Bella Frances - The Consequence She Cannot Deny

‘Have potential? I’m biased but, yes. I think I can deliver whatever you have in mind.’

He flashed her another amazing smile. But just as quickly his face became impassive once more.

‘Let’s get back on track. We’ll finish lunch, then go and find Kyla. She has her own ideas. I’ll sanction the ones that are appropriate and you can take it from there.’

She dipped some bread in oil. ‘Do you sanction everything around here?’ she asked, as nonchalantly as she could under the circumstances.

‘You really have to ask?’

She let the oil-drenched bread slide down her tongue and swallowed as calmly as her beating heart would allow. She knew he was watching her very carefully. There was more than the midday sunshine warming the atmosphere.

‘Are you flirting with me, Signor Rossini?’

He put his head back and laughed.

‘If it’s that obvious I must be losing my touch.’

In all her experience with men she had never felt anything that came close to that moment. She’d known him less than two hours, but she knew she’d hit pay-dirt when she made Raffaele Rossini laugh unguardedly.

‘Let’s just say I’m no push-over. It’ll take more than a free lunch in paradise and a commission from one of the world’s bestselling glossies to make me fall at anyone’s feet.’

Raffaele’s look across the table was straight and true. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say that sounds like a challenge.’

‘Not at all,’ she said, leaning forward on the table. ‘I’m here to follow my dream. And I won’t let anything get in the way. You can count on that.’

His thousand-watt gaze still beamed down on her and she was beginning to wilt under it. But she wasn’t going to show weakness. She brushed her fingertips together to get rid of some imaginary crumbs, smoothed her dress and sat back in her chair.

Then she slanted him a look that said—Is that all you’ve got?

He raised an eyebrow, put down his glass and stood. She raised her arm to shield her eyes.

‘It sounds like we’re on the same page,’ he said, nodding. ‘As long as you’re every bit as good as you say you are.’

‘Only one way to find out,’ she said, rising. She nodded at the old villa. ‘Shall we?’

CHAPTER TWO

IT WAS JUST POSSIBLE—just possible—that this ridiculous situation might not end in total disaster after all. He’d thought seriously about demoting Mariella after her catastrophic error of judgement. It was only because of what they’d achieved together over the years that he’d relented.

He knew the magazine’s editor was still in love with him, and he’d been fond of her once, but linking this feature with their graduate competition proved she just didn’t get it. It was not a ‘cute idea’ when it involved Kyla and her out-of-control ego. Not now that she was almost family. And not when family was the only thing that really mattered.

If only Salvatore hadn’t gone into such a tailspin after Giancarlo’s death. He hadn’t coped well when his father was alive and he’d been in even worse shape these last few months. Now he was right in the middle of this new drama and it had to be managed.

Where Salvatore was concerned, damage limitation was a full-time occupation, but at least Giancarlo wasn’t around to see it. He was barely cold in his grave, and he would not have approved of this fast-track wedding at all.

Kyla wasn’t right for the family. She stood for everything Giancarlo hated—with her second-by-second social media presence, telling the whole world what she’d had for breakfast, turning pouting and preening into a full-blown career.

It was a useful lesson, though, and it had made him even more determined to keep his own women at a distance. Life was messy enough without consciously opting for an emotional double suicide. Especially with someone who was so clearly digging for gold.

Anyhow, he had Romano Publishing to take care of. And the Di Visconti empire to babysit until Salvatore learned which way was up. So what time did he have for women, gold-diggers or not?

‘Oh, this is too lovely! Would you mind?’

He turned to see the young woman who had charmed him into this volte-face. He rarely went back on a decision, but there was no time to get anyone else. Plus, she was principled. And smart. He had a good feeling about her. In more ways than one...

It could all work out, he mused. He’d had no intention of having any downtime this weekend, but he’d just hit a home run of increased turnover in the digital wing of Romano, and—even better—started some pretty interesting talks with MacIver Press. If he added them to his portfolio he would be one happy CEO.

‘I can’t let it pass—I have to...’

She had stopped suddenly on the narrow path that linked the old villa with his house. Her eyes, dark as charcoal, widened with joy as she grabbed her bag and started rummaging for her camera.

‘Honestly, if I lived here I’d get nothing done. It’s amazing!’

She stood back, checked what she’d photographed, then put the camera back to her eye and took another shot.

‘I suppose you must take it for granted, but...’

She was totally in the zone, oblivious to the world. It was always interesting to watch creatives at work, but she was so refreshingly, achingly lovely that he found himself slipping back into the trance she had begun to work him into over lunch. A trance that had him imagining kissing that wide, sensual mouth and unbuttoning the little pearl buttons that held her full, high breasts snug in that dress. Undressing her and holding her in his arms and—

She turned suddenly, beaming. ‘Isn’t it absolutely lovely?’

He smiled back. ‘Absolutely.’

She turned around, giving him another perfect view. In that sundress she was so evocative of someone. A young Sophia Loren? Maybe... Feline, but incredibly fresh.

