Conquer Your Love (3 page)

“You’re awesome. You know that?” I whispered to Sylvie.

“That’s what friends are for.” She moistened her lips and her expression
clouded over, as though she wanted to say more but decided against it. I
scanned her flawless face and long blond hair. Her outward, gentle beauty
revealed none of the hard shell coating her heart. Just like me, she had been
bent and broken by men but, unlike me, Sylvie never gave up on love. She kept
jumping into the next relationship, only to have her heart broken once more. We
were different in this respect. I certainly wouldn’t make the same mistake
twice.

“Did Clarkson say when you’re going to meet the old man?” Sylvie asked,
changing subject.

I shook my head as I thought back to the English lawyer I had met with
in New York. “He said he’d call once we landed.” Absentmindedly, I began to
play with the metal clasp of my handbag—a birthday gift from
Sylvie—and traced my fingers over the soft faux leather. At that time I
had been reluctant to accept it because it had been so damn expensive and I
wasn’t used to luxury. To think that I had just inherited a multi-million
dollar estate from a relative I didn’t even know I had completely blew my mind.
To think that Jett had tried to trick me into selling the estate so he could
build luxury lake-side accommodations for the rich and famous blew my mind even
more—and not in a good way. I smirked and leaned back against the smooth
leather seat.

“What’s the plan?” Sylvie asked.

“He’s showing me the property first, then we’ll move on to the next
step.”

She nodded slowly. “Which is looking at the estate’s accounting to make
sure the old man’s not passing any debt to you.”

“I know that.”

“It was just a reminder, Brooke, in case you
forget.
”

I shot her a dirty look and she smirked back. I never forgot anything
and Sylvie knew it. This was her way to tell me that I was playing in a
completely different league here. Basically, well over my head, while she was
the one who knew everything about high society, and she was determined to take
the role of mentor.

Not that I had ever asked her for her guidance.
Or
that I needed a mentor.
But I let her do and say as she pleased because
every now and then Sylvie’s advice hit the spot. I had no idea what to do with
a mansion and thousands of acres of land, with an entire legal firm on speed
dial, and a bank director wanting to meet me personally to commence our
‘business relationship.’ The coming days would be tough, and I was thankful to
have someone like Sylvie by my side.

“You’ll do okay,
chica
,” Sylvie said,
misinterpreting my silence. “I don’t doubt you for a second.”

I smiled. It was easier to let her think I was nervous because of my
first meeting with Alessandro
Lucazzone
. I couldn’t
tell her that my heart was fluttering like a delicate butterfly throwing itself
against its prison because the hour-long drive to Lake Como brought on more
pain than I cared to acknowledge. And now my demons were officially out of the
cage and I had to face them.

“He’ll be here eventually. You know that, right?” I whispered.

“I know,” Sylvie said. “But it doesn’t matter. You won’t have to talk to
him if you don’t want to. You don’t have to see him ever again. He’s part of
your past and he’ll stay that way.”

Taking a deep breath, I propped my head against the window and stared
out at the stunning display of sparkling blue water and mountaintops, wondering
whether I could really stay away from the one man who broke my heart.

Tiny gravel stones
crunched beneath the tires as
the taxi came to a halt around the corner and parked neatly in the vast
driveway of the
Lucazzone
estate. I paid the driver
and exited the car, barely paying attention as he helped with the luggage. He
took off down the unpaved private terrain that seemed to be the only way to
reach the
Lucazzone
mansion, unless you didn’t mind a
rocky boat ride across the lake on the other side of the estate. Both were
secluded areas.

I knew I shouldn’t gawk and yet I couldn’t help myself. From up front,
the magnificent building stretching three stories into the sky looked like a
miniature of a Venetian palace, stuck in the middle of the countryside. The
grand three-opening loggia with pillars and dovecotes on the roof was
reminiscent of
the fortress-like villas
of the early 1500s, but it had a personal flair to it: a beauty that
transcended place and time. A warmth that instantly made me feel at home, and
at the same time a soft shiver ran down my spine because I realized that one
day everything would be mine.

