Whisked Away by the Italian Tycoon
Author
Nina Milne
Reads
15.1K
Chapters
15
HarlequinCHAPTER ONE
LUCA PETROVELLI SNAPPED his cufflink on. The simple design—a house that encompassed a cocoa bean—touched him with a familiar sense of pride. The logo represented his business—Palazzo di Cioccolato, an upmarket, growing chocolatier that Luca would one day take global.
Yet that ambition had been diluted, impacted by the death of his father. The man who had deserted him when Luca was only five years old. James Casseveti had left his pregnant wife and five-year-old son to marry another woman. An English aristocrat, with wealth and connections. His father had never looked back, had used the riches and contacts to set up his own company—Dolci, a dessert company that was a global success.
And as the young Luca had watched this success unfold, seen the glittering heights his father had reached, he’d made a vow. His success would surpass his father’s and one day he would find James Casseveti and demonstrate that superiority. He’d been so close, planned to launch a new product and open a flagship London store, had envisaged hand-delivering the invitation to the glittering opening party. Tried to picture his father’s face. The expression of surprise, shock, regret, pride... No! Luca didn’t want his father to feel proud—he had no right.
In any case, now that would never happen. Because eight months ago James Casseveti had died, robbed him of that opportunity. Taken away Luca’s chance for...revenge, justice, to ask the questions that had burned his childhood soul.
How could you leave me?
Why won’t you see me?
What did I do wrong?
His own pride clicked in as he snapped the second cufflink. Of course, he would not have asked those questions, the idea of his father believing he gave a damn horrific. In any case he knew the answers, at some point he’d figured it out. There must have been something intrinsically wrong with Luca—after all, what parent left a child they truly loved, and then never came back, never so much as called or wrote or sent a postcard? He knew what his mother would say, had said, in fact—that it was nothing to do with Luca, that it was James Casseveti who was wrong. He could picture the fierce look on Therese Petrovelli’s face as she said the words and Luca tried to believe her, told himself she was right, but deep down there was the sear of absolute certainty that the blame was his. A knowledge he’d worked to bury. To counter by a determination to show his father that he’d been wrong, that Luca had survived and thrived without him.
But now that couldn’t happen and since James’ death Luca had found himself in a state he did not recognise. Emotions strove to surface and he wanted none of them; he’d spent his life controlling his emotions, had long ago decided not to give his father the satisfaction of his feeling grief or anger or pain. So he’d subdued those emotions, then honed and focused them into a burning ambition and a desire for revenge.
A desire that had been thwarted and his conflict heightened by the irony of ironies that in death James had done what he hadn’t done in life. Reached out to his first family. He’d left Luca and his sister, Jodi, a third share each in Dolci. With the remaining share going to his daughter from his second marriage, Ava Casseveti. A half-sister Luca had never even met, though he had followed her charmed, glittering life in the gossip columns—the life of an heiress-cum-supermodel-cum-businesswoman.
Then a month ago Ava had turned up unannounced to his business headquarters and forced a meeting. And to his surprise and chagrin there had been an instant sense of connection. Plus an admiration that she had gone against all advice and reached out to ‘the enemy’. But despite the positivity of the experience Luca retained his natural wariness—instinct told him Ava was on the level, but experience told him to never show blind trust. Ava was James Casseveti’s daughter, after all.
Yet here he was in a plush London hotel room, about to attend Ava’s engagement party to celebrate her impending marriage to Liam Rourke. When he’d accepted the invitation he’d told himself it was a business decision. Dolci was floundering with the death of its founder and the uncertainty caused by the will. A show of unity would help calm the waters, and whilst a part of him didn’t care if Dolci went under, he did care that it would take the livelihoods of many if it did.
But there was another reason he was here: a curiosity about this half-sister of his. For years he’d watched her grace the celebrity pages as an heiress, an aristocrat, and a model, the girl who had replaced him so comprehensively in his father’s affections. The child James hadn’t deserted. Hadn’t left behind to face poverty, to endure the schoolyard bullies who had delighted in taunting the child whose father had ‘desserted’ him. Even now his fists clenched as he remembered the acrid taste of fear, the writhing sense of self-loathing because he was too weak to fight back. Along with the knowledge that the bullies were right—his father had abandoned him.
