by Susie Warren
She pointed the remote at the screen and with a shaking hand pressed play. Nothing happened. She tried again.
Marc joked about technology and somehow started the short film to provide a short glimpse of what the actual film would be.
Images of Carrara flashed on the screen to a voiceover she had recorded from several interviews. She had compiled as many pictures as she could and the audience closely followed the short film.
When it was over, everyone applauded, and then Marc reminded them all to enjoy the open bar and buffet. She knew that the evening was a huge success based on the enthusiasm and energy evident in the assembled guests.
Isabel removed her cordless microphone and placed it on the table before escaping to the outside veranda. The emotion of the evening pierced her composure. She didn’t want to disappoint her parents, yet she felt the need to honor her grandfather. Her connection to Marc was beginning to feel too intimate. It would have been simpler if she’d chosen a different path for her first major project.
Several guests approached her to ask questions about the project. She was kept busy for quite a while listening to stories from Carrara. She noticed Marc mingled, greeting most guests and stopping by for a chat with many of the old-timers.
Just as she was trying to find a polite way to extricate herself from an older woman who wanted to know why Alberto wasn’t interested in dating, Marc appeared at her side.
He nodded to the woman as he gently guided Isabel away, saying, “Please excuse us; we have a few things to discuss.”
Marc took her hand, and they walked to the elevator. Isabel became conscious of curious glances from those who were nearby.
When the doors opened on the sixth floor, Isabel stepped off and looked around the dark space.
“I had about as much polite, small talk as I can handle.” Marc moved forward and turned on a few lights.
Isabel followed him into the space. “It seemed successful. Everyone I spoke with was excited to hear about the film.”
“It’s not often that Santoro Designs hosts an event, so I think people were curious.” His voice was sensual and inviting, almost as if he was trying to draw her in.
“What did you think of the film?”
“Would you care for a drink?” he asked her. He walked over to the drinks cabinet and made two vodka martinis.
He handed her a drink and waited for her to take a sip. The drink tasted delicious and she cautioned herself to be careful. She needed to keep her mind clear and not to allow herself to become too comfortable.
Marc took a swallow of his martini, and paused for a moment before saying, “I thought you did an extraordinary job with the short film. The images were compelling and it began to tell a story but left the audience hanging. Well done.”
Isabel smiled at him. “I can’t wait to film at the quarry.”
Marc took a step toward her and from the intensity of his gaze and the way he held his powerful body still, there was no mistaking the chemistry between them. But it was impossible to give into her desire; it would only end badly if he saw her disfigurement.
Her mind tried to come up with a plausible reason to break the subtle attraction between them. “Roberto told me you often will work on a statue or sculpture to relax.”
Marc stepped forward and gently brushed away an escaped wisp of hair from her cheek. “Did he?”
“Do you have anything that I could see?” Isabel said as she stepped back.
He gave her a darkly handsome smile. “Yes, come. I’ll show you.”
He led Isabel into a workroom off of his private office and turned on the lights. The space was huge with a large bank of windows to let the sun in.
Stepping further into the space, he pulled a covering off of a block of marble. Examining it closely, she could begin to see the outline of a figure.
Her dark hair cascaded around her shoulders in a sleek, straight style, adding unexpected grace to her look. Marc suppressed an urge to move closer to her and in irritation questioned what was so alluring about her. He knew instinctively it was a desire so basic it defied reason. If he was not careful, he would walk right into her neatly set trap. She would want him to tell all. Explain how he became a ruthless industrialist—as they called him—who kept everyone at a distance.
Yet there was something so compelling about her inquisitiveness, so tempting. If he was a lesser man, he would allow himself to be tempted. But he was in control of his own destiny, and she would want him to unlock part of himself that he had no intention of sharing.
If he was not careful, he would walk right into a trap carefully set by Alberto or Alda. The older generation wanted him to take a wife, and looking back at the block of marble for a second, he acknowledged that they hit the nail on the head with Isabel. She was beautiful, talented and had a mind of her own and he felt drawn to her in a way that he couldn’t remember ever experiencing.
He looked at her and could feel his body tighten in response. “Would you model for the sculpture?” His voice seemed overly loud in the open space, and when she turned toward him, she seemed surprised that he had asked her.
When she turned to look again at the block of marble, he realized he wanted her. He wanted to explore her graceful body and capture her response.
Her gaze caught his. “Do you mean fully dressed?”
“Whatever you are comfortable with.”
Isabel looked nervous. “I wouldn’t be comfortable removing my clothes.”
Marc stepped toward her. “It doesn’t matter. Stand here and turn your head, moving your chin to your shoulder.”
He reached out and positioned her shoulders and head. He felt a tremor run through her body as he breathed in the scent of her perfume.
He rolled up his sleeves, and flexed his shoulders. After taking a few measurements, he lifted his chisel and hammer and started methodically chipping away at the pure white slab of marble.
She noticed Marc stiffened before blanking out any expression. His eyes darkened and it was difficult to tell what he was thinking.