“It’s so beautiful.” Arms stretched out, I
resisted the urge to spin in a slow circle. Instead, I inhaled the fragrant
air. It wasn’t just beautiful—it was haunting, mesmerizing. So silent I
could hear the chirping birds and the soft wind rustling the leaves. Sylvie
didn’t answer. I shot
her a
sideway glance and caught
the drawn brows. I didn’t dwell on it because old houses and nature weren’t
exactly Sylvie’s thing. A margarita and a nightclub were more her locale.

“Let’s ring the bell,” I said, grabbing her
arm and pulling her up the stairs to the front door.

“Shouldn’t the lawyer be expecting us?” Sylvie
asked.

“He’s probably inside and didn’t hear the
taxi. It’s a huge house.”

Sylvie mumbled something that resembled a
‘maybe.’ I paid her no attention as I pressed the bell. A moment later the door
opened and Clarkson’s tall figure blocked the view inside.

“Miss Stewart.” He reached out his hand, and
the lined skin beneath his eyes crinkled as though he was genuinely pleased to
see me. I shook his hand briefly,
then
moved aside to
introduce Sylvie.

“You’re the lady who wouldn’t open the
envelope,” Clarkson said good-humoredly.

“You’re the gentleman who wouldn’t stop
pestering me about it,” Sylvie returned. I laughed because they both nailed it.
I had been in Italy when Clarkson first called to inform me that I was about to
inherit the
Lucazzone
estate. Naturally, he didn’t
disclose that information to Sylvie, but his secretary had sent a form letter,
which Sylvie was too scared to open.

“It’s lovely to finally make your
acquaintance,” Clarkson said. I could tell he was smitten with her by the way
his eyes seemed to linger on her, taking in every detail of her designer-clad
body. He seemed like a nice guy—genuine,
well-mannered
and, judging from the lack of a wedding ring or tan line on his finger,
definitely not married. He was too old for her
though,
at least twenty years her senior, and that gave me peace because I wouldn’t
want my best friend to date my lawyer.

“Thanks for inviting us,” I said, drawing his
attention back to me. A flicker of disappointment appeared in his eyes and
disappeared just as quickly.

“It was Mr.
Lucazzone’s
wish to meet his heir before—” He
dies,
I
mentally filled in the blank. Clarkson cleared his throat. “Anyway, he’s still
in hospital and cannot be with us for another day or two, until his tests are
performed. But he’s instructed me to show you to your rooms and make your stay
a pleasant one.”

Clarkson helped with the luggage as we
followed him down the hall and up the stairs, past several closed doors into
what looked like a large drawing room. He tried to maintain a light conversation,
asking about our flight and drive over. I let Sylvie handle it as I took in the
house.

Outside I had described it as beautiful, but
the word did it no justice. It was magnificent and huge with cream marble
floors, expensive paintings adorning the walls, and a huge staircase leading to
the second and third floor balustrades. Suiting the Mediterranean style,
several vases with flowers were set up in the corners, brightening up the
minimalist look. It was my style: no clutter, everything neat and orderly, just
the way I liked my life.

“This is the west wing. It’s all yours. You’ll
find all rooms have a spectacular view of both the lake and the mountains
behind,” Clarkson said, keeping up the small talk. “I’ll let you settle in. We
can go over the financial reports in the next few days.”

“Sounds perfect.”

He nodded and his eyes twinkled again. I
figured many people would have felt at least a pang of jealousy for my
unexpected windfall, but not Clarkson. He seemed genuinely pleased for me.

“Absolutely,” he said. “All members of the
staff will gather later this afternoon to introduce themselves. They come and
go
as they’re needed so you’ll have the house all to
yourself until Mr.
Lucazzone’s
back. If you need
anything, please don’t hesitate to call. I’m staying in Bellagio, which is a
stone’s throw away.”

