Falling for the Sardinian Baron

by Rosanna Battigelli

  “Thank you,” she murmured stiffly, avoiding his gaze as she entered the room. “Good night.”

  She clicked the door shut without looking back. Realizing that she was still shivering, she hurried to the washroom and ,moments later, felt the soothing jets of warm water ease some of the tension from her body.

  Much as Ella wanted to linger, she made it a quick shower instead and, minutes later, after drying her hair, climbed into the king-size bed. The shutters were open and she could see and hear the downpour, feeling her usual excitement at the continual rumblings of thunder and the intermittent flashes of lightning.

  The deluge had brought with it a refreshing breeze, and Ella shivered, still feeling the electricity of Massimo’s kiss.

  She would have to forget that kiss while conducting the remaining interviews.

  And during the baronessa’s birthday and the grand opening of the DiLuca Cardiac Research Center.

  The pelting rain had changed to a soft and steady flow, and her glance shifted to the balcony. Maybe she’d be able to sleep if she closed the shutters. Maybe the darkness would help erase the image of Massimo from her mind.

  As Ella strode to the balcony, lightning streaked the sky, followed by a deafening thunderclap. She let out a shriek. And then the rain intensified and she quickly closed the balcony doors and the shutters.

  A shaft of light appeared, and Ella turned to her partially open door.

  “Ella, are you okay?” Massimo wasn’t visible, but she could hear the genuine alarm in his voice.

  “I’m fine. It was the thunder—it scared me half to death.” Ella grabbed her robe and put it on. “I think it’s going to take me a while before I can—”

  Another rumble drowned out her words.

  “How about a cup of tea? Una camomilla? I guarantee that will make you fall asleep.”

  “Um, well... Okay, thank you.”

  * * *

  He hadn’t been able to sleep, either. But it hadn’t been the rain or the thunder. It was the memory of Ella in his arms, his lips on hers...

  As they walked downstairs, Massimo couldn’t help thinking how natural it felt, the two of them heading to the kitchen in their bathrobes to make a pot of soothing chamomile tea.

  “Make yourself comfortable in the living area,” he told her. When he set down a tray on the coffee table a couple of minutes later, he found Ella sitting on the sectional looking through one of his books on the festivals of Sardinia. She looked up at him. “I know so little of my country of birth,” she murmured. “The history, the traditions, the dialect...”

  “That will start to change in a few days once you meet your uncle,” Massimo said, pouring her chamomile tea.

  “I’m not sure if I should disrupt his or his family’s lives with a sudden appearance,” she said, stirring in some honey.

  “But you are his family. Don’t you think your uncle would want to see you, know that you’re well after all these years?” he said, hearing the urgency in his voice.

  Ella looked across at Massimo, her brow wrinkling. “I...imagine he would. But if I connect with him, it might lead to...other things.”

  Massimo knew he was nudging her into a sensitive area of her life, but he told himself he was doing it to help her.

  “Like finding out about your biological mother and father?” Massimo said quietly.

  “My mother, actually.” She traced the rim of her cup with her finger. “She never revealed who the father—my father—was. The papers listed him as straniero.”

  “A foreigner.” Massimo said curtly.

  Ella set her cup down with a trembling hand. “In any case, I can’t see that happening. If there was any way of finding out more about her, wouldn’t my adoptive mother have told me?”

  “She might not have wanted to explore that, especially after moving back to Canada after the trauma of losing her husband,” Massimo said gently. “And maybe she was waiting for you to indicate your desire to find your birth mother. In any case, there are ways now...”

  “That would be opening a Pandora’s box,” Ella said, shaking her head adamantly. “I don’t think I’m ready to deal with that now, especially since I’ll only be here for a week after this assignment.” She bit her lip. “I just want to enjoy a week of sun and sand before heading back home. And if during my week, I decide to try to contact my uncle, then I will.”

  “Are you happy with your life back home?” he murmured.

  Where was he going with this?

  “As happy as I can be,” she said curtly, not bothering to curb the defensiveness in her voice. “I’ve got a great job. I get to travel and enjoy perks most people would love to have.” Her brows arched. “Are you happy with your life? I mean—”

  Massimo’s eyes narrowed. “To quote someone I know, ‘As happy as I can be,’ given the circumstances.”

  “I get the impression that you could be happier,” she ventured.

  “I get the same impression. About you,” he said.

  * * *

  He saw Ella take a deep breath. “You can tell me to mind my own business, but...but maybe you might be ready to...to be with people again.”

  Did she really mean a woman?

  A knot settled in his throat and he couldn’t reply immediately. The reality of his life hit him. Hard.

  He was alone.

  He had everything he could possibly want that his money could buy.

  But he didn’t have a woman who would love him for himself, not his billions. And he didn’t have a child...or children.

  He glanced at Ella. Something in the depths of her eyes was inviting him to keep talking.

  “Three years ago, I vowed to stay single, unable to bear the thought of...of being with another woman,” he began haltingly. “I was certain that I would never be able to love again. All the emotions I had experienced with Rita vanished from my life along with her, leaving a dark, empty space.” He paused, remembering how he had felt the vacuum in his chest every day, the only visitors being grief, shock and disbelief that happiness and love had been snatched away from him.