The father Luca had adored, looked up to...loved and never seen again. Yet Ava had had James in her life for twenty-seven years; for all her life she’d been loved and wanted. Innate justice told him it wasn’t her fault and yet he couldn’t help but wonder what did Ava possess that he didn’t?
As if on cue there was a knock on the hotel-room door. ‘Come in,’ he called, even as he knew who it would be.
The door pushed open and—no surprise—Ava walked in, her amber eyes friendly but guarded. No doubt she was here to ensure he really would come downstairs, to attend the party due to start shortly.
Since their one meeting they had communicated by email and in that time Luca had worked hard to diminish any sense of kinship. After all, they might share a father but that did not make them family in a real sense. Luca’s family was his mother and his sister and for them he would do anything. Ava was family in name only, by genetic mischance.
‘Hey.’ They said the word at the same time, and both smiled with the same degree of awkwardness.
Ava stepped forward and again there was the twinge of recognition, a familiarity that made little sense. ‘I thought I’d check you were...’
‘Here?’ he asked, the quip half in earnest. ‘I told you I would attend—I do not break my word.’
‘Actually, I was going to say OK. I came to see if you were OK. I know you don’t particularly want to be here. So I wanted to thank you because it is my engagement party and I want my brother to be here.’ Her gaze met his with more than a hint of challenge and against his will he found himself admiring her stance. He knew it took guts to admit that, knew too that she felt deep regret for her father’s actions and he wished he knew what to say.
Ava must have sensed his turmoil—not hard as a quick glance at his reflection showed a terrifying scowl etched his face. One he attempted to replace with a rictus of a smile and, perhaps emboldened by this, Ava inhaled deeply and continued. ‘I wish Jodi could be here too. Have you heard from her?’
‘No.’ His voice was clipped as the ever-present worry resurfaced. After James’ death Jodi had thrown in her job and gone travelling. At first she had stayed in touch, kept him apprised of her travels through Thailand and India. Had been excited to visit the Indian island of Jalpura, home to the cocoa farm that Palazzo di Cioccolato had recently signed up to provide beans for a new product. Whilst there she’d got involved with the Royal Film Festival held on the same island. But her communications had changed, become briefer and at longer intervals. She’d sounded different. Then two months ago she’d said she needed some space and she’d be in touch soon. Whatever that meant. Had made him promise not to try and find her, do anything ‘dramatic’ or go into ‘overprotective overdrive’.
Ava moved a little closer. ‘I know you’re worried, but Jodi has told you she is OK. Given everything, it’s understandable she wants space.’
‘Yes.’ But Luca knew that wasn’t true. Because he knew his sister and this was not like her. To shut him out. Something was going on—he knew it, suspected Jodi was in trouble. But this was nothing to do with Ava. Jodi’s feelings about their half-sister were even more ambiguous than his own and so he only told Ava the minimum, just enough to explain why he couldn’t make any decisions about what to do about his share in Dolci.
Nodding, he forced a smile to his face. ‘I am sure you are right.’ Then, wanting to change the subject, ‘Thank you for your email with the guest list.’ Ava had sent him the list along with details about ‘friendly faces’. Something he appreciated but didn’t need. Luca had no qualms about his ability to navigate a social gathering, even if it would contain people who didn’t like him. People who resented the fact he and Jodi now controlled Dolci. And as he looked at Ava he realised that this woman, the one who had the most right to resent them, didn’t. Was actually concerned about his welfare. Almost against his will the knowledge touched him.
‘No problem. I thought it would help.’
Luca smiled. ‘It will. Do not worry about me, Ava. Enjoy your party, be happy.’
‘I am happy.’ Now her smile was radiant. ‘Truly happy.’
