Sofia quickened her pace when she saw him. Her large black sunglasses concealed her expression but the tight line of her lips told him she wasn’t happy.
‘Buongiorno, amore.’ Roberto smiled optimistically as he opened the car door for her. ‘A beautiful morning, no?’
‘What’s wrong with you? Get in the car.’ Sofia quickly looked up and down the street before climbing into the cream leather seat, pulling the door behind her.
A shot of desire coursed through Roberto at her abrupt chastisement. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman ordered him what to do. But from Sofia’s hot lips he’d welcome another reprimand.
‘Bad night sleep?’ Roberto slid into the driver’s seat and closed his door.
‘I told you. I don’t want anyone to see us together. Not even for a moment.’
‘Relax, no one saw us. Besides you’re in disguise.’ He playfully tugged her scarf.
‘Funny.’ She brushed his hand away and took off her glasses. ‘It’s not me people are going to recognise. It’s you. And this Porsche is hardly subtle.’
‘Would you prefer I’d brought the red Ferrari?’ His taunt was met with a stern glare. ‘You said we’re going Baraldo, no? We’ll need four wheel drive up the mountain.’
‘I’m guessing this car’s never seen a dirt road.’
‘You’d be surprised. My chauffeur takes it out regularly.’ Roberto grinned, enjoying getting a rise out of her.
Sofia rolled her eyes and buckled her seatbelt. ‘Let’s go.’ She slumped back and stared out the tinted window.
‘You okay?’ Roberto pulled out into the busy traffic along the promenade.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Come on, Sofia, we’ve got a long drive ahead. Talk to me.’
She sighed and turned her head half-heartedly towards him. ‘Going to Baraldo with you wasn’t the plan.’
‘Si. But we have to spend time together, polish our performance. What’s wrong with that?’
‘It’s personal. And we’re... not.’ She shifted in her seat. ‘My mother lived in Baraldo, she was happy there and I don’t want to tarnish another part of her memory with Conti propaganda.’ She rolled her head away from Roberto back towards the passenger window.
His knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. His family wasn’t entirely innocent but they weren’t to blame for her mother’s downfall. But now was not the time for confrontation and what Sofia thought of him didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.
‘At least tell me what we’re picking up.’ Roberto thought of the journal tucked under his seat. Did Sofia hold the key to unlock Conti’s next chocolate masterpiece? He vowed to find out, knowing not only would he redeem his reputation with Sofia by his side, he may also get the chance to regain Conti’s rightful place as Italy’s premier cioccolateria.
‘There is no we Roberto.’ She whipped her head around to glower at him. ‘You’re not picking up anything. We’ll go up the mountain, you’ll wait in the car and we’ll come down again, okay?’
Hot blood spiralled through Roberto as he suddenly swerved the car. Infuriated drivers beeped their horns as he cut through the traffic.
‘What the hell?’ Sofia’s hands shot to the sides of her seat, her fingers clenched into the soft leather as he swung into the curb.
Roberto winced at the hint of fear in her voice. He knew she’d been in a serious car accident a few years ago. Her stellar career put on hold while she’d recovered. She’d overcome her anosmia but he suspected her emotional scars ran deep. He made a mental note to drive more carefully from now on.
‘I’m sorry about that.’ Roberto inhaled deeply regaining control over his rising blood pressure. ‘But there’s only so far you can push me until I push back.’
‘Is that a threat?’ Sofia’s eyes widened in disbelief.
‘No, just a warning. If we don’t work together, neither of us will get what we want. A little less attitude okay?’
Sofia breathed heavily and held his gaze, clearly fighting the urge to get out of the car, slam the door and be rid of him. Roberto was familiar with that scenario from previous relationships. Thankfully she nodded reluctantly and sank back into her seat.
‘Fine,’ she said through gritted teeth.
* * *
Sofia tilted her head back and filled her lungs with the clean mountain air. She exhaled slowly, her vision a pink haze as the faint afternoon sunlight danced across her closed eyelids. Her skin hungrily absorbed its comforting warmth and for the first time in a long while a sense of calm washed over her.