  “I wanted to hide from the world, cringing at things I had enjoyed with Rita, like strolling by market stalls in a piazza, walking along a beach at night. Or holiday shopping.” The sound of Christmas music months after she passed had sent pain spiraling through him. “I couldn’t take the laughter of groups enjoying lunch on a restaurant patio. Their carefree chatter just emphasized what was lacking in my own life. So I did everything possible to stay away from people.”

  He told Ella how he had become increasingly reclusive and had grown a beard. And when he did go out, he’d deliberately dress in casual clothes with a cap and glasses to further disguise himself.

  “I just wanted to hide from the world. Mourn my lost dreams.” He felt the backs of his eyes prickling. “I realize now, Ella, that if I want to be happy again, I have to make new dreams. With new people.”

  Massimo swallowed the jagged lump in his throat. He set down his cup and leaned forward, his hands under his chin. “I know we haven’t had exactly the same experience, Ella, but we’ve both suffered loss in our lives. Great loss. You took a big step in coming to Sardinia, and now you have a chance to gain something. Someone.”

  He stood up and went around the coffee table to sit next to her.

  “Now you can tell me to mind my own business...but I think it would be good to call your uncle while you’re here. Make that connection. After tomorrow’s interview, I’ll be happy to drive you to where you’ll be staying and take you around the area so you’re familiar with the town.”

  He grasped her hand and gazed earnestly into her eyes. “And if you’d like, Marinella, I’ll come with you to find your uncle and his family, if he has one. Va bene?” He squeezed her hand lightly. “I think you need to find your people, and you’re right about me needing to
be with people again, too.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ELLA HAD FELT her heart begin to thump erratically when Massimo had sat next to her. Now she was trying to process her jumbled thoughts about what he had just told her. Was he inferring about being open to letting others into his life? Like her?

  She blinked at him wordlessly for a few seconds. He was offering to accompany her in her personal business. That was something friends did.

  Was he offering to be a friend? And after sharing that scorching kiss, could they be just friends?

  Her gaze dropped to her hand that he still held. And then she looked up at him again to search the depths of his eyes for answers. He must have sensed her hesitation, for he gently withdrew his hand. “I don’t want to stick my nose in your business...if you don’t want me to, Ella.”

  “You...you must have more important matters to take care of with your own business,” she replied hesitantly.

  “I can take a day off from my business,” he said with a smirk. “Anytime I choose. And the boss—you’ve heard of that elusive fellow, barone Massimo DiLuca—he’s pretty reasonable, when I have a good excuse.”

  Ella felt the corners of her mouth lifting. “What about the baronessa?” she said. “She might have something to say about her son shirking his duties...”

  Massimo let out a deep laugh. “Baronessa Silvia is a dragon when it comes to business matters,” he said, his eyes crinkling. “Or she wouldn’t have got to where she is with DiLuca Resorts. But I happen to have heard that she has quite a soft spot for her wonderful—and extremely handsome—son.”

  Ella burst out laughing. “Maybe her wonderful son has a face only a mother would love.”

  As they laughed together, Ella felt warmth radiating throughout her nerve endings. And in Massimo’s eyes.

  This was exactly what friends did. Laugh and joke around. But there was something more. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from him...and he was looking at her with a tenderness she had never seen in the eyes of any of her dates in the past. He didn’t have to say anything. He was showing her that he cared.

  Something leaped in her heart. She was home. In Sardinia. And soon, she could be—would be—connecting with a member or members of her own family. Massimo was right.

  She suddenly realized how much she really wanted to do this...had to do this.

  And she hoped her zio Domenicu and any or all other members would welcome her and accept her in their lives. Because if she was sure of one thing, now that she’d had a taste of her homeland, it was that she was ready to return. She had a history here, even though she still had to discover much of it. This was her motherland.

  Suddenly Massimo put his arm around her, and she let her head rest against his chest. “We’d better get some sleep,” he murmured, his breath fanning her cheek. “I think it would be better to head out early to Posada. We can have the interview on the drive there, otherwise there won’t be enough time to do everything I want to do...with you.”

  * * *

  Massimo embraced Ella at her bedroom door. He didn’t want to meet her gaze. And weaken...

  “Buona notte, Marinella,” he said, and turned away, forcing himself to keep on walking until he was in his own room. He shut the door and strode to his balcony. The rain had subsided along with the humidity, leaving a light breeze in its place. The sea had calmed, and he listened to the gentle gush of the tide’s ebb and flow. Gentle yet sensuous in the dark...

  Massimo breathed in deeply, trying to process the emotions swirling in his head. He hadn’t seen this coming. He hadn’t expected to have the deepest recesses of his heart revived. By a foreigner who wasn’t a foreigner. A woman who shared the same heritage.

  Yet up to now, he hadn’t felt the desire—or need—to be open to a friendship—let alone relationship—with another woman, Sardinian or otherwise. What was it about this Marinella Rossi that had managed to find an opening in the protective barricade around his heart?

