you tonight?”

  Ella couldn’t help smiling, her memories of her mother now bringing her more smiles than tears, unlike the first year after her mom had passed. As Ella bit into the pastry she had loved since childhood, she closed her eyes and nodded. “Heavenly,” she said with a contented sigh. “I’ll have to start making them again...” Her last word trailed off, and she groaned inwardly. She really had to think before blabbing away. She wasn’t here to tell the baron anything about herself or her connection to Sardinia.

  “You’ve made these before?” Massimo’s eyes narrowed as they peered at her over his espresso cup.

  “Um, yeah, I went through a ‘let’s cook something from around the world’ phase,” she fibbed. “I was intrigued by what I read about Sardinia, cooking or otherwise...although I didn’t have fresh pecorino, so I used ricotta instead.” She bit into her sebada again, savoring the lemon-scented pecorino mingling with the honey. “Man, this is really good. Do you cook? Or bake? Oh, how silly,” she said with a chuckle. “Of course a baron wouldn’t be doing his own cooking. Or his wi—”

  She stopped in horror. She had been making a general statement but realized how inappropriate it was—especially the last part—since the baron had lost his wife three years earlier. She had read about it online while doing her research. It had saddened her, and the accompanying photo of the two of them on their wedding day had jolted her, left her wondering if she would ever look at a man adoringly the way the baron’s wife was gazing at him.

  Now she bit her lip hard, mortified at her insensitivity and impulsiveness. The baron’s mouth had compressed into a thin line, and his forehead had creased momentarily. Ella’s heart sank. He had caught her gaffe. Her mind scrambled for the right words to apologize...

  Massimo drank his espresso and set down his demitasse. When his gaze returned to her, his mouth had curved into a smile. And there was a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. And no sign of a frown. Perhaps he hadn’t caught the near wife reference after all... Thank God.

  “Actually, being a human, I enjoy cooking. Mind you, I do have a chef, also, but there are days when I’m in the mood to be alone and, how do you say, whip up my own dinner. Try something new...”

  Ella nodded. “I like to try new dishes, too,” she said, breathing an inward sigh of relief.

  “Another espresso?” he asked, as the waitress brought him a second cup.

  “No, grazie. I’m good. And good to go.” She unclasped her handbag and reached inside for her wallet.

  “Per carità... You are my guest. The bill is taken care of.” Massimo’s voice brooked no argument, and she looked up and met his enigmatic gaze.

  He downed his espresso before rising to stand behind her, a hand on her chair.

  She stood up, and he tucked her chair in as she moved aside, his arm brushing against hers for a moment. She caught her breath involuntarily and, hoping that the tingle in her cheeks wouldn’t change to a traitorous flush, she strode brusquely to the door.

  “Signor DiLuca, if I may ask,” she ventured as they buckled up moments later, “you didn’t seem to be worried a
bout people coming up to you in the pastry shop.”

  “Please... Massimo.” His eyes pierced hers. “That’s because the Pasticceria della Mamma is where the tourists go. And they don’t know who I am. The locals go elsewhere.” He put on his sunglasses, engaged the clutch, and seconds later, he was pressing the accelerator. He shot her a glance. “And now to the hotel...”

  “Is it very far?”

  “About twenty-five minutes from here... But don’t worry. You don’t need to make conversation. You’ll be too busy looking at the view.”

  “I’m not worried,” she replied lightly. “And I don’t generally have a problem making conversation.”

  “Of course not. That’s your job.”

  After leaving the congested street of the cathedral, Massimo stepped on the accelerator, and in a few moments, they were on the highway heading south.

  The Baron was right; who wanted to talk with a view like this? The bewitching sun-sparkled sea with its varying shades of turquoise, blue green, cerulean, blending into and over each other, and far off in the distance, deepening to royal blue and even indigo. Sailboats bobbing on gentle waves. A cloudless baby-blue sky that looked like a perfectly pressed bedsheet...

  There were bursts of color at every turn. Magenta bougainvillea trailing over terraces and balconies, poppies gently waving their brilliant red-orange faces at them as Massimo drove by, plush-looking hills and mountain sides streaked with golden broom.

  The coastal route was breathtaking with its adjacent sandy beach that looked like a long strip of sifted white flour. Limestone crags and unusual rocky formations leaned into the sea, and Ella was sure that she spotted ancient granite caves like the ones she had read about in her travel guides about Sardinia, opened by the Romans who had conquered the island. As they passed a secluded cove, Ella exclaimed at the sight of a colony of pink flamingos.

  Massimo slowed down and veered off to the shoulder of the road so she could take some photos. “Our beautiful island is on the route of many migrating birds,” he told her. “You will see many other wonders while you are here...”

  Massimo opened the sunroof window and a salt-tinged breeze wafted through the vehicle, diffusing the musky scent of Massimo’s cologne, mingling it with hers. Ella breathed in and out slowly. This was her first visit to Sardinia since she was four, and now she could kick herself for not having booked a trip earlier, like after she had graduated.

  But then again, she really hadn’t had the time. She had won a national writing contest in one of the leading Canadian newspapers, subsequently getting a part-time job there doing lifestyle pieces, and then worked her way up to doing court reporting and city-beat articles. Eventually she had applied for a position at Living the Life magazine. Her pieces in the national paper had impressed the owner of Living the Life, and he had hired her. Paul Ramsay’s magazine was distributed all over the world and featured extravagant and sometimes elusive celebrities and VIPs. The magazine would cover all her travel expenses when Ella needed to interview someone face-to-face.

  “Some celebrities and personalities are demanding that way,” Paul had said with a smile in a follow-up meeting online. “I’m sure you won’t mind...”