“Thank you for everything,” I said, meaning
every word.

“My pleasure,” he said, opening the first
door. “I hope the ladies will have a pleasant stay.” His look swept from me to
Sylvie and lingered there a bit too long as he handed me what looked like a
leather pouch with a silver ring dangling from it, which I assumed were the
keys to the house. I nodded a ‘thanks’ and Clarkson reached out his hand to
shake mine. And then he was gone and the house was silent. For a few seconds I
felt disoriented—surreal. We were in Italy. Alone.
In a
huge house that would soon belong to me.

“You still have time to run,” Sylvie
whispered. I smiled at her weak attempt at humor to ease my nerves.

“I think I’ll stay.” I smiled and pointed at
the open door. “Now, have your pick before I change my mind.”

***

“What do you think?” I asked Sylvie as soon as
we had unpacked our suitcases and opened the balcony doors to let in the
fragrant air of the nearby woods. We were sitting on the expensive lounge
chairs, soaking up the warm rays of sun as we stared onto the lake. The sun
caught in the sparkling water and reflected in a million facets. I sighed with
pleasure as I relaxed into the soft pillows, figuring the only thing missing
was a big hat, orange lemonade, and an umbrella straw.

She hesitated. “I like it. You’ll be fine.
Big old house, plenty of silence and a lake to swim.
Let’s
hope you have
internet
, so we can stay in touch when
I’m back in New York.”

Her eyes were closed and her face a perfect
mask of indifference, but I didn’t fail to catch the slight bitter tone in her
voice. She didn’t want to lose her best friend, which was understandable given
that we had known each other for so long. I felt uneasy at the thought of not
seeing her every day, but I wanted to give this new development in my life a
chance. It wasn’t going to be forever; just for a while—until the Jett
episode blew over and I managed to get a job I liked—far away from him
and his world. How could I make this clear to her?

“It’s not the city life we’re used to but I
agree it’ll be a nice change for a while.”
Emphasis on
while.
“You could stay with me.
Explore the country. Do all the things people
do.
You’ve got to admit it’s an amazing opportunity.”

Her head inclined to the side. “We could learn
Italian. Maybe attend a cooking course. Get married. Have four kids. And talk
about diapers and skin rashes the entire day.”

I groaned, ignoring the sudden urge to roll my
eyes. As usual, she was being sarcastic at the outlook of not visiting a club
every night. She wasn’t a country girl. She loved the fumes, the stress, the
constant mental activity, and lack of sleep. Me? Not so much. If I wanted her
to stay with me, I needed a different tactic.

“I’ve heard Italian guys are hot.”

Now I had her attention. Sylvie’s eyes snapped
open and her lips curled into a smile. “You’re back on the game? I wouldn’t
mind one of those charming, sultry, suave Latinos who can set the room on fire
with a single sway of his hips. Imagine the passion, the drama, the intensity.”
She threw her head back and took a deep breath, fanning herself with her
manicured fingers.

I knew I might be letting the she-wolf out of
the cage with my casual remark, and yet I honestly didn’t expect so much
enthusiasm coming from her. In Sylvie’s world there was only success, sex,
parties, and variety—and any combination of those. No doubt Lake Como
could provide any of those but was I really keen on it?

Sensing my hesitation, Sylvie pulled a face,
misinterpreting my silence. “No club? What about a bar? I don’t even mind a bit
of walking or a long drive, as long as there’s any sort of music and alcohol.”
She pouted.

Lie, Stewart.

If I lied and said there were no bars or
clubs, Sylvie would leave me hanging within the week. I just
knew
it. If I told her about Bellagio’s
nightlife, I doubted we’d get to see any sights, other than the bottom of a
tequila shot.

“To get to a club we’d need to cross the lake,
walk up the hill, and then take a taxi to the city,” I said slowly. It wasn’t
the shortest way but certainly not a lie.