Chapter 7
Roberto reclined in his office chair, closing his eyes to the sultry vision of Sofia lying in his arms on the rooftop terrace, her naked body glistening in the light of the fire.
Being apart from her for the last two days had been harder than he’d thought. Every time he closed his eyes there she was, overwhelming him with conflicting sensations of pleasure and pain. One moment yearning for him in the moonlight. The next, sobbing as she trustingly opened her heart in his protective embrace.
‘You wanted to see me?’
Roberto’s eyes snapped open to the authoritative voice behind him. He spun his chair around to face his uncle.
‘Si, please take a seat Zio Vittorio.’ He motioned to the leather club chair on the other side of his mahogany desk.
‘I saw you with the Beaumont girl at the festival. Quite the performance.’ The old man raised his eyebrows at Roberto as he sat down heavily. ‘It wasn’t so hard after all, no?’
‘It hasn’t been as I expected Zio. Sofia is...’ No words could amply describe Roberto’s feelings for Sofia.
‘Be careful, Berto. Don’t let her beauty affect your judgement. Remember what happened with your father and her mother.’
‘Sofia is more than just beautiful Zio, she’s... completely surpassed my expectations. Besides, it’s not the same. My father was married. I’m a free man.’
‘Certo, a free man but with responsibilities, no?’
‘I’m well aware of my responsibilities. That’s why I wanted to see you. I’ve been working on a new recipe to replace the ornella cioccolato for the Valentine’s gala.’
‘What? But we’ve worked so hard to secure that recipe. It’s already in production. Your mother was thrilled when I told her what you’d achieved.’
‘You saw Mamma?’ The last time Roberto had spoken to his mother was before he’d met Sofia, when he’d assured her their relationship was all for the good of the company. He hadn’t been able to contact her since he’d returned to Florence.
‘Si, I took a sample to the estate. You should have seen her face, Berto. I can’t remember the last time I saw my sister smile.’
Roberto’s heart leapt at the thought of his mother tasting a Conti chocolate for the first time in years. ‘Does she know?’
‘What?’
‘That the recipe is Rachel Bonaparte’s.’ The words twisted in Roberto’s throat as shame swarmed through him. A vision of Sofia’s tear-stained face on the rooftop flashed through his mind.
‘Of course, why do you think she was so happy?’ Vittorio leant back in his chair, satisfaction colouring his sunken cheeks.
‘But Zio, it’s not right. Not again.’ Roberto sat forward.
‘You knew what you were doing when you went to Baraldo, nothing’s changed. It’s business Berto.’
It’s business. The words echoed in Roberto’s memory when as a boy he’d trusted his uncle to guide him in the right direction. Instead his mother had abandoned him and his father had sent him to France.
‘I’m still CEO of this company and the decision is mine,’ Roberto said.
‘And since when did you make your own recipes? Now is not the time for experimentation.’
‘It’s not an experiment, Zio. It’s something I should have made a long time ago.’
‘Pray tell, what is this masterpiece?’
‘L’artista.’
‘L’artista?’ Vittorio bolted upright. ‘You’re going to substitute the ornella, a guaranteed success, with a prototype you made as a child?’
‘Si.’ Roberto fought to ignore the stab of doubt at his uncle’s blatant disbelief. But the unsettling feeling continued to creep through him as his father’s spiteful words sprang from the dark recess of his memory. Roberto doesn’t have what it takes! He’s a dreamer.
‘And your mother?’
‘When I talk to her, she will understand.’
‘No, Berto, it will shatter her and damage the company if you fail. The Swiss are circling us, the board is very anxious about your position as CEO. Don’t ignore my advice this time, I can’t cover for you again.’
‘I admit I acted irrationally with Annabella, I should have listened to you then. But this is different, Zio.’
‘You ruined not only your reputation, you shamed our family’s company and devastated your mother. This is your last chance.’
Roberto’s gut convulsed remembering his mother’s distress after the tabloids had ravaged the Conti name because of him. Silent humiliation shading her face, unable to voice her disappointment in him. She’d been so ashamed. Roberto had vowed he’d never let her down again.
