The Consequence She Cannot Deny
She stood up.
‘Sit down,’ he said.
Despite the glare she fixed him with her legs buckled and she sank back down, bracing herself for his verdict. Her eyes flicked away, over his shoulder, to the other end of the cove, where the majestic old Villa Di Visconti sat against a hillside of olive groves.
The team would be getting it ready for the shoot. She desperately wanted to stay with them and complete her first big job, but she wouldn’t be bullied into ignoring her mother when she needed her. Not by anyone.
‘First of all, I make the decisions about who comes and goes from this island. The only way on and off is by my boat or my plane. So forget any plans you have for dramatic exits. Unless you’d like to take your chances swimming to the mainland?’
Coral’s mouth tightened. No way was he going to threaten her.
‘Secondly, respect is non-negotiable if we are to have any kind of relationship. You will never speak to me like that again.’
‘Relationship?’ she spluttered.
‘Relationship,’ he repeated, his tone now rich and velvety. ‘As in client and creative.’
‘I don’t get it...’
He sighed, almost imperceptibly, and sat down opposite her.
‘Let’s just say you’ve passed the first test.’
‘I have?’ Coral’s bag slid from her lap and her shoulders slumped. She felt her mouth hang open. ‘How come? What did I say? The seventies thing?’
Suddenly his face relaxed, and for a second a tiny smile curved the corner of his mouth.
‘Definitely not the seventies thing. No. Your loyalty. Family values. Very strong. And for me that is a pretty good indication of a person. I know you can take pictures, so we can work with the rest.’ He waved his hand dismissively.
‘I don’t understand,’ she whispered, staring. ‘You’re hiring me but you don’t like my ideas?’
‘Let’s just say that I’m confident you won’t let me down. What you feel for your mother mirrors what I feel for la famiglia Di Visconti. As long as you are sensitive to that, I think we will be able to work together.’
‘I don’t know what to say. This is all very—’
‘Say nothing. Just convince me now that you can work the magic you say you’re capable of.’
‘OK,’ she said, sinking back into the seat a little. ‘It shouldn’t be difficult. All the ingredients are there already. They’re a lovely couple.’
He regarded her silently. ‘There are some quite important differences. The Di Viscontis do not court the media. But Kyla is...shrewd. She wants to create an empire—for the world to witness every moment of her life. It is my job to control what the world sees.’
He sat forward, leaned his elbows on his hands and stared with such intensity that she had to fight the urge to slide back in the seat.
‘Giancarlo spent the last twenty years of his life making sure that his family were undisturbed by the world. He adopted me when I was eight, so I think I’m in a good place to judge. There’s no way I’m going to let the family’s privacy unravel because of someone’s vanity.’
Coral sat up and blinked. His emotion was completely under control, but she could feel the passion and the warning in the words that he spoke.
She nodded. ‘I didn’t realise. I thought you were his son...’ Her voice trailed off. ‘Not that it’s any of my business.’
‘Correct. It’s not your business, but it is public knowledge. I was at school with Salvatore, in Switzerland. We were waiting for our parents to collect us for the Christmas vacation but mine never came. I was eight. They were late because my mother had to fulfil other commitments—an interview. She was an actress and had a new film to promote. And then bad weather came down. She and my father were killed in an avalanche on the way.’
‘Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. Really.’
‘Don’t apologise. I was scooped up by Giancarlo the day it happened and he looked after me ever since. I’ve been blessed beyond words to be part of this family, so you understand now why I don’t want the Di Visconti name to be tainted by this—
‘Fairytale?’
‘Charade,’ he said, watching her closely. ‘I want it stage-managed down to the last dusting of powder on Kyla’s cheeks.’
‘So you’re not really bothered about the art? This is all about making sure no one will kiss and tell or show your family in a bad light.’
‘I know that no one will kiss and tell because I would slap an injunction on them and on any publication stupid enough to print it. Have no doubt about that, signorina.’
‘I hope you’re not implying that I would do something like that? I’m here because I want a proper career as a photographer. I’m not in it for the fame.’
He stared at her, and for the first time some emotion flickered in his eyes. It was so intense she couldn’t hold his gaze. She looked down at her lap, at her crushed and crumpled dress, the scuffed peep-toe sandals, her shabby bag.
‘I’m only saying that I’ve got my principles too,’ she said quietly.
After a long moment he stood up, his hands on his hips.
He watched her, then nodded. ‘I think we understand each other. I suggest we get some lunch and then I’ll show you around. You can tell me a bit more about yourself and your ideas about fairytales. Let’s call it part two of the “interrogation”.’
She let out the long, slow breath she’d been holding in. Maybe things would turn out heavenly for her after all.
