“Buon viaggio,” Lois called out before Neve closed the door. “And watch out for those Southern Italian men!”
Neve gave a sigh. She always felt somewhat energy-depleted after spending time with her mother. She often wondered at her mom’s clinginess; she certainly hadn’t been like that while Neve was growing up. Could it be that Lois had realized that some of her maternal skills had been lacking back then—especially after her husband’s death—and was feeling guilty and trying to make up for it?
Neve had a hard time with it. At this point in her life, she didn’t need her mother hovering over her. Lois’s controlling and opinionated ways were grating, and Neve often felt her patience dwindling around her.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mother; she just wanted her to loosen the apron strings. No—she wanted Lois to untie them completely, and to fold the apron and put it away. It had gotten to the point where Neve had actually contemplated moving out of town. And then she had gotten her current job as a kindergarten teacher, which had prevented any further plans of relocating.
Neve checked the time and quickly finished packing, pushing away any more thoughts about her mother. All that was left to do now was to have a soothing bath and go to bed. And tomorrow, after a leisurely breakfast, she’d head to the airport. She thought of the plush orca she had purchased for Bianca—the perfect West Coast gift for a child—and smiled. Difficult and troubled though Bianca might be, Neve was confident that she could help her.
Lucia Michele had provided more details about Bianca’s situation, her daily routines and Neve’s trip arrangements in a subsequent email, including the fact that Bianca’s uncle would be covering all her travel and food expenses. How very generous, and obviously very wealthy, Neve had thought, and had wondered what he did for a living.
Feeling her eyelids start to droop, Neve pulled the stopper and stepped out of the tub, shivering despite the warmth of the room. She wrapped her terry-cloth robe around her and dried herself briskly before changing into a knee-length nightshirt. Under the covers, she let out a deep sigh. She was really doing this. Her travel clothes were laid out, and she was ready to fly to Italy and be a nanny! She hugged her pillow and let the memories of sun-drenched days, delicious Southern cuisine and the magical Ionian Sea lull her to sleep.
* * *
Davide drummed his fingers on his desk. He checked the time on his cell phone. Neve’s plane should be landing in minutes at the Lamezia International Airport. Tomaso, his occasional driver, would be waiting for her, holding a card up with her name on it. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be a delay in claiming her luggage. If complications arose, Tomaso would take care of them.
Davide wondered if Neve still spoke some Italian. The second time he saw her on her balcony, he had smiled and said, “Ciao, signorina.” She had hesitated, given a quirk of a smile, and replied, “Ciao.” It came out sounding more like the English “chow,” and, embarrassed, she quickly repeated it with less of an aspiration at the start of the word. He had nodded in approval, and as he continued walking, he couldn’t resist looking back and saying, “Ciao, bella.” But she had already gone in.
Davide had tried to push recurring thoughts of her away after she had left Valdoro and returned to Vancouver. But if he had managed to accomplish that even temporarily during the day, he had been plagued by dreams of her at night.
His zio, Francesco, had noticed his malaise and had encouraged Davide to confide in him. Is it about a girl? He had eyed Davide with furrowed brows. Davide had been too embarrassed to talk about his feelings. Especially to his uncle the priest. How could he have possibly discussed his unquenchable desire for Neve, and his feelings of bitterness and humiliation?
“The best thing is to concentrate on your studies—and perhaps frequent Sunday mass a little more often,” his uncle had solemnly suggested.
Davide smirked. He had taken his uncle’s advice about his studies, but not so much on the second suggestion. Davide had had an issue with God and the whole destiny thing, and at twenty-two, forgiveness was not a strong male virtue. Davide had still gone to mass on special occasions, like the main holidays and an occasional funeral mass for a family friend, but other than that, he had stayed away. Besides, he had had goals he needed to accomplish.
And he had. He gave a bitter laugh as his gaze fell on the copy of his award-winning novel on his desk. Maybe he should thank Neve personally for her part in his literary success. Maybe he should have included a few words about her in his acceptance speech. After all, it was her written words that had ignited the chain of events leading up to the writing of his book.