‘You must thank God every day that you live here.’

‘All day long,’ he said.

‘Mmm, yes. How amazing to call this home.’

‘Third home,’ he corrected. ‘I live in London and Rome. But this is my favourite family retreat.’

‘Of course,’ she said, continuing to snap pictures with her camera. She turned to take one of him. ‘It’s like being on holiday in heaven.’

‘Avanti,’ he said. ‘There will be plenty time to take pictures of heaven later.’

‘Hang on. Is that Salvatore?’ She had stopped again and was pointing out to the bay.

Their yacht, Silver Spirit, was berthed some way off, tagged by the trail of a speedboat. Salvatore’s speedboat. He had stopped and was waving up at him.

‘Si. The man himself. He’ll be heading over to meet the team. Let’s go, Coral.’

She had her hand to her eyes and with the other began to wave back at Salvatore.

‘Coral,’ he said again, more sharply.

‘Sorry!’ She laughed.

As he started down the path, he struggled again to place just who it was she reminded him of. She had such an Italian look—wide-eyed, wide-mouthed, with auburn hair and creamy skin. An exotic, sensual cocktail. He couldn’t think of any famous starlet that she resembled, now or in the past, but there was something, someone that jarred in his mind.

‘Just getting some background,’ she said suddenly, jolting him out of his reverie. ‘It’s not every day you get to wander along the cliffs of Hydros.’ She grabbed up her bag and ran to catch up. ‘Does Salvatore have a third home here too?’

‘Salvatore would count here as his fifth home, I think. At a push. Kyla has plans for it. I don’t think they will be here much, though. They prefer Sydney, where she is from.’

‘You don’t like her, do you? This Kyla? I can tell. I’m getting a definite vibe that she’s not your cup of tea.’

They’d reached the paved area that marked the boundary of the old villa. He stopped, and she almost ran into the back of him.

‘Oh—sorry!’

She stumbled into his chest. He scooped his arm around her and held her against his side until she’d regained her balance. She tucked neatly under his arm, soft and warm and...

Not yet, Raffaele. Take it easy.

He let her go.

‘OK. Before we take another step—the ground rules.’

‘Right,’ she said, smoothing the wide skirt of her dress and looking up at him, those big dark eyes so earnest, so honest. Unflinching. He was used to people looking away from him, nervously avoiding eye contact. So many men were intimidated and so many women coquettish. She was unashamedly neither.

‘Professional questions only from now on. And keep your personal opinions to yourself.’

‘You don’t, do you?’

What was it with this girl? Why did she speak to him like this?

‘Coral, what I think about Kyla or anyone else is not your business and should not even enter your head. You’re here to do a job. Capisce?’

She nodded. ‘Si—capisco.’

‘Parli italiano?’

‘No, not really. I’ve picked up a few words from films.’

He looked at her again and frowned.

‘We will meet Salvatore and Kyla. You will propose your ideas, chat them through with the team, and I will give you the final decision.’

‘You do know that Mariella has already decided that the shoot with Kyla will be done on the loggia? That does limit our options.’

‘She has? We’ve spent over an hour discussing this and you didn’t think to say?’

‘You were a little busy biting off my head,’ she said, smiling.

This woman was beyond infuriating. No one ever spoke back to him and here she was, staring him down and firing back with the most exhilarating confidence. She was easily the most attractive woman he’d met in a very long time.

‘Are you normally this difficult?’ he asked, turning back to the path.

‘I’m normally honest, if that’s what you mean. It wasn’t my idea to play it safe.’

They emerged from the cliff path onto the driveway. Before them stood the old villa in all its majesty, its secrets about to be shared with the public for the first time ever. A Di Visconti home for centuries, but now just the backdrop for Kyla’s vanity.

He led on across the terrace, helping Coral to step carefully on the worn marble. He knew too well the feeling of the hard slap of bone on stone, the trickle of blood from split knees, the sound of Salvatore’s voice, laughing. He knew the feeling of the housekeeper’s arms around his young shoulders and the ache of wanting to be comforted. Wanting but never having. Because his own mother hadn’t been able to.

Sometimes he felt as if his heart was as cold and hard as that marble.

He pushed the heavy door open, feeling the calming press of the brass handle on his palm. The relief of air-conditioning washed over his skin, cool and fresh. A buzz of voices caught his ear and he frowned, turning to catch the source.

Behind him the squeak of Coral’s sandals told him she was right at his back.

‘Sounds like it’s all kicked off without us.’

He led on through the lounge areas that led from the pool into the main part of the villa.

Kyla had changed too much already. The oil paintings and eighteenth-century Italian furniture—heirlooms that as an eight-year-old boy he’d been taught to treat with respect—had all been replaced with squat sofas in white leather and black and white portraits of supermodels in various poses.

On through the house, he heard the buzz and thump growing louder as they passed stucco-panelled walls, repainted cream over the elegant duck-egg-blue that he and Salvatore had been warned never to touch with muddy fingers.