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Giancarlo would be turning in his grave.
‘You’re in charge. You have the veto—whatever you say goes.’
‘You’re clear that this must—?’
‘Reflect well on the Di Visconti name? Absolutely. There is nothing I understand more than that. The lineage, the heritage, the legacy—I’m all over it.’
‘“All over it” is not what I want to hear. That sounds messy.’
She swallowed and closed her eyes as if—damn her—she were dealing with a recalcitrant toddler.
‘I know what you want to hear. I’ve figured it out. Your family brand is “class”.’ She walked around him where he stood in the centre of the melee, lowering her voice. ‘Kyla’s is “trash” and you want me to change that. You want the bored housewives and the media snoopers to open up their copies of Heavenly and see nothing but a perfect airbrushed and back-lit image of the ancient famiglia Di Visconti. An illusion.’
‘La famiglia Di Visconti is not an illusion. It is solid and serious.’
‘It’s classy. I will deliver classy. That’s what the readers want, too. They want a glimpse into this fairytale world. They want to see beauty and elegance and style. They want to feel as if you’ve welcomed them into that world for the five minutes it takes them to read the feature.’
She was electrifying in her pitch. As he watched her he knew that he could stand her in front of any board of directors and they would hang on her every word. Whatever happened with these photographs, this young woman had a fire in her that would light up more than just this photo shoot. She had a fabulous career ahead of her. He recognised the signs.
‘And I will deliver that. I will.’
He folded his arms over his chest, looked down at her upturned, earnest face. ‘Yes, you will,’ he said.
‘Si, signor!’
And, dammit all, he found himself smiling. Just for a second. Caught up in her infectious words.
Then he watched as she headed straight for Kyla, greeting her like some long-lost sister. Beaming round at Mariella. Quirky. Confident.
That hair… Those curves…
Yes, maybe this would all turn out OK.
All around about him people got busier and busier. Raffaele wandered outside to take some calls and keep an eye on Salvatore. Every five minutes or so he’d glance over his shoulder to see what was happening inside.
He shouldn’t have to do this. He should be able to let Salvatore run his own life. They were the same age, had more or less had the same upbringing, but they were miles apart in terms of values. In terms of direction.
If he could walk away from all this right now he would. But he’d made a promise. He didn’t need a penny from Argento. He had more than enough from Romano. But Giancarlo hadn’t been stupid. He’d known exactly how quickly it would all unravel as soon as Salvatore was let loose with all those millions. Tying him in through the will had been a cast-iron guarantee of keeping Argento afloat.
But how much more of this could he stomach? He couldn’t watch over every move Kyla made. He’d have to let them sink or swim some time. Legally, he was tied to Giancarlo for three more years. But morally he had him for life.
He glanced back inside the loggia. It seemed that order was descending.
The adorable Coral was looking through the clothes rails with Kyla and Mariella. Then she was organising assistants to move screens and lights. Laughing with the hair guy, consulting with the fashion editor as clothes were ruthlessly discarded. She was ‘all over it’ and no mistake.
‘Is everything all right?’
He was still standing at the side, checking his emails, when she walked towards him, a glass of water in her hand.
‘Only you look at little preoccupied.’
‘Just waiting to hear good news, Coral.’
‘OK. I think I’ve got it down. It’s not going to be a pastiche or a pantomime. It’s a simple studio shoot—nothing too exciting. I’m afraid you were right about the princess trope. That’s what Kyla wants to be. But I’ve talked her into nineties glamour rather than eighties pop. Those prints we passed in the hallway—the Testinos—gave me an idea. I said I’d do an homage to the supermodel. She loved it.’
She was chatting to him as if he was an old friend. The glints in her hair were warm and rich and he itched to feel the heavy tresses in his hand.
‘The team are amazing. I can’t believe how fluidly they work together. I’m learning so much. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this.’
She dipped her head and looked at him with those bewitching eyes. Those bewilderingly familiar, bewitching eyes.
