by Susie Warren
“If I decide to allow you access to the Santoro Quarry then it must be with the understanding that I have final approval on all elements of the work—images, content. Everything.”
He watched as her eyes sparked with frustration. “This won’t work if you intend to force-feed the information to me. It needs to naturally evolve.”
He attempted to placate her. “You’ll have the vastness of the canyon at your disposal. But as I’m giving you access to my employees and work environment, I need a measure of control or oversight.”
Isabel tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and shot him a look of disbelief across the table but remained silent.
“We’ll need to travel and work closely together over the next six weeks, so I have a few other ground rules. I’m willing to have you spend time at the quarry and conduct interviews, but I’ll not allow others to travel there.”
“I work with a team. Often the collaboration is what sparks new ideas,” Isabel said.
“Those are my terms. You can send work back to your colleagues for editing, but travel to the quarry will be limited to you.”
He gave her a moment to adjust to the idea before saying, “We’ll leave by the end of next week. You can begin right away at my design firm in Boston. Several of my employees have come from Carrara and work here on commissioned sculptures.”
After a brief silence, Marc continued. “I’ll have my assistant put together a cocktail party next week to officially announce the project.”
Isabel met his gaze. “This all seems to be moving at such a fast pace.”
He nodded. “Alberto may have helped you gain access, but you’ll need to prove yourself. I expect you to work exceedingly hard to produce a high quality film.”
He watched as her eyes darkened. “You won’t be disappointed.”
He asked his housekeeper to call the driving service and led Isabel outside through the front foyer. They spoke for a few minutes about Carrara, and when the car arrived he said goodnight and watched her walk down the path.
He knew that if he were being rational he wouldn’t have given her permission to film in his quarry, but there was something so captivating about her that he didn’t want to deny himself the pleasure of seeing her again. Still, he reminded himself to keep her at a distance or she would want him to reveal his family’s tragic past—and he had no desire to go down that road. The past was best left buried.
Chapter 2
Isabel hurried into her parents’ delicatessen late after a sleepless night. The lunch crowd had already poured into the small space, forming a long line almost to the door. Keeping her head down, she quickly maneuvered past the crowd and slipped behind the counter.
As she tied a crisp, white apron around her waist, she could feel the displeasure radiating in waves from her mother. Her family didn’t support her new career as a filmmaker. Even completing her master’s degree with top honors didn’t impress them. They thought producing documentaries was too uncertain of an occupation.
“I’m sorry, Mama.”
“It would be better if I hired a stranger. Maybe they would show up on time instead of chasing after dreams,” Carla Neri said as she rang up the next customer.
Her older brother, James, was busy making sandwiches while keeping up a steady, playful banter with each customer. Isabel washed her hands and began placing the ordered sandwich along with the antipasto or olives on each plate and handing it to the customer. She tried to stay conscious of the orders being called out, but her mind kept wandering to filming in Carrara.
As her body went through the mechanics of preparing and serving food, Isabel listened for her brother to give her directions. She carefully prepped each salad and arranged the green picholine olives or fresh mozzarella on the plate, working with her brother, often smiling back when he winked at her in silent acknowledgement.
She could hear a man conversing with James in Italian and looked up in surprise. It was a rarity when her grandfather would come into the deli. Turning her attention back to the plate she was preparing, she heard him say, “Isabel, espresso, per favore.”
Isabel nodded and began preparing the coffee. By the time it was brewed, her grandfather had already moved ahead in the line and was trying to hand over crisp bills for his lunch. Isabel watched him for a moment and thought he looked well as he smiled and made small talk with her mother.
Following her grandfather to a table, she placed the espresso next to his sandwich and hugged him tightly. He smelled like tobacco and Old Spice.
She was about to leave him to go back to work when he said, “You have the map of Italy plastered on your face. You need to go and experience your heritage firsthand.”
Isabel smiled at him and wondered what he was up to. Alberto often admired her brown eyes and dark, almost black hair combined with olive skin, usually comparing her likeness with fond pleasure to her great-grandmother.
He tasted the gazpacho her mother had prepared early that morning. Glancing back towards the counter, Isabel smoothed her apron and waited for Alberto to ask how the meeting went.
“Are you packing your bags?” He sounded overjoyed.
Isabel felt her spine straighten as she thought about the perfection-seeking billionaire who would rather stick a fork in his eye then agree to a documentary.
She looked at her grandfather. “He is impossible. He wants total control and will not allow me to bring anyone else to Carrara.”
He waved dismissively and said, “You are enormously talented and I’m sure he will trust your judgment in no time.”
Isabel doubted her grandfather’s optimistic outlook. Marc Santoro would be a nightmare to deal with. But she knew she couldn’t disappoint her grandfather. He needed this project. It would give him a renewed sense of purpose.
“I don’t know if I can deal with his constraints,” Isabel said quietly.