‘I’m glad.’ And part of him was, though it went against the grain to wish happiness upon this half-sister he did not know how to feel about. If only he could simply decide to hate her, to transfer his anger at his father to this woman. But he couldn’t, knew it was not Ava who had done wrong. ‘I will see you later. At the party.’
Emily Khatri looked round the glitter of the ballroom, the theme of love clear in the setting. Candles, white flowers intertwined with red, the pop of champagne corks and the background strains of the orchestra. And for a second a tiny taste of bitterness invaded her. Because for a brief period she had believed in love and romance and happy ever after, allowed herself to be deluded, conned into a belief in fairy tales.
Well, no more. Her marriage had been a disaster of epic proportions and had ended in betrayal and misery. Remembered grief over her miscarriage twisted inside her, the grief made even worse by its lateness, at a time when she had believed her baby to be safe, had felt him kick inside her. On instinct she placed a hand over her now flat belly, remembered the swell of pregnancy, and she closed her eyes to ward away the pain as a stab of sadness hit her heart.
A sadness she had borne alongside the sheer humiliation of the discovery during her pregnancy that her husband had been having an affair.
Enough. The all too familiar haunt of guilt threatened. If she and Howard hadn’t had a row over his infidelity would she still have lost the baby? Had the miscarriage been caused by the emotional fallout? Been caused by any action of hers? Not now. Those questions had hammered at her incessantly. She had spent months in an abyss of misery and despair, one she had slowly and excruciatingly pulled herself out of. This was a happy occasion and she would embrace it. For Ava’s sake if not her own, she could and would still be happy for her best friend. Ava literally glowed and there was no way Emily would rain on her parade.
Plus it was time to get her life back together, to try and barricade against the might-have-beens, the gut-wrenching knowledge that right now she should be holding her baby in her arms. That was not to be; all she could now do was throw herself back into work.
Though that was proving easier said than done; so far all her efforts had been to no avail and now anxiety threw itself into the emotional churn. Because it seemed as though her marriage to and divorce from Howard had alienated a whole load of people. Howard’s pernicious influence made itself felt as people she had believed to be friends avoided her calls and emails. Perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised that people had taken Howard’s part so readily. Howard, of globally renowned fame, winner of numerous awards and accolades for his hard-hitting photography from all over the world. Howard, presenter of wildly successful documentaries, Howard in talk with Hollywood producers... As such her ex wielded a whole heap of influence, had a network of friends in high places ready to believe him or make excuses for him. And in the aftermath of the miscarriage Emily hadn’t cared about anything, had left the field to Howard, who had spun rumours and lies and somehow made himself out to be the hero of the hour, a persecuted husband who had done his best. After that sheer pride had prevented her from even attempting to tell her side of the story; she would not use her miscarriage to garner sympathy.
The only silver lining was that they had never announced her pregnancy—Howard had decreed it to be a private thing. Hadn’t wanted it to distract from his imminent book launch, or so he’d said. When there had been speculation in the press he had denied it, without so much as consulting her. Turned out it was because he didn’t want the other woman he was sleeping with to find out; he’d been lying to her as well.
Not that she would deign to try to prove that it was Howard who had been the cheat and the liar. She suspected that no one would believe her if she did. Instead she’d decided to somehow put it all behind her and tonight she would try the face-to-face approach, see if she could talk her way into a job.
Yet for a debilitating moment as she looked out at the crowd panic rooted her to the spot, stretched its tendrils round her nerves, caused her heart to pound against her ribcage and her breathing to turn shallow. Oh, God. Not now. Ever since the miscarriage panic assailed her, held her hostage at a whim, but she’d thought she’d tamed it, or at least learnt to hold it at bay.
But this was her first public foray, her first attempt to navigate the real world and she wasn’t sure she could manage it. Especially without the comfort of her camera in her hand to hide behind; she missed its familiar shape, the protective mantle of invisibility it threw over her. People tended to only see the lens, not the person behind it, and tonight she hated feeling so visible. Enough; she forced herself to move forward, hoped, prayed that if she launched into the fray she would stave off the panic before it took hold. One blind step, straight into the path of a fellow guest.