He began to make marks on the sculpture.
“Why don’t you let people know that you create some of the work produced here?”
“It’s better for the business not to disclose the artists’ names. The expectation is that all work is top-notch. I employ a staff of extremely talented workers. I wouldn’t want a client to specify a particular artist’s work.”
Isabel felt his gaze on her as he kept going back and forth between her and the sculpture. It was fascinating being a stand-in for him. He seemed more relaxed and accessible to her as he chipped away at the rough statue.
She was fascinated by the intensity with which he studied the statue. He seemed to be blocking out everything; then suddenly he would begin chipping away at the marble in swift, decisive strokes.
“I don’t think it is widely known that you create sculptures. I think most people just see you as a businessman.”
“Try to keep still. It was not something that brought joy to my family. My father in particular was horrified by the idea of his son wanting to sculpt instead of deal in marble.”
“That must have been difficult for you,” Isabel said.
“No, I am a very fortunate man. Three generations have worked exceedingly hard to create the business that now thrives. Marble is in my blood. And there was a compromise of sorts after my father’s death as Santoro & Sons became Santoro Designs, allowing me to push the company in new directions.” Marc took a sip of his drink.
Silence. Isabel realized she had overstepped her bounds. It was really none of her business.
“When I was young, I insisted on having things my way. I often argued with him about it.” Marc remained silent for a few moments, then continued. “My father thought my art was a useless obsession and used to say frequently that it would employ no one. Always reminding me that the men of Carrara depend on the Santoro quarry for their livelihood. Even after my father’s death, I find it difficult to
spend time on design and not the business.”
Isabel willed her body to stay perfectly still, and he continued to chip away at the statue.
The starkness of his comments softened Isabel towards him. “That seems unfair. I think everyone deserves to pursue their real passion.”
“Is that what you do? Pursue your real passion at every turn?” His words mocked her.
Her eyes met his and for a moment, Isabel wondered if the conversation was taking on a hidden meaning. Was he asking about her career or a much more basic desire? Isabel shook her head. “No, not always. But I’m starting to...”
She closed her eyes briefly and her arms instinctively shielded her body. She didn’t want to feel anything for him. Especially not desire or longing. He was definitely out of the realm of possibility. His desire to seek physical perfection in his artwork and designs eliminated her as a possibility. He would be repulsed by her body.
“You are no longer in position.”
Opening her eyes, she found him watching her. It was impossible to miss the flash of desire in the depths of his eyes or in the way his gaze flickered over her body.
“I should return to the party.” Isabel hesitated by the doorway.
“Yes, find your escape and stay in your clearly defined role.” His cool words were delivered as he turned back toward his sculpture.
Isabel was infuriated. As she pushed the elevator button, she wondered why he felt the need to challenge her. It was better for both of them if they ignored the chemistry between them. He wasn’t interested in a traditional relationship and she wasn’t willing to reveal her secret. She reminded herself that it was much better that they didn’t act on their desire. But still she wanted to return to him, which didn’t make any sense. Why was she so drawn to him?
He was a billionaire who ran an empire, why was he sculpting a blank piece of marble during a party?
Chapter 6
Four days later, Isabel rang the doorbell to Alda Santoro’s brownstone in Beacon Hill. Even though it was the beginning of May, it was overcast and damp so she wore a black pencil skirt with a pink cashmere short-sleeved sweater.
She knew Marc wanted her to join him for lunch with his aunt but wasn’t sure why. She thought it had to do with the travel arrangements for the upcoming trip.
A uniformed maid answered the door and brought Isabel into a formal sitting room. Glancing around, she was impressed with the architecture and beautiful furnishings. Her eyes were drawn to a vase of white lilies set on the round table near the sofa.
The maid said softly, “Mrs. Santoro will be with you shortly.”
“Isabel.” Marc walked into the room and his eyes raked over her in a swift male appraisal.
Instead of looking away, she met his gaze and for a moment became lost in the intensity of it. She was becoming more attracted to him with each passing day. It would wreak havoc with her work.
Isabel took a step away from him. “Is there a problem?” She could sense an underlying tension about him.
“I have some concerns about the grant you have secured for the project. Hopefully Alda will be able to shed some light on the reason you were selected.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Alda sits on the board of the foundation that gave you the grant for this project, even going so far as to specify Santoro Designs.”
“I presented my grant application in both writing and in person and her name was never mentioned.”
Marc ran a hand through his short hair. “Alda was behind the scenes the entire time clamoring for you. This has the potential of turning into a public relations nightmare for my company. It’ll look like Santoro Designs purchased your film.”
Shock infiltrated every pore of her body. How could she have not realized that Alda Santoro was on the board?
“Foundations have tons of people on their boards. It’s how they raise money for projects. There must be a reasonable explanation.”
Marc went to a drinks cabinet built into the wall and poured two glasses of seltzer with lime over ice. He handed her the antique crystal glass and sat on the sofa.