“This project will allow you to travel to Carrara and explore the family’s history. I know you will fall in love with the Carrara quarries and the old way of life. Your film will be magnificent.”
Isabel smiled at her grandfather; his belief in her knew no bounds. How could she disappoint him? Dealing with an arrogant, controlling perfectionist should pale in comparison.
“I need to get back to work before my mother goes insane.”
“But you will take the project?” her grandfather asked her.
Isabel nodded. She needed this project. It wasn’t just about pleasing her grandfather; the commission would allow her the flexibility to take on more work. It had been a struggle to launch her new career. And with school loans and most of her projects making very little money, she needed to be practical. Marc Santoro may be a nightmare to deal with, but he was allowing her to take advantage of an amazing opportunity.
Much later when the lunch crowd was gone, Isabel made her way back to the kitchen and put a stack of dishes near the sink. Standing by the large commercial oven, Isabel thought about her reaction to Marc Santoro. She knew she was physically attracted to him, but she knew she would never let him see her scarred body. She needed to distance herself and concentrate on the work.
She looked up and met her mother’s steely gaze. “You need to find a husband.” Her mother’s sharp words didn’t surprise her. This was her favorite topic.
She steeled herself against the coming argument. “That didn’t work so well last time. The husband part.”
Carla spoke with her hands as well as her voice. “Women today wait too long. By the time I was your age, I was married with three kids. Isabel, you need to settle down, make a family.”
She felt her thoughts drifting to the project. “Mama, I’m not going to marry someone out of convenience. We have been over this before; I’ll only marry if I am madly in love.”
Carla sounded exasperated. “Is that why you broke off the engagement? You were no longer in love?”
Without looking at her mother, she said, “I’m not discussing the past with you.”
&
nbsp; Isabel desperately wanted to escape the family business; it was almost as if she were under a microscope each and every day. Everyone who came into the deli knew of her misfortune even if they were too polite to mention it directly to her. At the time, the seriousness of the car accident and her unlikely recovery played out for weeks in the family-run enterprise as unexpected absences and closings affected the business. When things returned to normal, and she chose to break her engagement, customers naturally continued to ask about her.
“I heard your cousin, Emelia, is getting married. The entire Rosa clan is being invited to the wedding.”
“I’m very happy for her. She deserves to be happy, mama.”
“Yes, but what about you? I even hear that Lauren may be getting engaged.”
Isabel looked at her mother. It must be tough for her mother to have both her sisters about to marry off their daughters. Marriage was her mother’s greatest ambition for her. And to be fair, having children would be a close second. She remained silent until her mother changed the subject.
“What did your grandfather want?” asked her mother.
“Alberto was asking about my interview with Marc Santoro. He is hoping that I take the commission and produce the film about working in the marble quarries in Carrara.”
Her mother snorted. “Marc Santoro has quite a reputation and is interested in one thing. And I can assure you it doesn’t include marriage and children,” Carla cautioned.
“Mama, please. The world doesn’t work that way. Marc Santoro would have no interest in me. He is only interested in protecting his empire and making sure that any coverage is positive,” Isabel said calmly as she took off her apron.
“You shouldn’t be thinking about going to Italy. By now you should be home with a baby in your arms. Not thinking about your career.”
Angry defiance stirred in her. “I’m twenty-seven years old and by most standards that is young. I need to figure out what I want from life before settling down.” She decided at that moment to accept the commission. It didn’t matter how difficult Marc Santoro would prove to be, it was in her blood even if her parents had wanted nothing to do with it.
“Chasing that particular dream will only lead to heartache. You know your grandfather is a broken man because of his insistence on not letting go of the lost way of life. There is no future in the marble business.”
“I know, Mama. I’m not expecting for it to lead to future work. I’ll only be traveling for a month or so and then I’ll come back to edit the film. It’s just too important of a project to pass up, and it will give Alberto a measure of recognition and honor.”
Isabel watched as her mother threw up her hands and said, “Mark my words, no good will come of it.”
Chapter 3
Apprehensive about her decision three days later, Isabel gave the address for Santoro Designs to the taxi driver. She wasn’t very familiar with the Fort Point Channel area but knew it mainly consisted of old industrial buildings near the South Boston waterfront.
When the driver stopped outside the six-story yellow brick building, Isabel could see “721” and then “Santoro Designs” clearly painted in red bold letters on the glass. She paid the cab driver and stepped out onto the sidewalk clutching her equipment. The area seemed friendly enough with many people walking along the street browsing in store windows, and there were construction workers restoring the façade on the building a few doors down.
Isabel admired the matching white marble sculptures in the windows for a moment before opening the large glass door. The upscale modern feel of the place surprised her. She was expecting more traditional marble pieces. As she glanced around, everything seemed white except the blood-red carpet that took visitors to a massive round reception desk.
Isabel had spent the last few days working on the concept for the film. She hoped Marc Santoro would be reasonable but knew he would want to control the entire project.