  And she hadn’t. She had traveled to California, Vancouver, Paris, Rome, Ireland, the Caribbean, and of course, New York. How could she have turned down the assignment and the opportunity to spend the first week in July at Massimo DiLuca’s exclusive private island off Sardinia?

  And now here she was, on the island where she was born...and had been given up for adoption...

  A wave of emotion swept through her and she felt a prickle at the corners of her eyes. Where would she be now if her biological mother hadn’t given her up? What would she be doing? She turned her head to dab at her eyes before any tears could emerge. Since Paul had offered her this assignment two weeks ago, her mind had been a whirlwind, thinking not only about the interview but also about the emotional impact going back to Sardinia would have on her.

  Ella had thought about her family history, which her boss knew nothing about, and how returning to the place of her birth was something she had considered, especially in the last couple of years...

  The universe was providing her with the chance to reconnect with her adoptive father’s family and perhaps discover what she could about the mother who had given her up twenty-eight years ago...and maybe find her...

  She blinked.

  “Are you okay? Did something get in your eye?” Massimo pressed the panel to close the sunroof and checked the air-conditioning.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “My eyes must be sensitive from lack of sleep. Usually I have no problem falling asleep on overnight flights... The wine helps,” she added, forcing a light chuckle. “But for some reason, I was a little restless this time.”

  “Well, soon enough, you’ll be at the hotel, and you can catch up on your sleep.” Massimo gestured with one hand toward the glimmering expanse of sea. “The sound of the waves outside your window will be like a—a ninna nanna.”

  “A lullaby.” She nodded. “I wish! I’ll have to imagine it. My hotel isn’t near the sea. My boss gave all the details to your employee in charge of the arrangements...”

  Ella saw the corner of his mouth twitch slightly, puzzling her. He obviously knew where he was going—Paul had sent him the details of the hotel—so how did he not know it wasn’t by the sea? There was something else that perplexed her about him, and that was why he had replaced Gregoriu instead of one of his other employees, given his reluctance to engage with the public. Surely a baron had more important things to do? Seeing to the running of his own ancestral estate? Perhaps meeting with a high-ranking politician to discuss initiatives for the tourist industry? Making a sizeable donation to a children’s charity? Ella had noticed earlier that he wasn’t wearing his wedding band. Perhaps it was a painful reminder of his loss...

  She couldn’t help wondering if there was anyone new in his life. Nothing in her research had indicated that he was seeing anyone; perhaps there was a Sardinian custom about dating after a period of bereavement.

  Ella checked her watch. She had planned to spend the day doing more research at her hotel before the DiLuca employee picked her up to bring her to the baron’s private island. It would be a couple of days before the interview actually started, which was plenty of time to search out more details about this elusive tycoon. Doing the DiLuca piece was important—a publishing coup for the magazine, actually—and she wanted to make sure she hadn’t missed anything that might enhance the story.

  The interview and subsequent piece were her first priority. Maybe, if she wrapped up early, she’d attempt to call her uncle. But now was not the time to think about that...

  She wondered if Massimo DiLuca would think she was nosy if she inquired about Gregoriu. She might as well; if it was a private matter, he would tell her. “Scusi, signor Massimo, I was just wondering...about Gregoriu, I just hope he’s okay?”

  Massimo slowed down and stopped at a traffic intersection. He turned to Ella. “I’m sure Gregoriu would be happy to know that you were concerned about him. Let me reassure you, so you don’t lose sleep over it... Gregoriu had to rush his wife to the hospital.”

  “Oh, my goodness! Is she okay?” She frowned. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Gregoriu and Lia are now the proud parents of an eight-pound, two-ounce baby girl.” He flashed her a smile before putting his foot back on the accelerator.

  * * *

  Massimo concentrated on the road as he drove along the coastline, glancing occasionally at the americana in the seat next to him. He should actually refer to her as canadese, since the former was a general term for anyone living in North America and the latter applied specifically to Canadians. She had exclaimed and clapped in pleasure at the baby news and then had fallen strangely silent, her brow knitting as she gazed out the window.
>
  The next time he glanced her way, her eyes were closed and her head had drooped slightly in his direction. At any moment, he expected her to land against his shoulder or upper arm. The thought caused his muscles to tense.

  He looked over again after concentrating on a sharp curve in the road, and Ella’s head was now aiming for his chest. Her soft hair brushed against his upper arm, and he drew in his breath involuntarily. Her perfume had a fresh, zesty scent, like that of winter mandarins, and her thick eyelashes rested above cheeks that were peach pink. He swerved slightly, causing a rush of adrenalin, and he cursed under his breath over his momentary distraction. Thank goodness he had been on an isolated stretch of road, having switched off the coastal highway minutes before. And the movement, followed by the jerking of the gears caused her to move away from him and continue to nap, to his relief.

  He took a few deep breaths to slow down his pulse and concentrated on driving but was unable to keep his passenger from entering his thoughts.

  Like the way her eyes had widened in genuine dismay when she had almost mentioned his wife. He could tell that she hadn’t meant to specifically refer to Rita. So he had pretended to be unaware...

  He sighed, recalling how the moments, weeks and months after Rita’s passing had been a blur. He’d lost her suddenly, the cause being a heart defect that no one in her family had been aware of. She had collapsed during a garden party at his parents’ villa, where he and Rita had lived in one wing, and although the ambulance had arrived quickly, she was gone by the time it had passed through the ornate, automated enclosure to the villa.

  He hadn’t been able to carry on in his position as President and CEO of the family business. His mother, who had shared the helm with his father before his passing two years earlier, had taken over again for a couple of months, allowing Massimo time to grieve away from the public eye. Massimo had been devastated over losing his father, with whom he had shared a tight bond, and the shock of his wife’s unexpected death had siphoned his will to continue working.