Let it go, an inner voice whispered. Davide took a deep breath. Indeed. Why should he continue to be bitter about the words and actions of a teenage girl? He was a man now. His young ego may have been bruised then, but surely he was mature enough to have moved on?
Davide thought he had dealt with all those immature emotions, but he couldn’t deny the sharp twinge in the core of his heart when Neve’s face had appeared on the screen. She was still beautiful. Bellissima. He had watched the interview a few times after Lucia had gone home. Studied Neve’s face as she spoke. Paused to go over her every feature. He had drunk in the sight of her like a man coming across a source of water after days of walking in a scorching-hot desert.
Could he handle her living in the castle with him, interacting with him daily, watching her deal with his beloved niece? Only time would tell...
His phone indicated a text. He checked the message, written in Italian.
Signorina Wilder has arrived. We are on our way.
Va bene, Davide replied swiftly.
He set down his phone, strode over to the credenza and poured himself a shot of brandy.
CHAPTER FOUR
AS SOON AS Neve stepped out of the plane, the dry July heat enveloped her like a swaddling blanket. She was glad she had packed light. Her carry-on contained her laptop and a few emergency items in case her luggage was lost. And in her one piece of luggage, which she would shortly claim, there were just enough items to last her three weeks. She would alternate clothes over her two-month stay, and if she really got tired of wearing the same thing, she’d go to any one of the outdoor markets and buy something new. After all, she wasn’t there to be in a fashion parade; she was there for work.
Neve took a moment to text her mother that she had arrived, and joined a slow-moving throng to get clearance from the uniformed officials. She then proceeded to the baggage claim area. She looked eagerly for a middle-aged man holding a sign with her name on it, as Lucia Michele had indicated in her email, and when she had spotted him, she waved and walked briskly toward him. He welcomed Neve in Italian and introduced himself as Tomaso Rocco. She smiled back at him and thanked him in Italian for having come to the airport to pick her up and drive her back to her employer’s house.
Neve noticed that his eyebrows had lifted at the word casa. Maybe he was surprised that she could speak Italian. She had studied it since her trip to Italy as a teenager, and made it a point to use it with her Italian landlady and landlord, so she felt fairly comfortable communicating right away with Tomaso. Strangely enough, he switched to a faltering English after she had spoken.
“Would you care for a refresh before we proceed?” Tomaso pointed to a nearby kiosk. “Or a panino?”
Neve smiled. “Grazie, Signor Tomaso, but I had a nice meal on the plane. I wouldn’t mind finding a ladies’ room, though.”
He nodded and once she returned, she positioned herself near one of the conveyors to scan the moving luggage. A few minutes later she spotted the suitcase with two extra-large stickers of the Canadian flag and the Italian flag placed side by side. Tomaso deftly grabbed it and a few moments later they were driving south along the coast. Neve was glad that Tomaso was not a man of many words, as the view around her had her total attention. She caught her breath at the shimmering expanse of the Gulf o
f St. Euphemia in the Tyrrhenian Sea, and the pastel-colored facades of villas and apartments. The familiar sight of oleander trees, with their profusion of white, pink and fuchsia blooms, growing not only around homes but also along endless stretches of railroad tracks, made Neve think of an impressionist painting, with its mesmerizing combination of multicolored strokes.
Despite the stifling heat of the afternoon, Tomaso had opted to roll the windows down instead of putting on the air-conditioning, and Neve actually didn’t mind as she breathed in the sweet scent of the oleander blossoms perfuming the air.
Before long Tomaso had changed direction and was heading inland. The view changed from seascape to hills and valleys, with miles and miles of olive groves. Neve loved the look of the olive trees, with their gnarled branches and silver-green foliage. She started as the vehicle jerked to a sudden stop, and Neve, turning her head, discovered the cause: a herd of goats crossing the road. The goatherd ambled by, waving at Tomaso, and he gave a resigned wave back. “People not like to hurry here,” he said to Neve in his broken English. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You understand? Sometimes is like a thousand years ago.”
“I understand.” Neve stifled the urge to chuckle. “It’s like time standing still.”
