“Scusami, Melo. Tuo padre vuole parlare con te…” The stranger sounded apologetic.
Melo shot to her feet, replying to the woman in Italian. She turned to Cade.
“My father is looking for me. I have to go.”
He nodded. The night was young. “I’ll see you later.”
****
Marco Bellucci sat on the chair in his room, fully dressed in a dark suit, which emphasized his pallor. He looked frail. His mouth was twisted and worry added years.
“Hello, Papa.” Melo sank down next to him. She pushed an errant lock of hair back from her face. The heavy swathe was beginning to unravel. She should have taken advantage of the hairdresser seconded to the island for the duration when pinning it up. She reached up and pulled out the clips, letting it swing around her shoulders, before it fell down on its own accord.
“Melo. I need to talk to you before the dinner.” Her father’s weak voice trembled. He twisted his hands together, agitation rising with every breath.
Melo breathed deeply. “Okay, Papa.”
Marco’s eyes avoided hers.
She had to lean forward to hear the words he muttered slowly.
“I have been very foolish. And now, I am ill, and I need you to sort out my problems for me.” His jaw was clenched tight. He was a proud man. He’d never asked for her help before. “You remember the investment opportunity in Mezzuti?”
How could she forget? The Mezzuti Group was known for building large, showy hotels and, flushed by their success, had offered an incredible investment opportunity in their growing apartment business. She’d been asked her advice on it for a number of her clients. She’d pored through the figures. The paperwork was long and complex, and for the average person, incomprehensible. It had taken hours of evaluation before she’d seen the catch. The returns were immense, but the risks enormous. And there were no guarantees.
She’d had no compunction about advising her clients to avoid it like the plague. In fact, her advice about Mezzuti was the reason her company had gone from strength to strength. The catastrophic collapse of Mezzuti’s apartment fiasco had been front page news for weeks now. Investor upon investor had lost their shirt in the ill-advised property developments. Her blood ran cold as she eyed her father’s pale face. Her father hadn’t mentioned Mezzuti before. Hadn’t asked for her advice.
“I know all about Mezzuti, Papa. Some of my clients were interested in investing.”
“And your advice to them?” There was devastation in his eyes.
“I advised them against it.”
His eyes fell, and her worst fears were realized.
“I should have asked you but I thought I knew better.” Marco’s fingers clutched the rug on his knees. His lips stretched the paper-thin skin of his cheeks in a deathlike grimace. “I invested heavily in them, Melo, and lost it all. In mere weeks I have to pay. We’re ruined.”
Melo sat in stunned silence. The Bellucci Winery was an old, profitable business. Surely he couldn’t be right? “Tell me everything, Papa.”
As her father detailed his reckless gamble, using all the funds The Bellucci Winery had earmarked for their modernization, the severity of the situation became clearer. She would have to look through the books, as she wasn’t familiar with the finer details, but it seemed as though her father was right. The winery, and the family were in trouble.
“But the wedding,” her voice wavered.
No expense had been spared to give Rosa everything she wanted. But at what cost? Could they even settle the bills that were flowing in?
“I put money aside for the wedding. We are covered. But when the payment comes due…” Marco broke off mid sentence and sank his head into his hands as his body shook with the force of his distress.
Marco never cried. But that was the old Marco. The man who sat on the chair next to her was an older, broken version of his former self. She put her arms around him. The stress must have brought on his heart attack.
“I fear we’re going to lose the house, and the vineyard. I have told no one but you, Melo. Rosa and your mother can’t know.” He raised his tear-ravaged face to hers. “It would destroy them.”
Papa always felt the winery was his, just as it had been his father’s and his grandfather’s before him. But in actuality it was a company, and earmarking company money to make investments was theft. The ramifications of his actions didn’t seem to have occurred to Marco, but the thought of her frail father in prison chilled Melo’s heart.
“You must have told Adam,” Melo said.
Adam was to take over his new role of Managing Director within weeks. Surely he would have to know about the disaster that had befallen them?