Instinctively she put out a hand to balance herself, the high-heeled shoes an added liability, and her palm landed on an arm. An arm hard with muscle under the super-soft fabric of his tuxedo.
‘Sorry.’ She let go, nearly leapt backwards.
‘It is I who should apologise. I did not see you behind the pillar.’
As she looked up at the owner of the Italian-tinged voice, Wow sprang to the forefront of her brain and flashed in neon. This man was seriously gorgeous. Obsidian-black hair, a little bit overlong with a rebellious spikiness. Silver-grey eyes, a face that demonstrated strength, the nose a broad arrogant jut, the jaw square and determined. His body was solid muscle packed into a beautifully cut tux that moulded to said muscles.
Emily blinked, realised the wow factor had derailed her. Completely. On the plus side the hormonal surge seemed to have also shocked panic into retreat. Say something.
‘I was just...’ looking at your muscles ‘...preparing to enter the fray.’ Really, Emily? Great opener.
‘So this evening is a battle? An ordeal?’ There was a hint of amusement in his voice but for a mad moment she also sensed an empathy.
‘No. Of course not. I am thrilled to be here to celebrate such a happy occasion.’
‘But?’
‘There is no but. Or at least... I guess I am a little nervous. I haven’t been on the social scene that much recently and...’ And now she needed to stop talking. ‘Anyway...’
‘Let me introduce myself.’ The deep Italian-tinged voice sent a trickle of warmth straight through her even as her brain registered its meaning and finally managed to put two and two together. His identity clicked as he held out his hand. ‘I am Luca Petrovelli.’
Of course—clearly her brain had turned to mush. The accent should have alerted her as soon as he spoke and, now she knew, she could see some elusive fleeting resemblance to Ava. Though she wasn’t sure how or where—Ava was blonde, beautiful and an ex-supermodel. Luca’s hair was midnight dark and his face was all lines and planes, his body all muscle. Solid, compact breadth of muscle. There was that word again and this was ridiculous. Her interest in the opposite sex was currently non-existent; her libido had buried itself under layers, strata of misery. Yet this man had poleaxed her. Comprehensively.
And she still hadn’t shaken hands. ‘I’m Emily.’
Luca’s brow creased for a second. ‘I know we haven’t met, but you look familiar.’
Emily sighed. She was used to this, even when she omitted giving her surname, as was her wont. People ‘knew’ her because of her parentage—because she was the daughter of Marigold Turner and Rajiv Khatri. One of the world’s most iconic models and a Bollywood film star respectively. Emily was the product of their brief marriage. Clearly brief ill-fated marriages ran in the family. At least on her mother’s side. Marigold was currently on husband number five; Emily would have the sense to stop at one. Alternatively, Luca might know her because of Howard.
‘It’s likely something to do with my parents or maybe my ex.’
As she said the words he snapped his fingers. ‘Got it! I visited the Dolci head offices this morning. I think Ava has a photo of you in her collage of photos on the wall.’
Oh. ‘Sorry. I am so used to people asking me about my famous parents or what it feels like to have been married to a genius that I assumed that’s why you would recognise me.’ After all, why else would he?
‘In which case, I promise not to ask any of those questions. Tell me instead how you met Ava.’ Surprise touched her—Luca wasn’t even going to ask who her parents were, though, thinking about it, she supposed it was natural for Luca to ask about Ava. They were siblings, however complicated the situation was.
‘A few years ago, back when Ava was a model, I was one of the fashion photographers on her shoot. We just clicked.’
Now he smiled and Emily blinked. The man had already awoken her long dormant hormones—now his smile had them doing aerobics. ‘It’s good when you just click,’ he said, and his voice deepened to a rumble that slid over her skin. Was he flirting? Could she blame him?
Somehow, without even noticing, she seemed to have closed the gap between them, was, oh, so close, too close. Near enough that the expensive hint of his soap tickled her nostrils, close enough that she could see the faintest hint of five o’clock shadow, study the thick gloss of his dark hair. And again her thought processes were derailed. Quickly she stepped backward.
