Saved by the CEO (3 page)

The Royal Wedding

“Ask and you shall receive. Your cake,
signorina
.” Nico’s exaggerated bow as he handed her a slice of cake made Louisa laugh. The wedding had brought out the lightheartedness in everyone, even her. It felt good, laughing. She’d faked happiness for so long that she was afraid she’d forgotten how to truly enjoy herself.

“Grazie,”
she replied with her best regal nod before noticing he’d returned with only one plate. “No slice for you? Don’t tell me there isn’t enough.” She saw the cake; it was large enough to feed all of Italy.

“Ah, but it’s more fun to share, don’t you think?” From his breast pocket, he produced two forks. “To commemorate our successful partnership. We make a good team, do we not?”

“Surprisingly, yes.” If anyone had told her that one day she and the vineyard owner would be civil to one another, let alone work together, she would have told them they were crazy. But the two of them had organized the massive village cleanup in preparation for today’s wedding. As a result, the palazzo and the plaza had never looked lovelier—a pretty big achievement considering the village had started out picture-perfect.

And now, here they were enjoying each other’s company at the wedding reception, as well. Things between them had definitely thawed since Louisa’s first day in town when he’d demanded to see her ownership papers. Or maybe she was the one who was starting to thaw?

It certainly felt as though something inside her was shifting.

She focused her attention to the cake Nico was sliding toward her.

“If we’re toasting, shouldn’t we be raising a glass?” she asked, taking one of the forks.

“We’ve been raising our glasses all day. I thought we could use a change of pace.” He moved his chair so that they were sitting side by side, close enough that his elbow nudged hers. Cutting off a bite of cake, he raised it in the air like a glass. “To teamwork.”

“To teamwork.”

Louisa moved to cut her own piece of cake, intending to salute him back, only to have him press the cake to her lips before she could. “The lady should always have the first bite,” he said, his low voice.

A warm tightness moved through her as the fork slid between her teeth. Chocolate and raspberry melted on her tongue.

“Good?” he asked.

“Amazing.” She ran a tongue over her lower lip, chasing the hint of frosting that had been left behind. “Try some.”

With what could only be called a wicked smile, he did, and when the fork disappeared into his mouth, the tightness in her stomach intensified. A hint of chocolate remained on her lips. Though tempted to lick the taste away, she reached for her napkin instead. After that display, running her tongue over her lips seemed too much like answering in kind and the summer air already felt thick and stifling.

While she’d never let him know it, Nico was quite possibly the most handsome man here, even more handsome than the crown prince. Months of working outdoors had left him with a permanent tan that gave everything else about him—his smile, his eyes, his crisp white shirt—a kind of brilliance the other men couldn’t match.

Why on earth was he sitting here eating cake with her? Giving voice to her thoughts, she said, “I have to admit, I was surprised when you suggested we attend together.” Handsome, rich...she assumed he had a black book of supermodels at the ready for occasions like this.

“Made sense, did it not? We’re both here because our businesses are involved in the celebration.

“Why?” he asked with another grin. “Is there someone you would rather be sitting with?”

“Well, the best man is sort of attractive.”

“The best man is only interested in the wedding planner. Face it,
bella mia
,” he said, stretching an arm across the back of her chair. “I am the best offer you have.”

Another laugh bubbled its way from her chest. She must have had too much wine because his arrogance was sounding damn sexy at the moment.

The room grew quiet. “
Signore e signori
, his Royal Highness Prince Antonio and his bride invite you to join them in this, their final dance of the evening.”

“Wow,” she said, “last dance already? Time goes by fast.”

“Looks like my company was good after all.”

Louisa cut another bite off the cake. “Don’t get too carried away.”

“Come on, admit it.” He nudged her shoulder. “You had a good time.”

“Yeah, I did.” And for the first time in years, she meant it. This had been her first black-tie event since the divorce, and she’d feared the memories of her old life would prove too much to deal with, but Nico had proved a wonderfully entertaining companion. She was actually sorry to see the evening end.