‘What will Sofia say if she sees Conti has used her mother’s recipe?’ Roberto asked.
‘She can’t say anything. I made sure your contract is fool-proof, just as we discussed.’ Vittorio leant forward in his seat. ‘I understand you’ve been distracted, but don’t be like your father. Think with your head. Your mother has suffered enough. She deserves the final word. Talk to her.’
‘I’ve tried, she hasn’t returned my calls.’
‘Are you surprised? Seeing you in love with Rachel Bonaparte’s daughter is like a dagger through her heart. Your mother knows you better than you think, she can tell it’s more than an act.’
Vittorio pushed his chair out abruptly to stand. He hunched over the desk, leaning on his fists as he looked down at Roberto with unnerving intensity. ‘You must launch the ornella cioccolato for all our sakes. Continue your arrangement with the Beaumont girl for the term of the contract but remember, it’s business. And it will end.’
* * *
Nervous energy skittered through Sofia as she scanned the glamorous crowd of the Valentine’s masquerade gala. Hundreds of chocolate connoisseurs in lavish evening gowns and tuxedos milled about under the opulent chandeliers of Palazzo Borghese’s Galleria Monumentale. The clamouring depth of the crowd amplified by the enormous gilded mirrors lining the walls of the grand ballroom.
Exhilarated chatter morphed into a pulsating drone as the guests swilled an ever-flowing supply of Dom Perignon champagne and sampled the world’s finest chocolates.
Sofia adjusted her glittering Venetian carnevale-inspired mask as she searched for Roberto in the sea of obscured faces. Butterflies roused in her stomach not just for the launch of her grappatino but at the thought of being in his arms again.
On the rooftop terrace, Roberto had introduced her to a depth of intimacy she’d never imagined and she’d given herself to him entirely. Weeping in his arms was a like a rebirth; she was finally ready to move on from the pain of her past and open her heart.
She pulled her black silk floor-length cape around her, psyching herself up for what Fabrizio had gleefully referred to as the grand reveal. The daring cut of her gold sequined gown underneath offered a double-whammy of a thigh-high split and low-cut neckline. She worried she’d stand out for all the wrong reasons.
Fabrizio had been adamant she shine like a delectable treat in irresistible wrapping. Hearing his words she’d imagined herself dressed like a garish foil-wrapped chocolate. But when the silk lining of the feather-weight gown glided across her skin falling luxuriously to the floor she’d felt invigorated and desirable.
Sofia strained to find Roberto in the crowd as the twinkling lights of the candelabras along the gallery walls dimmed, drawing everyone’s attention to a raised circular platform under the magnificent sparkling chandelier in the centre of the ballroom.
Fabrizio glowed on the stage, resplendent in a turquoise brocade dinner suit with matching peacock-feathered mask.
‘Buonasera tutti,’ he called to the crowd, his arms raised elatedly above his head.
‘Ready?’ Sofia stiffened at Roberto’s whispered voice behind her. Her skin flamed as he grasped her hips and squeezed gently.
‘Absolutely.’ She turned slightly to look up at him. A shot of desire nestled below her abdomen as she recognised the familiar black silk scarf of Roberto’s Zorro-style
mask. ‘Nice choice.’
‘I wore it for you amore.’
Sofia smiled and looked back towards the stage, afraid she might lose composure at the memory of them on the chaise longue when she’d worn that mask as a blindfold.
‘Sorry I’m late, I had urgent business to take care of.’
‘All done?’
‘Si.’ Roberto carefully unwrapped Sofia’s cape. ‘Oh Dio,’ he gasped softly. Sofia giggled as she realised from his vantage point above her he’d probably get more than a teasing glimpse of her cleavage.
He leant down, his warm breath behind her ear. ‘I want you, Sofia.’ The husky edge of need in his voice sparked her own desire.
She pressed her thighs together at the pleasurable effect of Roberto’s suggestive words and rested back against his firm torso. She closed her eyes, imagining him ripping down the delicate straps of her gown and ravishing her peaking breasts.
‘Sofia Beaumont e Roberto Conti!’ Fabrizio’s booming voice cut through Sofia’s fantasy as she realised they were being summoned to the stage to officially open the evening.