‘Yes. Yes, it is. What do you think makes people click?’ No, no, no. That had come out all wrong. Now it sounded as if she were flirting. Was she? What was happening? How and why was this man affecting her so powerfully? She could almost feel more of her hormones yawn and stretch as they woke up for the first time in months. She ploughed on hurriedly. ‘With Ava and me, we shared a sense of humour, found it easy to talk to each other, so we grabbed a coffee together and then it snowballed from there.’
‘I agree a sense of humour is important and, of course, ease of conversation. For friendship or any sort of relationship. Though, of course, other things are important too.’
‘Such as?’
‘First impressions. A sense of instant connection. In a relationship, mutual attraction.’
‘Pah!’ The noise somewhere between a snort of derision and a puff of exasperation left her lips and he raised his eyebrows.
‘Pah?’ he repeated.
‘Yes. You are talking about how a person looks.’ Her mother had been feted and glorified for her beauty. Men tumbled head over heels for Marigold Turner but it never lasted, no relationship ever made it past the attraction—once reality kicked in they slowly faded away. Yet with every man Marigold waxed lyrical about ‘instant attraction’, ‘magnetic pull’ and, of course, ‘love at first sight’.
Hell, Emily could date her childhood years by husbands’ number two to four. At the start of each ‘magical romance’ Marigold had ‘known’ this was ‘the one’ and Emily had been relegated, encouraged to fade to the background of her mother’s life. Remembered pain at the sense of isolation, the hurt at knowing she was seen as an obstacle, tingled inside her.
‘Darling, I need you to keep out of the way. I don’t want Kevin to think you’re a nuisance.’
‘Sorry, sweetheart, I know I promised I’d read you a bedtime story...come to Sports Day...but Alex is more important.’
Yet when each relationship ended in the slam of the door as each husband left, Marigold would turn to her daughter for solace and comfort and Emily would help pick up the pieces of her mother’s shattered heart. Time and again ‘instant attraction’ had translated to ‘later misery’.
Now she glared at Luca. ‘Looks don’t matter.’
‘I disagree. First impressions count. Do you not judge people by the way they dress or the way they cut their hair or...?’
The size of their muscles? asked a small sly inner voice that she shushed instantly.
‘Of course, I don’t. Because if you get all caught up in that you forget what is important. And that’s what is inside. Attraction isn’t enough to make a relationship work. Not in the long term.’ Her father’s second marriage was proof of that. Neela was the antithesis to his first wife; she wasn’t beautiful, just...ordinary and the marriage had been content. They had five children and she knew her dad was happy. So happy that Emily felt a bit redundant. Someone he’d seen once or twice a year during her childhood, and during those visits Emily had felt out of place. In the hurly burly rough and tumble of a real family life, she’d been an invisible outsider, an extra accorded a politeness due to a guest.
But that was beside the point. ‘Attraction is too...distracting.’ Which presumably explained why her gaze continued to dwell on the breadth of his chest, the lithe swell of his forearm, the clean strength of his jawline. If she could kick herself, she would.
Luca watched her carefully and now his lips tipped up, his grey eyes lit with a hint of amusement. ‘A happy distraction, or a start point—that initial spark is...exhilarating.’
‘I...’ Now their gazes seemed to mesh; her lips went suddenly dry and it felt as though the edges of the world fuzzed, to leave only Luca and Emily in the room. Madness. But, mad or not, she couldn’t seem to break free of the sheer tug of desire that pulled her feet, urged them to move closer to him. ‘I suppose so.’
She forced herself to break the gaze only to find herself focused on his lips, firm, strong and such a defined shape. She’d never studied the shape of a man’s lips before, the contours, never wanted to touch, to smooth her fingers over a mouth.
Enough. There was going to be no clicking of any kind going on. ‘So,’ she said. ‘I guess it’s time to circulate.’
‘To enter the fray,’ he said in echo of her earlier words.