Tomaso gave her a baffled look and then exclaimed as some of the goats started to backtrack. He gave a quick blast of the horn and the goats finally crossed over. Neve settled back to enjoy the magnificent views as the road snaked its way through what she discovered as she checked her map, was the Aspromonte mountain range. The Bitter Mountains.
She couldn’t help a slight shiver as she recalled reading about some of the nefarious happenings within the dark recesses of the heavily wooded slopes. Stories of bandits, or briganti. Some had been the Italian counterpart to Robin Hood, but others were immortalized in folk songs for their notorious deeds.
Neve marveled at some of the hamlets perched on top of a hill. Some had been abandoned for years, and the houses were crumbling in areas. But even these ghost towns, with their borders of cactus pear plants and hillsides of golden broom, had a mysterious and romantic air about them, conjuring all kinds of stories in her imagination.
Totally absorbed in the mountain landscape, with its dark gullies and sheer cliff sides with often no guardrails, Neve found herself holding her breath. It was like seeing everything with new eyes. Perhaps at eighteen she had had other things—or people—that had grabbed her attention, but now the mountains, trees and the scintillating waters were even more majestic and striking than she remembered.
Tomaso started whistling an old folk tune; she had heard it at a festival during her last trip to Italy. She knew the title, Calabrisella Mia, and if her memory served her right, it was about a young man who spotted a young lady washing clothes at the public fountains and was captivated by her. Well, maybe nobody went to do laundry at the fountains or by the river anymore, but Valdoro still celebrated the chivalry of the “old days” at their annual summer festival, the Festa della Calabrisella, where couples dressed up in traditional vintage clothing and danced the tarantella.
The hamlet came alive for the festivities, with its numbers swelling from visitors near and far. Merchants sold their artisanal goods in an outdoor market in Valdoro’s piazza during the day, and everything from stuffed eggplants to fried calamari and cuttlefish were sold in the town banquet hall in the evening before the outdoor activities resumed, with musicians performing back in the square until midnight.
Neve’s mouth watered at the memory of the food fair, and in particular, the sizzling stuffed zucchini flowers that she loved, their golden orange blossoms filled with a chunk of fontina cheese, and then floured and quickly deep-fried. Neve hoped she would be able to attend with Bianca, or during her day off.
“Ecco! We are approaching Valdoro,” Tomaso suddenly exclaimed, and Neve realized she had been lost in her thoughts and had missed the road signs. She sat up straighter and wondered at how much of what she saw seemed completely new. And then she saw the fork in the road that led right into Valdoro.
“The Pasticceria Michelina!” She recognized the peach-colored facade of the bakery on the same street as the Villa Morgana. “They had the best marzipan cookies and cannoli! Could we stop?” She would love to buy some treats for Bianca.
“I’m sure you will have time to go back soon enough,” Tomaso said with a tone of regret. “But your employer is waiting and expects us very shortly.”
Was her employer that inflexible? She wouldn’t have taken more than five minutes to get what she wanted... Neve started as Tomaso suddenly swerved to follow the left fork, which took them away from the main road.
“Wh-where are you going?” Neve said, confused. “I thought we were going to Valdoro.”
“We are still in Valdoro, signorina. Your boss lives on the—how do you say?—outside skirts.”
Neve smiled, but didn’t correct him. As Tomaso drove farther along, fewer and fewer homes appeared, and then suddenly, there was nothing but stretches of olive groves, uncultivated land bordered with endless cactus pear bushes and what looked like giant aloe vera plants, and massive clay hills. Tomaso veered into a side road, and Neve realized he was starting to ascend a path that wove its way around a mountainside, giving her flashes of the Ionian Sea through the dizzying blur of trees.
Neve’s stomach gave a flip at the change in elevation. Who would build way up here? Was there a cluster of homes at the summit? She had seen photos of mountaintop villages or monasteries all over Italy, and they had always made her catch her breath, trying to imagine the toil of the men and mules employed to carry out such a task centuries ago.