“We need to dance,” Nico said, setting down his fork in a way that made it sound more like a command. “One doesn’t refuse an invitation from a future king.”

Apparently not. All around the room, couples were making their way to the dance floor to join Antonio and his bride, Christina. A few feet away Dani and Rafe were already wrapped in each other’s arms, as were Nico’s brother, Angelo, and his fiancée. Even Nico’s extremely pregnant sister, Marianna, was swaying to the music.

She looked back at the hand Nico was holding out. Such strong capable hands, she thought, the tightness giving way to an internal shiver. “I haven’t danced in a long time,” she warned. “Your feet might want to be prepared.”

“Consider them forewarned.”

She needn’t have worried. As soon as Nico’s arm entwined her waist, she forgot all about being rusty. Their bodies moved together like two synchronized pieces of a whole.

Nico’s eyes swept the length of her. “I’ve been meaning to tell you how beautiful you look. You outshine the princess.”

“Careful, talking like that could be considered treason in Halencia.” She tried to brush off the compliment with a smile. Flattery had lost its meaning to her a long time ago. Looking good had been part of the requirements when she was married. Looking good, behaving properly, doing what she was told...all part of the job.

“I’ll take the risk,” he said as he pulled her close. Louisa’s eyes locked with his as they moved across the floor. They were darker than she’d ever seen them, the pupils giant pools of black. While Steven always expected her to look beautiful, he never looked at her with such blatant appreciation. The glint in Nico’s eyes made her feel like a bite of wedding cake, waiting to be sampled. The thought should have frightened her. Instead, hot shivers danced along her spine.

God, but it’d been a long time since she’d felt like a woman instead of a possession.

The orchestra faded away, drowned out by the sound of their breathing and the rasp of his jacket as it brushed her sequined bodice with every rise and fall of his chest.

She wasn’t sure who leaned in first. Once his mouth closed over hers, who had made the first move didn’t matter, not when his lips were moving against hers as if he were trying to kiss his way inside. She kissed him back just as hungrily, too many passionless years making her desperate. They kissed hard and deep, only stopping when the need to breathe became too much.

Blinking, Louisa slowly remembered where they were. “I—”

“Shh...” He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “It’s okay,
bella mia
.”

Bella mia
. My lovely.
Mine
. Louisa stiffened.

“Don’t worry,” he said, misreading the reaction for embarrassment. “No one can see us.”

Turning, she saw that they were in a secluded corner, just outside the ballroom door. While she’d been lost in his spell, Nico had steered them safely away from prying eyes.

How thoughtful and practiced of him. But then, men like Nico didn’t do anything spontaneously, did they? They were always in control. Like hunters stalking prey, only instead of bullets they used smiles and seduction. Their victims were trapped in their gilded cages before they ever knew what was happening.

Except Louisa did know. And she was never ever going to be trapped again.

Pushing just enough so as to not make a scene, she stepped out of his embrace. “The bride and groom will be leaving shortly. I better make sure everything is set for their departure.” She left him standing in the corner without turning back...

* * *

“Louisa?”

Yanked from the memory by the sound of Dani’s voice, she saw the three of them staring at her. “You okay?” her friend asked.

“I’m fine,” she lied. Part of her was still back on the dance floor, lost in a pair of dark eyes. “You were saying?”

“I was saying that as far as financing your hotel is concerned, I would consider investing...”

“No.” She didn’t mean for the word to come out so strongly, but Nico was looking straight at her while he spoke and the memory of how those eyes distracted her was so fresh...

Just as well, though. Better to be blunt than let him think he had a chance. As an investor or anything else.

Monte Calanetti was her chance at a new life. No way was she going to let someone sweep in and mess things up.

Not this time.

CHAPTER TWO

N
ICO
SQUINTED
AND
double-checked the line on the refractometer. “Twenty-two point four.”

“Is that on schedule?”

“Close.” Pulling the battered leather journal from his back pocket, he flipped through the pages until he found last year’s data. “One hundredth of a point off,” he reported before turning the page and making note of today’s measurement. Even better than he expected. He’d been afraid the easy summer had accelerated the ripening process. So far, however, the sugar levels were holding close to previous years, which boded well for this year’s vintage.