She opened her eyes and looked at the small vial of dark amber concentrate in her hand. Like liquid gold. A frenetic combination of excitement, anticipation and fear whirled within her. When she’d heard the rare ingredient was available again, she’d convinced Annabella to focus solely on perfecting their mother’s cioccolatino fiori for the Valentine’s festival. It was a risk. They hadn’t used the potent ingredient before and if the test recipe failed they’d have nothing new to showcase. But if it was a success the payoff was priceless.
The unusual flavour of the ornella nectar was embedded in the recesses of Sofia’s memory. Subtle hints of vanilla with citrus overtones underscored by a spicy note. Use too much and its bitter aftertaste would taint the palate. Too little and its delicate, complex piquancy would be wasted. But the right amount could position Bonaparte’s cioccolatino fiori as an international icon. Like a Ferrero Rocher, a Baci kiss or a Lindor ball, it would be known the world over.
But more than that, gleaming in its little glass bottle, the concentrate looked like a magic potion. Sofia dared to hope it might be a miracle worker and awaken her deadened senses. Her mother’s ornella infused chocolate had the power to unlock countless precious moments from her childhood, sparking memories that might otherwise be forgotten.
As the sting of tears threatened, she carefully slipped the vial back into its protective pouch and zipped it into the lining of her handbag. She wound her scarf around her neck against the cool breeze that promised a cold night ahead and made her way down the gravel road, looking forward to the warm interior of Roberto’s heated car.
Thankfully he’d agreed to wait for her while she’d visited the private Villa Castello property, the sole harvester of the ornella wildflowers. But as Sofia got closer to the Porsche she realised Roberto wasn’t in it. She grabbed a note from under the windscreen wiper: Amore, meet me at the bar across the road, R xox. She could hear his smooth voice in his written words teasing her with his fake affection.
Sofia looked over at the understated bar, laughter from inside echoed into the quiet street. She quickly paced across the uneven stones, it would be dark soon and she was keen to get going.
As she approached the bar, she saw Roberto through the shop front window. He was perched on a stool, apparently right at home among a group of locals. He was gesturing with his hands as though telling an amusing anecdote, his enthralled audience listening with a ready laugh.
Sofia had imagined Roberto alone, tucked in a corner. Espresso in one hand, his cell phone in the other. Not the life of the party, downing grappa with the country folk. Realising she was smiling at the unexpected tableau she quickly adjusted her expression back to mild annoyance as she pushed open the shop door.
‘Ah, Sofia.’ Roberto looked over from his fan club and smiled at her as she entered the cosy bar, the door swinging closed behind her. ‘Have a seat.’ He dragged a stool alongside his.
Sofia politely nodded hello to the small crowd but remained standing by the door.
‘I think we better get going,’ she said quietly hoping to convey her irritation to Roberto through her hard stare and subtle raising of eyebrows. He was meant to be keeping a low profile, not living it up with the locals.
‘Bad news I’m afraid,’ he said without moving. ‘Alfredo here tells me there’s been a landslide across the road down the mountain. No one’s going anywhere tonight.’ He shrugged, seemingl
y unperturbed.
‘A what?’ Sofia glanced at the weathered old man sitting beside Roberto. He had a full girth and a kind face with warm, watery blue eyes. Next to Roberto, he was a stark contrast of down to earth substance versus slick urban vanity. If any one could be trusted here she felt she could trust a man like Alfredo. But he said nothing. Sofia flicked her eyes back to Roberto.
‘Apparently a large tree fell across the road followed by a small... ah what do you call? Avalanche?’
Sofia blinked at his nonchalance. ‘An avalanche? That sounds serious.’
‘A small avalanche. No one was hurt amo–’
Her glare stopped him from uttering the pet name. Had he forgotten their deal? What was going on here? It was like she’d stepped into a parallel universe. Only moments ago she’d been soaking in sunshine, her hopes reignited by the golden panacea nestled in her handbag. Everything was looking up.
Now a strong wind shook the windowpanes as darkness descended and she was apparently trapped up the mountain. With Roberto.