“I haven’t told him. I thought perhaps after the honeymoon I would talk to him. I wanted to try and work out a solution. Perhaps we could sell some land?” Marco’s tremulous voice was laced with empty hope.
It made no sense. They owned a lot of land on the island, but none of it was suitable for development, and anyway, planning permission on the tiny island was strict. It sounded as though her poor father was clutching at straws.
“Tomorrow morning I will start work on the accounts and see what can be done,” Melo said.
Luckily she hadn’t any outstanding work back at the office. She could stay indefinitely and work through the figures. Strength flowed through her. She’d pulled back many a company from the brink, and this time would be no exception. She had the most powerful incentive she’d ever had. She must protect her father—at all costs.
Chapter Three
Fairy lights led from the villa down onto the soft white sand. Four large tables were set up in the moonlight, lit with candles that cast a soft, intimate glow. Fire glittered in the large braziers and illuminated an army of chefs busy at work.
Cade sank into a comfortable wooden chair next to Adam and Rosa. The happy couple was so totally absorbed in each other he might as well not exist. He glanced around, looking for Melo, but she was still noticeably absent. Annoyance burned in his chest. The moments he’d had with her were too fleeting. He wanted her next to him. Wanted to watch her face in the flickering flames, hear her husky voice as she murmured to him. Heck, he wanted to feel her body’s heat next to him, breathe in her intoxicating scent. At the mere thought, his body stirred.
The table was filling with guests, and still Melo was absent. Before Cade had a chance to toss his jacket on the chair next to him, a gorgeous Italian friend of the bride’s sat down, to his annoyance. It would be churlish to claim the seat now. Churlish and impolite. He gritted his teeth, and replied to her introduction with ill-concealed irritation.
The crowd started to clap, and he looked up to see Marco Bellucci step out onto the sand, supported by Melo and a nurse.
Melo’s heels sank in the sand. She paused to slip off her shoes, leaving them in the pile of discarded footwear on the path.
Cade had escaped the shackles of footwear earlier, had reveled in the sensation of the dry sand between his toes. He stood as Marco approached the table. The blonde next to him stood too, but didn’t move over. Darn it.
Melo glanced his direction with a shy smile. She looked different. Worried.
Cade guessed the talk with her father had been difficult. He indicated the blonde with his eyes, raised his shoulders slightly in apology.
Melo nodded and sat down.
Now everyone was present, the waiters circulated with plates of antipasti and everyone started talking again. The moon cast its silvery glow over Melo’s long waves of hair. She’d let it down, and the effect was even more attractive than when it was tied up. His hands itched to run through it. Would it feel as soft as he imagined? The table was too wide for him to even talk to her.
The blonde was talking. Cade swallowed a snarl, and rebooted a polite smile, as if he gave a damn about what she was saying. The best man had to be polite.
****
Melo bit into the black Tuscan crostini. The musicians she’d hired played the sou
lful strains of the guitar arrangement of Nessun Dorma, the perfect accompaniment. Across the table Sophia Panichi rested her hand on Cade’s sleeve.
He looked down into Sophia’s perfectly made up eyes and smiled.
The mere sight speared an arrow of pain through Melo’s heart.
The music swelled. It was an instrumental version of the famous song, but she knew the lyrics, and they echoed in her head as she watched his head move closer to hear what Sophia was saying.
Tu pure, o, Principessa,
Nella tua fredda stanza,
Guardi le stelle
Che tremano d’amore
E di speranza.
Even though she was fluent in Italian, her first language had always been English. She translated the words in her mind, feeling them to her core.
Even you, O Princess,
In your cold room;
Watch the stars,
That tremble with love and with hope.
The sky was perfect. Like a black velvet curtain strewn with diamonds. As a child she’d stared up at the sky many times on nights like this. Nights when the utter perfection of the sky had held her captive in its spell. It wasn’t until she’d left the island that she realized the sky wasn’t so beautiful everywhere. Isola dei Fiori’s lack of smog or city lights made the sight unique in all Italy. The beauty of the island was potent, magical.
