Falling For The Venetian Billionaire
She’d told Zoe and Abby that she didn’t want to give her heart a second time to another man, only for it to end in tragedy. In fact Ginger had never expected to meet a man who could ever help her get over the pain of having to say goodbye to her beloved husband. Only a miracle could cause that to happen.
She didn’t believe in miracles like that. But something shocking had happened for this stranger to take over her thoughts like this. It made no sense that for once she wasn’t thinking about Bruce.
Ginger’s legs felt insubstantial as Signor Della Scalla walked her inside the foyer of the hotel.
“Buona notte, signora,” he whispered.
“Buona notte, signor.” She sensed his eyes still on her until she rounded a corner to take the elevator to her room.
To her dismay when she finally got in bed, Ginger’s thoughts were still haunted by one incredibly handsome Italian male and the way she’d felt when his gaze swept over her at the dinner table. It was as if every cell in her body had been ignited by a bolt of electricity. She’d never lay eyes on him again, but that didn’t mean his image would go away. Not ever.
* * *
At nine o’clock the next morning, a showered and shaved Vittorio, wearing a black suit, left the centuries-old Della Scalla palazzo on the Grand Canal. Last night he’d flown back to Venice in the helicopter with a plan in mind to meet up with Signora Lawrence the next day at the monastery.
But this morning, after his flight home from Ravenna last evening, he’d awakened to the gut-wrenching news that his father had passed away early in the morning.
Overnight Vittorio’s world had changed forever. After leaving his grieving family with the doctor, he drove his speedboat out to the lagoon toward the nearby island of San Lazzaro two kilometers away.
Many boats crowded the canal. He passed by the boat ferrying passengers who intended to visit the Armenian monastery, the sole feature of the island. After pulling up to the jetty, Vittorio alighted and hurried past the welcoming signs printed in several languages to the main building. A plaque had been placed there commemorating the famous English writer and poet Lord Byron, who was known as a “Faithful friend of Armenia.”
Since it was always open in invitation, Vittorio entered the doors to the cloister that enclosed a garden. Beyond it lay the incense-filled chapel covered in mosaics. He hoped to find his brother, Gaspare, who was known among the brothers as Father Giovanni, but only a few monks were present in here. That meant he was probably in the famous museum, which had many treasures, including a mummy and a bust of Napoleon’s son.
But further exploration didn’t lead Vittorio to his thirty-four-year-old brother. If he wasn’t in the private enclosure for the monks, then he had to be in the room designated as Lord Byron’s studio.
Vittorio’s brother, who’d studied in England before joining the priesthood, had a passion for Byron. Vittorio entered the studio with a reproduction of a painting of Lord Byron above the door.
In the early 1800s the poet had studied the Armenian language here over a two-year period while he’d been in Venice. Prized books and manuscripts in this library drew crowds of tourists as well as serious scholars at all seasons of the year.
Vittorio scanned the room and saw his brother in his brown habit at the other end, talking to some visitors. Their backs were toward him while they were discussing a manuscript under glass.
Vittorio moved closer with a heavy heart, knowing their father’s death would come as a great blow.
“Gaspare?”
His brother looked around, having been taken by surprise. “Vittorio—”
After a pause, he turned back to the visitor. “I must ask to be excused,” he said in English. “I’ll send Father Luca to assist you.” On that note, he joined Vittorio and they moved out of earshot.
Since Gaspare had become a monk, the only consolation for Vittorio had been the ability to visit his brother here on occasion and confide in him. Just three years separated them. They loved each other and had been close growing up.
“Something tragic has happened. I see it in your countenance.”
Vittorio stared into the same blue eyes of his sibling. The two bore a superficial resemblance to each other in height and their black hair. Both were taller than their father. His throat tightened in fresh pain.
“Papà died early this morning,” he spoke quietly. Vittorio could still visualize the scene at the palazzo a little while ago.