The silence unnerved her as she waited for his response. He finally said, “You’ll need to look for other funding.”
“It can take a year or more to have a grant request approved. I’ve already been working on this grant for ten months.”
Isabel stood completely still, clutching her glass as the uneasiness washed over her. She needed this job, and would not allow a technicality to ruin this opportunity for her. She’d had no idea Alda was on the board. There had to be a way to resolve the look of nepotism. Possibly Alda could give a statement.
Alda swept into the room, looking chic and capable in a black wool dress with an elaborate necklace.
“Marc, dear.” She kissed him on each check. “Isabel, thank you for coming.” Alda embraced her warmly and kissed each cheek. “I was delayed by a small staff crisis, but now we can sit down to lunch.”
Alda led them to the dining room. Isabel noticed that the table was already elaborately set for three and wished that she could escape the entire situation.
The servant appeared and asked Alda about the wine selection.
Isabel’s gaze was drawn to Marc even though she tried to concentrate on what Alda was saying. At the formally set dining room table, he looked more formidable than ever. The light made his angular face seem even sharper and more unforgiving. She could feel anxiety bloom in the pit of her stomach.
A uniformed maid served her a garden salad from a serving trolley, then used a pair of silver tongs to place a roll on her bread and butter plate.
Isabel resolutely tried to make herself relax in the chair, but her nerves were jumpy and she soon sat forward, her hands twisting in her lap.
Glancing at Marc, she felt his gaze flick over her. She straightened her spine; she didn’t feel ready to fight a battle, but she needed to save this project. She had already invested a considerable amount of time and effort in the planning and research. This film would allow her to prove herself as a filmmaker as well as honor Alberto.
“So, this is an odd coincidence. Alda selecting to fund your documentary about Carrara through an arts organization while your grandfather approached me about having the Santoro quarry as the subject,” Marc said.
Isabel felt dread building low in her belly. “As I’ve told you, when I approached the arts organization, I didn’t realize your aunt was on the board.”
“Well, now that is has come to light, don’t you think that it may be perceived as a conflict of interest within the industry? Basically Santoro Designs is funding this piece, almost as if it is a public relations video?” Isabel noticed the slight raising of Marc’s eyebrows, as he regarded her coolly.
She stared at him. “I had no idea when I approached you or I would have told you.”
Alda said, “I recused myself from the vote as soon as I realized Isabel intended to use Santoro Designs.”
“It didn’t seem odd that her last name was Neri?”
Alda smiled at her nephew, saying, “The arts organization gets hundreds of requests. I don’t see most of the requests until it’s time to vote. At that point, I recused myself. I don’t see the issue.”
“You didn’t have the clause written in specifying Santoro Designs? I reviewed the original grant application and there wasn’t a particular quarry specified.”
Alda answered, “No. Maybe it came up in the pitch session. It is my understanding that your grandfather accompanied you to the interview?”
Isabel hesitated as she remembered the interview. “He may have spoken about Santoro Designs. I can’t remember exactly, but my grandfather from the beginning insisted that Santoro Quarry was the logical quarry to focus on. And he had a connection to the Santoro family so I was able to get an interview.”
“Yes, a connection he used. But I doubt it is that simple.” Marc turned to his aunt. “Did you meet privately with Alberto Neri to discuss the grant applicatio
n?”
Alda gestured dismissively. “You are making a big deal of this, but I can assure you that nothing underhanded has taken place. There were no direct conversations between Santoro Designs and the Mayes Arts Organization. You had no prior knowledge of the grant, and I recused myself as soon as I realized that Isabel intended to use Santoro. You are worrying about nothing.”
Alda deftly moved the conversation to inquire about the trip. “I’m quite looking forward to being in Carrara for the opening of the opera season.”
Isabel stole a look at Marc and found him watching her with a skeptical look on his face. It did seem odd that Alda Santoro was part of the Mayes Arts Organization. She was surprised Alberto hadn’t mentioned it, but maybe he didn’t know either?
Marc said, “I’m going to have my public relations firm put out a statement acknowledging the connection between the organizations and explain that you recused yourself and that I had no knowledge on the funding source. Aunt Alda, you’ll need to stay clear of any conversations about this film and be careful of promoting it.”
Isabel noticed that Alda made no such promise. She began to wonder if Alda and Alberto had discussed the grant application. It would certainly have given her an unfair advantage.
“Alda, I don’t feel comfortable with this. My intention in writing the grant proposal was not to use a family connection to gain an unfair advantage.”
Alda smiled at her. “I can assure you, Isabel, that your application stood on its own merit and I didn’t unfairly advocate for you. The truth is that it is a wonderful, worthy project.”
With that, Alda motioned for dessert to be served, and a servant appeared with a rich chocolate custard tartlet.
Alda stood up and clutched her chest. “I feel so strange, as if a heavy weight has been placed on my chest.”
Marc immediately took charge and had his aunt sit back down, asking her to take in a calming breath. He subtly asked Isabel to alert the staff that Alda needed to go to the hospital.