Melo breathed in the scent of the barbequing lamb, marinated in rosemary. She’d missed her childhood home. Sorting out the tangled financial web would take weeks instead of the couple of days she’d set aside for her holiday. She didn’t relish the task ahead, but at least she could spend more time on her beloved island.
The waiter cleared, and set plates with the next course in front of the diners. Fusilli with pesto. It was a special recipe. Instead of the usual basil, the pesto was made with sage, which grew in abundance on the hills.
Melo’s mouth watered as she speared a forkful. The tangy taste exploded on her taste buds. She glanced at her mother, who was receiving compliments for her choice of menu graciously, even though the choice of primi had been completely left up to her daughter. In fact, she hadn’t even been aware of what would be served this evening.
Cade’s compelling beauty drew her gaze again.
He was watching her. Dark, watchful and intense. She couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to. She’d dreamed of him looking at her like that. As if he could devour her. Passion flooded her as the rest of the party faded away. She wanted to be closer. Wanted to feel his hands on her. His hair, parted slightly to the left of his crown made him look like a conquistador. A man not constrained by the stuffy traditions of today. A man who knew what he wanted, and wasn’t shy about getting it. And by the look in his eyes, she was what he wanted. Her throat was sandpaper scratchy. She swallowed. Her heart pounded faster, like an oncoming buffalo stampede. Cade’s jaw tilted down a fraction. Then he smiled. Slowly. Confidently transforming her insides to mush.
Sophia asked Cade something. He tore his gaze from Melo’s and gifted his dinner companion with a smile capable of melting metal. Melo wished she were drinking. She could do with something to take the edge off. He’d blasted her with just a look. A look filled with passion and promise.
At long last, Cade West realized she was a woman. It was a fact she was more than ready to take advantage of. Love and hope. Like the princess in the song, those two emotions had filled her since she’d found out he was on his way to the island—though since her father’s revelations fear coursed through her as well. She swallowed, and tried to calm down. She couldn’t panic until she’d examined the books. And she couldn’t talk to anyone about this until after the wedding.
Melo rotated her shoulders, unknotting the kinks. Just when she was buckling under the pressure of keeping this juggernaut of a wedding on track, her father had added to her load. She wished to hell she could confide in someone.
The plates were cleared away, and then the next course, a selection of barbecued meats, was brought from the braziers and placed on the table in large wooden platters. Rosticciana, barbecued pork ribs and sausages, Fiorentina steaks, and tender, rosemary marinated lamb. A meal fit for a king. Or a princess. Hungry fingers reached for the cuts of meat as the guests served themselves.
Melo helped herself to the selection of salads laid out on the table, making a colorful mix of cannelloni beans with parsley, black olives and tomatoes swirled over with olive oil. Adam passed over the bread basket, and she pulled off a chunk before passing it on. She added a steak to her plate and leaned forward. Closed her eyes and breathed in the mouth-watering aromas. Could there be anywhere in the world where the food was as good as here? No way.
****
Cade had been watching Marco surreptitiously during the meal, shocked at the old man’s appearance. Even though he was smartly dressed in honor of the occasion, his white shirt hung on his shrunken frame. There were deep hollows in his cheeks, and his black eyebrows stood out in stark contrast to the whiteness of his face. His black eyes were dull and lifeless, a drastic contrast to the Marco of old, and there were dark shadows under them.
Cade poured himself a fresh glass of San Pellegrino. Bittersweet music drifted in the night air. Guitar, with a lone saxophonist accompaniment. They were playing something familiar. It was only when the male singer started warbling, “You’re much too good to be true” that he recognized it.
A bonfire blazed near the water. Couples meandered toward it, carrying glasses of wine. A circle of large pillows had been arranged as al-fresco seating in a circle around it.
“Do you want to go to the fire?” His dinner companion, whom he’d learned was Sophia, reached out her hand to him hopefully.
He shook his head. “Sorry. I haven’t spoken to Mr. Bellucci yet, I’ll have to pass.”