Sofia scanned the crowd along the bar: next to Alfredo an elderly couple enjoyed an aperitif; two middle-aged men in farming gear nursed small tumblers of red wine; and a young woman wrangled a toddler as he tried to face-plunge into his hot chocolate.
Each friendly face nodded at her as if to say Yes, there has indeed been an avalanche and you’re not going anywhere. Isn’t it wonderful?
Sofia slowly walked to the stool and perched between Roberto and his new friend Alfredo.
Her Italian was embarrassingly limited. ‘Parla Inglese?’ She looked around hopefully but was met with the regretful shaking of heads.
‘How about a drink? Hot chocolate?’ Roberto gestured to the machine on the counter churning the smooth, lusciously thick traditional Italian treat.
Sofia used to love the decadent confection, so satisfying on the taste buds she’d momentarily forget the horrifying number of calories in just one cup. Many of her teenage kilos had been a result of her mother’s hot chocolate in the wintertime.
The silver lining of her anosmia, more effective than any diet: why bother if you can’t taste it? Besides, hot chocolate was really a tourist drink and she needed the comradery Roberto had so easily attained to hopefully get some answers from her expectant audience.
‘Grappa, per favore,’ she said to the young woman behind the counter. A hopeful attempt to impress the locals by drinking their homemade specialty.
‘Prego.’ The pretty woman’s face lit up, apparently pleased with Sofia’s choice. She reached for a large flagon, poured a generous shot of the clear liquid and gently pushed the small glass across the bar to Sofia.
Silence descended as though a spotlight had flicked on with Sofia centre stage as she lifted the full glass to her lips. The potency of homemade grappa could make the toughest of eyes water. But without a sense of smell or taste, Sofia didn’t flinch as her audience might have expected. Quite the party trick.
‘Salute.’ She raised the glass briefly before downing the shot in one; the scorching burn in her throat as she swallowed warned her not to have another. She’d always been a cheap drunk.
Everyone in the bar clapped as she daintily placed the glass back on the counter as though the fiery liquor was of no consequence at all.
‘Brava, Sofia brava,’ Roberto laughed as he joined in the applause, his shining eyes capturing hers.
‘Grazie.’ Sofia couldn’t help smiling back. ‘It’s a talent,’ she said wryly but then quickly looked away, confused by her response. Roberto’s expression of... what, admiration? … sent a flutter of happiness to her head. Something she’d thought he’d be incapable of doing. But it was a freak moment. He couldn’t be trusted. Ever.
She looked at Alfredo hopefully, his friendly eyes welcoming her conversation.
‘Alfredo. Sono Sofia.’ She held out her hand.
‘Piacere.’ He took her hand and leant forward to kiss her once on each cheek before resting back onto his stool.
‘La strada?’ She pointed to the road outside.
‘Si?’
‘Un grande... albero?’ A big tree?
‘Si.’ He nodded.
‘E una...’ Sofia paused as she quickly dug her mini-Italian dictionary out of her handbag and flipped through its pages. ‘Una valanga?’ She rolled her hands around forcefully illustrating the motion of an avalanche.
‘Si, si,’ Alfredo said without question. Sofia glanced at the rest of the bar’s patrons and was met with more enthusiastic nodding.
‘Sofia, why would I make that up?’ Roberto asked bemusedly. ‘Don’t you think I’d prefer to be back in the comfort of The Grand Hotel in San Remo?’
What did he have to gain by staying here? She’d already agreed to spend time with him before the festival to ‘get to know each other’. And the locals at the Baraldo bar who were smiling at her so warmly, why would they lie to her?
‘Okay. So if we’re not staying at The Grand tonight, where are we going to stay?’
‘There are some medieval buildings that have been restored up the hill.’
‘Medieval? Sounds rustic. And kind of creepy.’
‘They are... rudimentary, yes, but you don’t have to worry. I’ll be with you.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Bianca tells me.’ Roberto flashed his dazzling teeth at the woman behind the bar. She smiled back, a pink hue colouring her complexion. ‘There’s an artist retreat on at the moment and there’s only one available room left.’