  Massimo glanced up at the sky. The clouds had mostly dispersed, allowing the stars to pierce through the blackness. He thought about Rita, and the star directly above him seemed to glow brighter. Something many of the older generations of southern Italians, Sardinians and Sicilians included, would believe a sign from heaven. He didn’t consider himself to be superstitious in that way, but as he watched the star for a few moments, he sensed Rita would be happy for him.

  “Grazie,” he murmured and went inside. He set his phone alarm and tossed his robe on the ottoman at the foot of his bed before getting under the covers. Closing his eyes, he listened to the rush of the tide, savoring the peace in his heart.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  ELLA HADN’T BEEN able to sleep right away. She’d worked on her developing story for the magazine, inserting some of the points she had jotted into her notepad. And then she had surveyed the series of questions for the next interview, which would be conducted in Massimo’s Lamborghini instead of his villa.

  Finally, she had put her work aside and had gone to bed with a bubbly feeling. Like champagne, she had thought with a wry smile, ready to spill over with excitement. Massimo had reached out to her, offering to accompany her to a meeting with her uncle, and she had been relieved she wouldn’t have to go alone. Although she didn’t think that she had actually told him yes.

  In bed, Ella had thought about connecting with her uncle once she finished her assignment for the magazine. She had zio Domenicu’s number and address—and once she discovered if he would be open to having her visit, she’d make arrangements to go there. But since Massimo had offered to take her to Posada, she had decided she might as well summon up her courage and call her uncle the next morning.

  Now, waking up to bands of sunlight streaming through the open shutters of her balcony, Ella felt a flutter of mingled excitement and anxiety. She checked the time and decided she’d attempt a call to her uncle before going down for breakfast. She dressed quickly, all while going over what she’d say in her head. She reached for her cell phone, and finding Zio Domenicu’s number in the contacts, she called it with trembling fingers.

  After a few rings, she was ready to hang up, losing her nerve. And then someone picked up. “Pronto.”

  The voice was younger than what she had expected to hear. So maybe her zio had married and had children. This “child” sounded like a young man. He would be her cousin. She swallowed hard. “Buongiorno. C’è il signor Rossi? Domenicu Rossi?”

  There was a pause on the other line. Ella’s heart thudded, filling her eardrums.

  “Chi parla?” The voice had become a little sharper.

  “Mi chiamo Ella,” she said, the backs of her eyes beginning to sting. “Marinella... Rossi. Siamo parenti...”

  Telling her cousin that she was a relative resulted in a longer pause. And then he called out excitedly to his father. “Papà! Papà! Vieni subito!”

  And moments later, she was talking, her zio was crying, and after she told him that she would be in Posada for a week, there were more tears. By this time, he had her on speakerphone and the rest of the family—big or small—was chattering excitedly among themselves, especially when she said that she’d be visiting the area to check out the place she had booked.

  Her uncle immediately insisted she stay with them. Ella didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but she told him she didn’t want to impose and that they could talk more later in the afternoon after her friend drove her to the farmhouse. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that returning to the place she had spent the first four years of her life might be too much for her and she would have to take it step by step...

  Ella blew out her breath slowly after she said goodbye and turned off her phone. She hadn’t expected to be doing this before the baronessa’s birthday. But now that she had made the connection, her spirits were soaring. Her uncle had sounded thrilled at her call, as had the rest of his family. Her fami
ly.

  Feeling as if she had won a lottery jackpot, Ella skipped lightly down the stairs, her nostrils taking in the smell of coffee. There was something about the way an Italian espresso filled a room with such an aromatic scent.

  She couldn’t wait to tell Massimo.

  He turned when she entered the kitchen, his gaze sweeping over her. She halted in her tracks. He had shaved off his beard, leaving just a light scruff on his upper lip and face. If he had been handsome before, now he looked...gorgeous.

  She couldn’t help giving him a once-over, as well. Tan, belted Bermuda shorts and a tailored white short-sleeved shirt that he wore tucked in. Fitted and fabulous...

  “Buongiorno, Marinella.”

  Her head snapped back up. “Buongiorno, Massimo.”

  “Cappuccino?”

  “Sì, grazie.” She took a place at the kitchen island, and when he set down her cappuccino, she thanked him again and told him about contacting her cousin and telling him she’d be visiting this afternoon.

  He finished his espresso. “I’m happy for you,” he said huskily. “I’m glad that you will be reuniting with your uncle and his—your—family.”

  Ella smiled. “I feel good about this,” she admitted. “Now I have a reason to return to Sardinia...”

  * * *

  Massimo’s smile froze. She didn’t notice; she was enjoying her almond brioche. Her words revealed so much to him, mainly that Ella was focused on her family in Sardinia. Not him.

  There was no reason for him to feel slighted. Or disappointed. Yet he couldn’t help it. He thought they had shared something special last night. Not just an intoxicating kiss but moments of shared feelings and vulnerability.

  He had obviously misunderstood. Not the kiss; he had sensed Ella’s desire as much as his own, and that was normal and natural. She was a beauty, and his body hadn’t been immune to that. Especially with her being in such close proximity. The lightning hadn’t struck him during the storm, but she had.