Sophia dismissed him with a smile and sashayed away. The gorgeous looking woman wasn’t alone for long.
But he wasn’t remotely interested.
The only woman who held his interest had been out of his reach all evening. He glanced over, but she was gone. Somehow, sometime, when he’d been distracted she’d escaped. He almost groaned in frustration. In the silken darkness she would be almost impossible to find.
Marco sat at the table still, nursing a glass of sparkling water.
Cade strolled over.
“Ah, Cade. Please, sit.” Marco indicated the empty chair next to his. “I’m so sorry not to have met you when you arrived. My health…” He grimaced.
Cade hurried to reassure him. “I understand completely Signore Bellucci. I was so sorry to hear you had been unwell. Adam and Rosa told me all about it.”
“Grazie.” Marco bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Please call me Marco, Cade. Calling me Signore Bellucci makes me feel old.” His dry lips cracked in a sorry attempt at a smile. “Even older than I currently feel, which is saying something.”
“Marco, then.” Cade nodded.
“Cade. I would like to meet with you tomorrow. Just the two of us.” Marco leaned forward and hissed. “Confidentially.”
Curiosity spiked at Marco’s cloak and dagger whisperings. It was going to be nigh on impossible. There was a full day of festivities planned, and another party tomorrow night. There were a couple of outings tomorrow; maybe he could skip one.
“I’m not sure exactly what time I will be able to meet you, Marco.” Cade’s mind worked rapidly. He wanted to be there for Adam, but Adam wouldn’t need him every moment. He had Rosa, and hadn’t taken his eyes off her since they’d arrived.
“You can come up whenever.” The old man waved his hands in the air and shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me. I will be spending the day confined to bed. I will tell my nurse to expect you, and if I am asleep she will wake me. I have something very important to discuss with you. Something private.”
Cade would have questioned the old man further. After all, what could possibly be so important? But Marco collapsed back into his chair, his face white with exhaustion.
Cade smiled. “Till tomorrow then, Marco.”
Marco summoned his nurse with a quick movement of his head. “I will retire now. I don’t wish to break up the party, so I’ll just vanish into the night.” And supported by his wife and his nurse on both sides, he did.
Cade found Melo on the gravel sweep outside the villa talking to a group of men, obviously the drivers hired for the evening to chauffeur the guests down to the hotel after the party. When she saw him coming, she walked toward him. The others melted into the night.
They were at last alone. Cade’s muscles ached, and his mind felt dull with tiredness. He’d wandered on the beach, glancing at the faces lit by the flickering fire for half an hour trying to find her, his frustration growing by the minute.
He hadn’t been able to think of anything but kissing her since she sat opposite him at the table. Despite the fact Adam wouldn’t approve of him playing around with Melo. And the fact that he’d sworn only to date women who wanted the same things he did. A night of hot lovemaking, a date or two, no strings. No hearts involved.
Melo didn’t fall into that category. Not by any means.
The way she’d looked at him across the table had chased all considerations out of his head, leaving only the urge to find her. Be alone. And he was blowing it big time. Now he’d found her, his jet lag was more than kicking in. He felt like a bear with a sore head.
“Where the hell have you been?” Not the greatest opening, but all he could manage under the circumstances.
“Did you miss me then? I thought you were busy with Sophia.” Her eyes glinted. She put her hands on her hips and stared him down.
The entire experience was strangely erotic.
“No. I haven’t seen Sophia since dessert. I’ve been looking for you.” He stepped closer, into her captivating orbit. Ran his fingers over the silky skin of her upper arms, loving the feel of her. If she wasn’t interested, she’d pull back. Increase the distance between their bodies and jolt him firmly back in his place. He half hoped she would, it would make things easier all round. Confusion flickered across her expressive features, and she swayed slightly, but didn’t move. Just watched him with those sapphire eyes like a gazelle caught face to face with a hungry lion. “I wanted to see if you were going to deliver on that promise.”
Marrying Cade Page 3