* * *
‘Congratulations ragazzi, your union is a big success, no?’ Fabrizio said, nodding at their applauding audience as he ushered Sofia and Roberto from the podium.
‘I think so.’ Sofia gazed up at Roberto. He wound his arm around her waist, drawing her protectively into his side as they stepped off the stage, the crowd parting to let them through.
‘We couldn’t be happier.’ Roberto’s dark eyes shined at her through his black mask, silently repeating the urgent words he’d whispered in her ear earlier. I want you, Sofia.
‘Brava.’ Fabrizio beamed at them before clutching his earpiece. ‘Please excuse me ragazzi, everyone wants a piece of me tonight. You know the feeling, no?’ He winked before disappearing into a flock of assistants.
‘Time to celebrate?’ Sofia looked up at Roberto.
‘Si. But there’s something we have to talk about first.’
‘Sounds ominous.’ She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘But it looks like you’re needed by someone other than me.’ She gestured to a waiter behind Roberto on the other side of the room, waving his arms for their attention.
Roberto turned to look. ‘Wait here.’ His brow furrowed with irritation. ‘I’ll be right back.’
‘Okay.’ Sofia grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray as she watched Roberto weave his way through the crowd towards the waiter.
‘Mi scusi, Sofia?’
She spun around to the baritone voice of a tall, silver-haired man behind her. His long face was half-obscured by a white Phantom of the Opera-style mask.
‘Yes?’
‘Sono Vittorio Rossi, Roberto’s uncle.’
‘Signor Rossi. Sorry I didn’t recognise you.’ Sofia knew the old man by reputation as the formidable chairman of the Conti Creations board.
‘Please, call me Vittorio. I rather like being in disguise.’ His thin lips curved upwards, but his pale blue eyes were drained of warmth. ‘It’s fun to pretend, no?’
‘Who doesn’t like a masquerade?’ Sofia tried for a light tone but her skin bristled at Vittorio’s suggestive manner. She sipped her champagne, her eyes flicking around the room for a sign of Roberto.
‘It’s okay Sofia. I know about your arrangement with my nephew.’
‘You do?’ Her attention snapped back to Vittorio.
‘Of course, as one of the festival’s producers I made it happen.’
‘You’re one of the producers?’
‘Si. When I heard you hoped to replace your sister as the face of the festival, naturally I suggested Roberto to be your partner. Who could forget the scandal of your mother and his father?’ He stepped closer to her. ‘And now Rachel’s daughter in love with a Conti? What a coup.’
‘That’s the idea,’ Sofia said coolly, fighting her instinct to recoil at Vittorio’s insistent closeness.
‘And everyone is enjoying your performance.’ He lowered his voice as he gestured to the crowd, relieving Sofia of his penetrating stare. ‘I know Roberto is.’ His eyes flashed at her again.
‘He’ll be back in a moment.’ Sofia tried to swallow the hard lump in her throat as she scanned the room for the Zorro mask.
‘He’s a busy man, no? Always working on something.’ Vittorio stepped around Sofia to catch her eye, ensuring he had her full attention. ‘You must be glad the worst of it is over.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Your official duties end this evening, yes?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Don’t worry, you won’t have to see each other after tonight. I’ll take care of the media. In a couple of weeks news will emerge of your break-up. As per the contract it’ll look amicable. Roberto’s anxious not to look like the bad guy. Again.’ Vittorio’s mouth curled into a smile but his cool stare sent a chill to Sofia’s core.
‘He said that?’ She couldn’t control the stammer in her voice.
She and Roberto hadn’t discussed what they’d do after tonight. Their contract was nearly over but something else was just beginning. Something she’d never felt before. Something she thought they both wanted.
‘Si. We spoke earlier. Of course Roberto is desperate not to upset his mother. As you can imagine, seeing you together has been very hard on my sister.’
‘I’m not my mother, Vittorio. I haven’t done anything to hurt Lucia.’
‘You are your mother’s daughter, Sofia. And Roberto is a spitting image of his father. The story was perfect for the tabloids and invaluable publicity for both our companies. But for Lucia, it’s deeply personal and as Roberto knows, the sooner it ends the better.’