As Isabel adjusted the equipment she was carrying, she moved toward the reception desk.
“Can I help you?” a woman asked in a cool voice. She was dressed in a red suit, and with four-inch heels, towered over her.
“I’m Isabel Neri. I have a ten o’clock meeting with Mr. Santoro,” Isabel answered.
The receptionist looked off to the side where a marble fountain was being assembled and a worker had just dropped a piece.
Isabel watched in fascination as the shop buzzed with activity. There was an endless stream of customers stopping in and inquiring about projects and materials. The staff seemed professional and knowledgeable as they easily handled questions and guided customers toward the sample area. She noticed the signage indicated that other companies were located on some of the floors, with the top floor being occupied by Santoro Enterprises.
The woman picked up the phone and spoke softly, before saying to Isabel, “Take the elevator to the sixth floor. Mr. Santoro is expecting you.” She handed her a visitors tag.
As Isabel pushed six, she smoothed down the fabric on her fitted gray skirt and straightened her button-down white blouse. She hoped to strike the right balance between professionalism and hard work. She had taken the time to use a straight iron to smooth her dark brown hair to an elegant style. As negative thoughts about her appearance assaulted her, Isabel focused on starting the job and took a deep, calming breath as the elevator doors opened.
The entire floor seemed dedicated to a loft-like sprawling office suite. A collection of gray modern couches formed a conversation area to her left. She caught sight of Marc Santoro walking from another office to greet her.
Seeing him again caused a sharp awareness to infiltrate her body. It was impossible to disregard his wildly attractive smile, dark hair clipped short, and intense gaze. He was dressed in a charcoal suit with a white starched shirt pressed to perfection, and red silk tie.
“So you have come.” His voice soothed her tense nerves.
She forced herself to reach out and shake his hand and wasn’t surprised at the spark of attraction she felt in her core. She pulled back, but not before she saw recognition in his gaze, just like the last time.
He merely smiled at her reaction, saying, “Benevento.”
After a brief silence, he added, “We can talk for a few minutes and then I’ll give you a tour of the shop.”
“I’m excited to start,” Isabel said to him.
“I’m surprised your parents didn’t talk you out of it. From what I’ve gathered, they seem to think the marble industry is rife with loss, dishonesty and unnecessary risk.” His cool words came out in a clipped tone, but she could see the challenge in his eyes even as the gold flecks seemed to mesmerize her. Instead of looking away, she continued to meet his gaze and for a moment became lost in the intensity of it.
“Would you care for a coffee?”
“Please.” Isabel admired the view out of the large bank of windows. She could see the harbor, and down below the building, a massive stockpiling of slabs of marble.
Looking at her fully, he realized she was going to be a huge distraction. Maybe he would ask his aunt to accompany them to Carrara so he wouldn’t have to spend every moment trying to erect a wall between them. His aunt would provide a needed buffer.
Walking over to the coffee machine built into an alcove at the far end of the expansive office, he went ahead and made two espressos. He realized her image was already burned into his brain. What was it that he found so alluring about her? She was beautiful, but he had met many women who were just as beautiful that he wasn’t attracted to. There was something about her that tempted him to want to get to know her.
He took a rather large swallow of the hot coffee, allowing the caffeine to distract him as he sat down on the sofa and placed her cup on the table.
She sat on the opposite sofa, crossing her legs gracefully, and said, “Thank you. I appreciate your willingness to invite me into your shop.”
He wasn’t interested in her gratitude. “You’ll need to prove yourself and I im
agine the days will be long and grueling.”
“I have some notes for you to look at.” She gave him an intricately folded outline, and he breathed in the scent of her perfume——it reminded him of citrus groves in Italy. Looking away from her, he vowed to make more of an effort to block her out.
The outline surprised him. It started in present time and then moved backwards to explore the last seventy years.
“You are free to interview the workers and photograph the quarry, but I would like you to resist telling the Santoro story.” Marc stood and handed her back the outline.
Isabel stood up as well and her voice lowered slightly as she said, “Sharing pieces of the Santoro story will make the film more compelling. It’ll allow the audience to connect with the work.”
He looked at her and could feel his body tighten in response. She captivated his imagination yet barely reached his shoulder.
He noticed her slender frame, while quite feminine, was clothed in a slim-fitting skirt clearly outlining every curve along with black leather boots reaching her knees. On top her white button-down shirt clung to her full breasts and made her skin look sun-kissed.
He said without thinking, “I can already tell you’ll be a huge distraction.”
“I know you have a business to run. I’ll not take up much of your time.”
“Benito. I have another condition.” He waited for her to meet his gaze. “I know some of the old-timers will speak of the epic battles I would have with my father. I don’t want that to come out in the film.” He saw her eyes widen in surprise. He made a calculated decision to disclose this information himself so she didn’t feel the need to examine it too closely.