‘Sounds good,’ she said, swallowing the smile that was spreading from her chest. ‘Though maybe we could leave out the interrogation part? I respond better to the carrot than the stick.’
‘We’ll see,’ he said, and it was as if some kind of mask had suddenly slipped from his face.
He walked to the doors that opened onto the terrace and turned, fixing her with the most devastating smile.
‘If that’s what gets results, why not?’
She beamed back at him—a completely involuntary reaction, but the only one imaginable in the full glow of that smile.
He was so handsome it almost hurt to look at him. She could totally see why the team were falling over themselves to impress him. A date with ‘Raffa’ would be like dining on ambrosia. Everything else would taste like dust afterwards. Thank goodness theirs was definitely going to be a strictly professional relationship.
They walked across the terrace and took a short flight of steps side by side down to a beautiful dining area. Under an arbour planted with climbers, popping with bursts of pink and white, stood a long table draped in white linen, heaving under the weight of baskets and bowls of the most delicious-looking food.
‘This is amazing. What an incredible view.’
‘You know you’re not totally in the clear yet? I’m still waiting to hear something better than your seventies goddess idea.’
He pulled out a chair for her, waiting as she walked over.
‘The Greek Charlie’s Angels trope isn’t working for you?’
She glanced up at him as she sat down. His eyes crinkled as he smiled at her little joke and it quickened her heart.
‘You don’t really want me to get the thumbscrews out, do you?’
‘I don’t think I’d suit them, thanks all the same,’ she said, shifting slightly in her seat before she dared look up at him. ‘I can think of many more attractive accessories.’
‘Are you flirting with me, Miss Dahl?’
He was sitting down now, utterly relaxed, one arm on the back of his chair, head cocked, watching her. His eyes drew her gaze like twin blue magnets. His mouth was ever so slightly curved in a smile.
‘What?’ she said, flushing. ‘I’m sorry if I came across like that. I can assure you that I don’t even know how to flirt.’
She reached for her glass, which had just been filled by a server. Her fingers closed around the crystal, damp with condensation, and she stared at the pale golden liquid that sloshed inside, glad to have something to focus on other than the impenetrable, delectable Raffaele.
‘I find that hard to believe.’
She flicked her eyes to his in a determined stare and breathed deeply. ‘You can believe what you like. It’s not my way, and I wouldn’t have thought you’d be open to such an obvious approach.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so either,’ he said, lifting his glass and toasting her. ‘But today seems to be full of surprises. I didn’t intend that you would make it off the Tarmac, and here we are having lunch.’
‘May I ask what changed your mind?’
He placed his glass down and looked at her. A long, slow stare that reached deeper than his eyes.
‘Let’s just say I liked what I saw.’
Coral swallowed. ‘You felt I had potential?’
‘I did. Do you?’
‘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.
Salvatore.
Since Giancarlo’s death their relationship had been more and more strained, and disputes about the will were adding to that. It had been such a blow for Salvatore to learn that Giancarlo had left Raffaele in charge of the cruise line. It had been the last thing he’d wanted too, and as the empire’s main trustee he would do his best to pass it on to Salvatore when the time was right.
‘Darlings! She’s here! We have our photographer!’
They stepped out on to the loggia and there was the team, flanked by muslin-draped walls and a haze of chatter and noise. On one side rails of clothes and racks of shoes waited to be rifled through. On the other side lights, screens and men on ladders attaching flowers to the loggia’s ancient columns.
And, in the middle of it all, Kyla.
‘Raffa! You’ve kept this angel all to yourself!’
Raffaele felt his jaw clench as Kyla walked towards him, fluttering her fake lashes and pouting. She was hot for him and made no attempt to conceal it—even in front of her fiancé.
And he, Raffaele, was going to be part of this charade.
He should be at work, focussing on Argento instead of slumming it with the B-list. Raffaele felt his patience snap. He wanted the whole thing to end. Now.
‘Keeping to what we agreed, Kyla. I see you’ve made some interior design choices already. I assume they’re temporary?’
She looked hurt, but that was an irrelevance. She was wearing a four-carat diamond and in less than a week would be joint owner of this ancient home. That would salve any wound.
He felt the light touch of a hand on his arm and a whisper in his ear.
‘I’d be happy to get involved from here. It’s all looking good so far, and I guarantee that everyone will be happy with the results.’
He looked down at Coral’s face, the un-made-up, unflinching eyes gazing up at him. Again he felt the tug of something he knew, something he trusted. He thought of her confidence during their little interview, her direct, no-nonsense attitude. He thought of the stills that had excited Mariella so much that she’d dreamed up this commission as a prize. She’d rarely seen talent like it—sympathy with the subject, intelligence with the design. Exactly what Kyla needed to bring her back down to earth.
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.