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The inconvenient prickle of awareness became a definite hum as he headed up to the penthouse suite and showered off the twelve-hour flight.
The fury and frustration which had been driving him for weeks—every time he got doorstepped by another celebrity hack, every time his team hit another dead end while trying to locate Charlotte, every time he relived the moment when he had woken up alone in his Embarcadero apartment and found her damn kiss-off note—finally began to ease. In its place, anticipation and something which felt a lot like exhilaration surged. As the sun sank towards the lake, he imagined the not soromanticodate he had planned for this evening’s entertainment, once he finally had Charlotte back where he wanted her.
‘Carlo, dov’é questo?’ Charley asked the local driver she’d hired as the cab wound down the poplar-flanked driveway of an extremely expensive lakeside estate.
Carlo had told her—from what she could gather with her rusty Italian—that Signor Chiesa, the farmer she’d been staying with for two weeks, had arranged alternative accommodation for her tonight because of a brokensomethingat his farm. But this couldn’t be right? It looked way outside her budget.
‘Non posso pagare,’ she added, trying to explain she couldn’t pay for this place.
‘Si, si, é tutto pagato,’ Carlo replied.
It was all paid for...Really?
Her eyes widened as the cab drove out of the trees and a magnificent villa appeared, situated in palatial gardens on the edge of the lake. The historic structure’s ornate plasterwork and lavish design were a testament to a bygone era of nineteenth-century grandeur. It looked more like a royal palace than a hotel, despite the discreet sign announcing it as La Bella Grande Villa Hotel.
Charley was still staring at the luxurious building as she stepped out of the car.
She asked again—in her broken Italian—if Carlo was sure this was the right place.
But he simply smiled and nodded, then handed her the precious case full of samples she’d spent the day collecting before firing off some fatherly advice about getting a good night’s rest. She was still standing there, dwarfed by the magnificent hotel, as she watched Carlo and his cab disappear back down the driveway.
She took a deep, steadying breath. The stunning Italianate villa’s plasterwork was bathed in an amber glow from the sunset.
Well...if Carlo says it’s the right place, it must be.
She didn’t know how Signor Chiesa had managed to find her a place this classy for her last night in Italy at no extra cost. It seemed pretty deserted. Perhaps they didn’t have that many bookings?
She tightened her fingers on the handle of her briefcase and yawned, her frown lifting—and a weary smile forming. Why not enjoy it? After all, she’d earned a bit of extra luxury.
The last three weeks had been incredible. And utterly exhausting.
After several days in Venice negotiating with a family-run supplier who had been making luxury velvet since the seventeen hundreds, she’d headed to Tuscany and Puglia to source the most incredible wool and cotton blends. And for the last two weeks, she’d travelled throughout Lombardy, finishing at the silk weavers today—where she had commissioned some unique embroidered silks at a very reasonable price.
Of course, in the back of her mind the whole time had been the social media storm she’d caused in the US. Italy was far enough removed from the whole debacle she hadn’t been dragged into it. But in a weird way, that had actually made her start to feel a little guilty—once her knee-jerk fury with Cade and his stupid bet had faded.
He’d been a total jerk. But she had been a bit of one, too.
She’d deleted the photos last week, but the damage had already been done. Not correcting the journalists she’d spoken to before leaving London about the state of their relationship, or rather non-relationship—just to annoy him—had also been a tad immature. She’d seen a huge increase in traffic to her website, so she didn’t feelthatbad. But now her buying trip was over, she would need to extricate herself from their fake relationship.
She walked up the steps into an enormous marble entrance hall—which was also surprisingly quiet. Wherewerethe other guests? Was the place even open?
Who cares, frankly?
Tonight she needed a warm bath and then a long night’s sleep in the lap of luxury.
Her energy levels had been on zero for days—a low-grade nausea making it hard for her to focus. And even though she’d loved the littleagriturismofarm she’d used as her base in Lombardy, it would be quite nice not to have to make small talk in Italian over dinner with Signor Chiesa and his wife.
She rang the silver-plated bell on the mahogany reception desk nestled next to a lavish sweeping staircase. A young, smartly dressed woman appeared, wearing a tag which saidAlessia, Reception, accompanied by a bellboy in full livery.
Wow, this place is seriously plush.
Charley struggled to control her grin. She was going to have to send Signor Chiesa a thank-you message for arranging this.
‘Signora Courtney, Aldo will take your items to your room,’ the efficient young woman said in perfect English as the bellboy bowed and took Charley’s briefcase, then disappeared. ‘We have already put the rest of your luggage in the Como Suite.’
She had a whole suite in this beautiful place? Seriously? Charley felt the weariness ease a little more.
But before she could thank the manager, the woman was already leading her through a huge—and completely deserted—dining salon.