‘Yes.’ Reluctance gripped her and without meaning to she sighed. Once again she wished she had a camera with her to render her invisible.
‘You have no need to be nervous.’ The nerves she’d alluded to, the nerves that had completely vanished during their conversation. Replaced by the cartwheel of her hormones, the spark of attraction and the sparkle of an interesting conversation with an undercurrent of simmer. A happy distraction indeed.
‘I think I do. There are a lot of people out there with a preconceived opinion of me, who have already made judgement.’ Her voice was imbued with a hint of bitterness as she scanned the room. Recalled the number of people who had already avoided her emails and calls.
‘Does it matter?’ His tone was serious now. ‘Surely the only people whose opinions matter are the people you care about. And who care about you.’
In theory that held good, but, ‘You’re right. I know you are, but when I see the pity or the judgement in people’s faces I...’
‘Crumble inside a little?’ he offered.
‘Yes.’ How did Luca know? And how on earth had this conversation with a stranger got so personal? The idea sent unease through her—no way should she be sharing on a personal level with a complete stranger, even if he was Ava’s half-brother. In this case especially because he was Ava’ s half-brother.
‘When you feel like that you need to remember it is their problem, not yours. Show them they are wrong. Wrong to pity you and wrong in their judgement.’ There was a resonance in his voice and a shadow crossed his features. Then, as if he too sensed that the conversation had edged into deep waters, he shrugged and there came that smile again. ‘It also helps to imagine the people you are most worried about making silly faces or dressed in absurd costumes. Or in embarrassing situations.’
‘Do you do that?’
‘Absolutely.’
Now she chuckled. ‘Is that what you are going to do now?’ It sounded as if he spoke from experience, yet she couldn’t imagine this man being worried by anyone.
‘If need be, absolutely. I am sure there are plenty of people out there who have judged me too, as the evil villain, the usurper of the Dolci inheritance.’
‘Ava doesn’t believe that.’ She knew her best friend didn’t hold Luca to blame at all.
‘Perhaps, perhaps not. But either way I am here to try to help further Dolci business interests. But now I have also had the pleasure of meeting you.’ He smiled and held out his hand. ‘I wish you luck in the fray.’
‘Th...’ She placed her hand in his and bit back a small gasp, told herself that electricity could not be generated by touch. Yet she saw an answering awareness flicker in his eyes. Her hand remained in his and for one mad second she wondered if he would kiss it in some quixotic gesture of gallantry. The idea tingled her skin and of their own volition her feet took a step closer to him.
The noise of a throat clearing broke the spell and she pulled away her hand as Luca let go and they turned towards the man who now stood next to them. Emily flushed as she realised she hadn’t even noticed his approach.
‘Liam,’ she said hurriedly as she moved towards Ava’s fiancé, kissed him on one cheek and then stood back. She had a lot of time for Liam, knew him to be a good, honourable man who truly loved her best friend. ‘It’s lovely to see you.’
Was there a glint of speculation in his eyes as he glanced from Luca to her? She could only hope not as she watched the two men shake hands, sensed the wariness in Luca’s stance. Knew from Ava that the two men had only met once, that it had been Liam who had taken Luca around Dolci headquarters that morning.
‘Ava asked me to tell you her mum has arrived, and she wondered if you want to get the introductions out of the way sooner rather than later.’
Now Luca’s wariness froze into something Emily couldn’t identify, though she imagined his feelings could only be negative about Karen Casseveti, the woman who had supplanted his own mother. As for Karen, it was well known that she couldn’t stand Luca or his sister, Jodi. So this meeting wouldn’t be welcome to either.
‘Of course,’ Luca said.
‘I’ll leave you to it...’
‘Actually no,’ Liam intervened. ‘Ava thought it may look more natural if we mingle as a group. If you both don’t mind?’
Luca hesitated and then gave a decisive nod. ‘That makes sense. If that is OK with Emily.’
‘Of course.’ Emily knew how good her friend was at orchestrating publicity and managing social occasions. ‘I’m happy to help.’
‘Then let’s go,’ Luca said.