‘Signor Conti.’ A waiter appeared between them holding a tray of artisan chocolates. ‘The cioccolato you requested.’
‘Ah grazie.’ Vittorio turned to Sofia. ‘Conti’s new signature piece. Have you tried one yet?’
‘No,’ Sofia said blankly, her mind still reeling from Vittorio’s words.
She stared at the beautiful array of dark chocolates on the gleaming platter, like a miniature art display of vibrant sculptures. The top of each small square embellished with an intricate red floral motif. For a moment her heart lifted with pride; Roberto had finally created his original recipe, decorated with imagery of his brother’s artwork.
‘Won’t you taste one?’ Vittorio looked at her expectantly.
Sofia’s eyes flicked to meet his. Had she imagined his emphasis on the word ‘taste’? Had Roberto told his uncle about her anosmia?
‘Please excuse me,’ she said, struggling to control her breath as she turned away from Vittorio and the tray of Roberto’s chocolates. She fought not to stumble in her ridiculous stilettos as she searched desperately for an escape.
* * *
‘Sofia, Sofia!’ Roberto strained his voice to be heard above the jovial crowd as he dodged waiters and guests, his eyes fixed on Sofia’s back as she weaved through the mass towards the side exit of the Galleria Monumentale.
But she didn’t turn around, seemingly deaf to him and those who tried to get her attention as she pushed past. Roberto’s heartbeat quickened at her obvious distress and he swiftly closed the distance between them as she entered the adjacent foyer.
Sofia paused in the large hall, her head lowered, her shoulders slumped as she breathed heavily as though absorbing the open space, relieved to have escaped the claustrophobic ballroom.
‘Sofia, what’s wrong?’ Roberto dropped his voice as he approached her, mindful of the waiters gliding by with freshly laden trays of chocolates and champagne.
Her posture buckled slightly before she spun around, her eyes flashing at him through her silver mask. ‘I just met your uncle. It was very enlightening.’
‘Vittorio? What did he say?’ Roberto silently cursed his uncle. After their heated discussion earlier that evening he was unsure of what the old man was capable of.
‘Did you tell him about my anosmia?’
; ‘No, of course not. I haven’t told anyone.’ He reached for Sofia but she stepped back, eyeing him warily.
‘Let’s just stick to our agreement from now on and save it for an audience, okay?’
‘Come on Sofia, we’re past that.’
‘I thought so, but I misread the situation.’
‘Misread?’ Roberto hadn’t mistaken the longing reflected in Sofia’s eyes at the beginning of the evening. They wanted the same thing. He was sure of it.
‘You don’t have to worry I’ll hold up my end of the bargain. In a few hours you’ll be a free man with a faultless reputation.’
‘What exactly did my uncle say to you?’ A shot of anger boiled his blood, enraged that Vittorio had dared to interfere with something so precious.
‘Champagne?’ A waiter balanced a tray of sparkling wine between them.
‘No, grazie.’ Roberto watched the waiter continue into the ballroom, his head whirling as control seemed to slip from his fingers. As he searched for the words he needed to placate Sofia’s doubts he noticed another waiter approaching them with a tray of chocolates.
‘Come with me.’ He grabbed Sofia’s hand and turned to leave.
‘Where?’ She pulled back on his grasp but thankfully followed him out of the foyer.
‘Somewhere quieter,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘We need to talk and we can’t do it here.’
Roberto was familiar with the palazzo’s layout; a series of small colour-themed rooms lead to another grand ballroom, the Hall of Mirrors, that was being set up for later that evening. For now, they’d find privacy there.
He lead them through the Salotto Verde room and forced a smile at the salutations of the interested partygoers that squeezed into the cosy salon, its sumptuous Neoclassical décor a rich mix of green and golden hues.
‘My lovebirds! Vieni qui,’ Fabrizio called excitedly from within an attentive circle of guests, motioning for Sofia and Roberto to join them.
‘We’ll be back Fabrizio.’ Roberto waved, tightening his grip on Sofia’s hand as he continued pushing through to the Salotto di Mezzo, another intimate room heaving with well-wishers.
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