‘Of course there is,’ Sofia scoffed, shaking her head. ‘Stranded on a mountain, only one bedroom left in a crumbling medieval hotel. You’ve got to be kidding.’
‘Bianca’s father is the property manager. He’ll be here soon, so you can interrogate him if you don’t believe me. You have your dictionary.’ He gestured teasingly at the small book clutched in her hand.
Sofia looked at Bianca, her round face dimpled with an innocent smile. ‘No.’ Sofia sighed. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine there.’
‘You mean we.’
‘You can sleep in your car. There’s plenty of room for you to stretch out in the back.’
‘Sofia, it’ll be freezing tonight. We’ll share the room. I’ll even sleep on the floor.’
‘Until the heating mysteriously stops working and we have to share a bed for body warmth, right?’ Heat rushed to her face as the image flashed through her mind and she wished she hadn’t spoken the words.
‘I can only hope.’ Roberto grinned, no doubt amused by her reddened cheeks. ‘A joke Sofia. You’ve got nothing to worry about.’ He stood up. ‘Shall we?’
Like she had any choice, she could hardly spend the night in the bar. Sofia stood, catching her balance on the edge of the counter, unsure if her dizziness was the result of the grappa kicking in or the idea of sharing a hotel room with Roberto Conti for the night.
Chapter 3
The sound of rushing water enticed Roberto’s attention to the closed ensuite door. Sofia had tested its lock several times before glaring at him and disappearing into the bathroom.
A blast of testosterone surged through his awakened body as he imagined her naked in the shower’s billowing steam, caressing each tempting curve of her luscious body. Her slippery smooth skin glistening as she lathered soap across her supple breasts then down to...
Exhaling loudly, Roberto dragged his attention away from the door. While his body continued to revel in the shower fantasy, his mind skipped ahead. If he could seduce Sofia not only into his bed but also his kitchen, he would discover her secret ingredient and what she planned to do with it. And guarantee his success in time for Conti’s Valentine’s release.
Roberto scanned the interior of the studio apartment: skimming over the generous double bed, small sofa and compact dining suite to the well-appointed kitchenette. It was basic but would do the job.
He hadn’t lied to Sofia about the limited accommodation options, that was just a happy coincidence. The end of winter was a bus
y time in Baraldo. Artists flocked to the quiet hillside town to make the most of the beautiful scenery as the first signs of spring brightened the mountain landscape.
He peered out the small kitchen window at the spacious courtyard outside. The knotted muscles in his neck relented as he absorbed the fruits of his labour. An open-air canopy bordered the cobbled piazza, lush wisteria vines wound up its thick timber frame with hints of fragrant purple blooms just starting to emerge. Several painting easels were set up in prime position at the edge of the square overlooking a vast valley of verdant flora.
Sofia had no idea Roberto had admired Baraldo’s breathtaking panoramas many times. His relationship with the local community was one of his proudest achievements. And each visit to the mountain was like healing balm for his tortured soul.
When Sofia had set off on her secret mission earlier he’d visited his old friend Alfredo at the cluster of medieval apartments where years ago they’d undertaken the ambitious project to realise his brother’s dream and restore the site, providing neat, utilitarian lodging for artist retreats. Roberto had worked tirelessly and Baraldo was the last place he could remember seeing his mother smile. The idea of tarnishing this oasis with ‘Conti propaganda’, as Sofia called it, sickened him.
The sound of rattling pipes came to an abrupt halt. Resisting the mental image of Sofia towelling herself dry, Roberto quietly opened the kitchen cabinets checking all the necessary equipment was there. Stainless steel bowls, spatulas, whisks. He already had a selection of moulds and acrylic sheets, the tools of his trade, in his car should they need them. And of course his little black book, tucked safely inside the pocket of his overcoat.
Sofia had collected her mysterious ingredient that afternoon. They could start in the morning.
* * *
‘Two days? It’s going to take two days?’ Sofia wound her damp hair in a towel turban.
‘Si, that’s what Bianca told me when she dropped off the food supplies,’ Roberto said staring into the bar fridge.
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