Neve closed her eyes at one point. There were no guardrails at all, and the thought of the vehicle skidding down the mountain made the butterflies in her stomach crash wildly into each other.
“Siamo arrivati,” Tomaso announced after what seemed like an eternity.
Neve felt the car come to a stop. She opened her eyes and allowed her stomach to settle for a moment. Tomaso came around to open her door, and she stepped out hesitantly, thanking him. He nodded and as he went to retrieve her luggage, Neve’s gaze shifted eagerly to her employer’s house. She froze and then felt a slow tremble along her nerve endings.
This was no house. Neve’s gaze traveled from one side of the centuries-old castle to the other. A castle! Was she dreaming? She pinched her hand. No, no dream. And no wonder that Tomaso had had that funny expression when she thanked him for picking her up to take her to her employer’s “house.” Parked outside were three other vehicles, one an electric blue that dazzled in the sun. As they approached, the golden bull brand confirmed her guess: a Lamborghini. The second one was a red Alfa Romeo, and the third, a Fiat Cinquecento.
Neve followed Tomaso numbly toward the massive rounded portico. The low heels of her sandals clicked on the granite slabs of the walkway, and she felt as if she was walking into a fairy tale. The few scattered clouds seemed to be within reach, and the air was fresh at this elevation. Neve breathed in the scent of the nearby pine trees. They seemed to be twinkling with the sun’s rays poking through spaces in their thick boughs. The sun gleamed off the casement windows, and Neve wondered if her employer was watching from behind one of them. She swallowed. What was she in for? She felt an inner shiver and had a feeling that there were a lot more unexpected things to come.
Tomaso ignored the heavy iron knocker and pressed a buzzer on a panel below. Okay, so there was one modern touch, but what if her employer was an eccentric?
She knew next to nothing about him. Who was this enigmatic boss who lived at the top of a mountain and who hadn’t wanted his identity revealed? And how could he be raising his niece here, so isolated from other people? From kids?
A hundred questions swarmed her mind, but they dissipated when the doorknob turned. She bit her lip.
The door opened with a slight creak, and Neve
was almost expecting to see a disheveled, wild-haired scientist or inventor type, dressed in a lab coat and smelling of formaldehyde and carrying a beaker with some swirling concoction. What appeared was anything but.
She looked up to meet the unsmiling and spectacled gaze of a thirty-something man who was hardly the Frankenstein she had envisioned. The fresh citrus scent of his cologne tingled her nostrils. He hadn’t shaved, but that didn’t detract from his attractiveness. No, his well-groomed scruff was absolutely charming. If only he would remove his sunglasses. Somehow, Neve felt at a disadvantage...
His dark brown hair was cut short but revealed curls on the top, and he had a firm, straight nose and strong jaw. And perfect lips. Although she didn’t want to stare, Neve couldn’t help taking in his physique in a two-second glance that wandered from his face to his body, noting the broad shoulders and snug-fitting sleeves; the crisp black shirt open at the neck, with buttons tapering to a flat stomach; and the tailored cream trousers and polished black shoes. Italian leather, of course.
Neve’s heart did a flip at the way he was staring at her when her gaze returned to his face. He smiled, revealing a dimple that was the icing on the cake as far as she was concerned, and she began to reciprocate but realized with a gulp that he was directing it to Tomaso, who stood behind her with her suitcase in hand. He opened the door wider and directed Tomaso in Italian to carry her suitcase to her room. When Tomaso disappeared, he looked appraisingly at her, and the half smile that still lingered on her face began to waver.
But then he held out his hand and flashed her a smile. “Benvenuta, Signorina Wilder.”
Neve would have truly felt his welcome was genuine, had the coolness of his tone not indicated otherwise.
* * *
From his study window, Davide had watched Neve come out of his Fiat van. His pulse had quickened with her every step toward the castle. The way the sun had caught in her hair and made it shimmer had taken his breath away. Her calf-length, pale lavender dress, with its filmy skirt layers and uneven hem, made her look like a mystical fairy. All she needed to do was to kick off her shoes and dance around the castle grounds...
Captivated by Her Italian Boss Page 4