“When will you harvest?”

He turned to the young man at his elbow. Mario, a viticulture student from the university was hanging on his every word. “Depends upon the weather and the variety, but for Amatucci Red, I like the Brix level to be between twenty-five and twenty-six. A hair shy of precocious, as it were,” he added with a chuckle.

Mario nodded as he took notes. Nico would never admit it out loud but he enjoyed being seen as a master. It made him feel as though he’d achieved what Carlos had hoped for him. “Precocious?” he asked. “I’ve never heard that winemaking term before.”

“That’s because it’s not really a winemaking term, just something Carlos Bertonelli used to say. ‘Grapes are like children. You want to raise them to be sweet, but not so sweet they overwhelm you.’ In other words...”

“A hair shy of precocious.”

“Exactly.” Tossing a grape into the air, he caught the plump berry in his mouth. “Carlos was full of sayings like that,” he said crushing the skin between his teeth. The juice was tart on his tongue; a ways to go before precociousness. “His version of Old World wisdom.”

“Signor Bertonelli is the man who used to own these vineyards, right? The ones surrounding the palazzo?”

“
Si.
He was my mentor. Taught me everything I know about winemaking.” Nico’s heart ached a little every time he thought of the old man, which was often.

“Is that why you’re still maintaining the vineyards? Out of respect for him?”

“Out of respect, and partly because Monte Calanetti wouldn’t exist without these vineyards. I don’t want to see part of our tradition disappear.”

There was more to the story, naturally—the truth was always complicated—but Mario didn’t need to know how Carlos had kept him grounded when life got crazy. With his even, unflappable demeanor and vat full of wisdom, the old man had been mentor, grandfather and safety net all rolled into one.

When he was a little boy, Nico wondered if the stork hadn’t delivered him to the wrong house. That he should have been dropped in the Bertonelli fields instead of his own family’s. Truth was, Carlos had been so much more than a mere mentor. Not a day went by that Nico didn’t miss the man.

If he were alive, perhaps he could help Nico understand his grandniece better. Looking over the vines to the palazzo, he spied Louisa’s platinum-blond hair reflecting the sun as she watched them from the terrace. He nodded hello only to have her move out of view. Still avoiding him. She’d been doing so since the wedding.

Never had he met a woman who was so difficult to read. Cold one moment, warm and tender the next. He’d thought they’d turned a corner at the wedding. A very satisfying corner at that. He smiled, remembering the press of her mouth against his. So soft, so receptive. Then suddenly—poof!—everything changed, and they were back to those frigid early days when she barely gave him the time of day.

“Signor Amatucci?”

Mario was staring at him, obviously waiting for a response of some kind. “Nico,” he corrected. “Not
Signor
.”

“Sorry. Nico. I was wondering what you wanted to do next.”

Figure out what’s going on in my blonde American’s head.
He doubted that’s what Mario meant, though. “I want to gather a few soil samples from the southern fields,” he said. “Why don’t you head back to the winery and begin testing the grapes we’ve collected?” It was standard practice to double-check the field readings using the equipment at the lab. Unlike his mentor, Nico liked to have solid data to corroborate his taste buds.

“Are you sure?” Being on the field must truly be making him nostalgic, because the way the kid straightened with the prospect of responsibility brought back memories of the first time Carlos had given him a task to complete on his own. Had he looked that earnest? “I suggested it, didn’t I?”

“Yes. Of course. I’ll leave the results on your desk.”

“Along with your recommendations. I’m eager to hear your suggestions.”

The kid nodded again, wide-eyed and serious. “Absolutely.”

Of course, Nico would repeat the tests himself later on—the crops were far too valuable to trust to a university student—but there was no need to say anything. Better for Mario’s confidence if he believed he was operating without a safety net.

He started packing his test gear back in his canvas satchel. The faded bag had been with him since his days with Carlos, and looked older than that. “If you have any problems, talk to Vitale. I’ll be back later this morning.”