Dr. Farini, the longtime physician of the family, had examined their father before sliding the sheet over his face. Count Mario Goretti Della Scalla, beloved husband, father, brother, friend and CEO of the Della Scalla Shipping and Passenger Line Company, was officially dead.
The doctor had stared into Vittorio’s eyes. “You are now Count Della Scalla. Your father has been blessed to have a son like you ready and able to step into his shoes.”
There was another son Vittorio felt should be taking his place, but that wasn’t possible. Soon the news would be out. The bells would toll throughout Venice for the loss.
“How did he die, Vittorio?”
“Dr. Farini said it was a heart attack. It happened quickly, the only blessing I can see.”
Gaspare’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “He was too young.”
“No one expected it.”
A deep sigh of pain escaped. “How are Mamma and Maria?”
“I’m sure you can imagine.”
He bowed his head. “They worshipped him.”
“We all did,” Vittorio whispered. “I left a message with Uncle Bertoldo’s maid. He and Aunt Miah are due back from Rome before the day is out. The doctor is with the family and will stay until you and I arrive. Being with you will help all of us get through this.”
His brother stood stock-still, but Vittorio saw the mask of sorrow that had already settled. “Wait here for me. I have to talk to the abbot and gather a few things. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
While Vittorio waited, Gaspare walked back to the visitors and said something to them before he left through a side door. The action reminded him that Signora Lawrence would be coming to the monastery before long seeking out his brother. The image of her had been constantly in his thoughts.
Vittorio had determined that the woman who’d caught his interest last night had been maybe twenty-four, twenty-five, dressed in a summery blue and white print suit. As he’d moved closer to the dinner table, he’d been stunned by her beauty. She’d possessed such exquisite features, he hadn’t been able to look anywhere else.
Her glossy short black hair of soft natural curls made his breath catch. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen an hourglass figure like hers. Luminous gray eyes fused with his.
Vittorio had felt her appraise him with unexpected candor before she got up from the table with the others. In his opinion the gorgeous creature looked too young to be a professor, yet she’d been with a team of experts on Lord Byron. It was for this group he’d arranged the dinner on board one of the Della Scalla passenger liners.
Vittorio had instructed the captain of the Sirena to make a special stop in Ravenna. He’d done it as a special favor for Gaspare, whose birthday would be celebrated in a few days, an early present. His brother had been longtime friends with Dr. Manukyan, who was from Yerevan State University in Armenia and had been visiting Ravenna.
But when Vittorio had made the arrangements, little did he know there’d be a woman like Signora Lawrence attached to this group. Had he realized, he could have flown there earlier to eat dinner with them and get to know her better.
He was still thinking about her when he heard Gaspare’s voice. “I’m ready.”
His head swung around. “I didn’t see you come back in.”
Gaspare stood there carrying a suitcase. “I’m not surprised. None of us could imagine this day arriving this soon in our lives.”
Shocked to have been caught distracted while their father’s death was on their minds, he headed for the doorway to the museum. Gaspare caught up to him, and they left the monastery for the boat.
There were many things to discuss, not the least of which was the planning of the funeral. No one had expected their father to die for at least twenty more years.
But even with so many weighty matters to consider, including the running of the company, Vittorio had a difficult time putting the enticing American woman out of his mind. How incredible was it that she’d planned to come to the monastery today and he would miss her by only a few hours!
The fact that he might never see her again shouldn’t matter to him, but it did... He couldn’t understand it.
Vittorio had enjoyed several intimate relationships with women in his adult life. They’d been important to him, but he hadn’t fallen in love with one of them to the point that he wanted to be married.
Maybe it was the burden of the family name and title, plus all the expectations that came with it, that had prevented him from wanting to settle down yet. Growing his side business had taken up any free time Vittorio had away from the company.
If an affair of the heart was going to happen, Vittorio hadn’t felt it.
Until last night...
Just looking at her had caused something to come over Vittorio—an indescribable feeling that had pulled at all his senses and more. Vittorio had been so drawn to Signora Lawrence, he’d invited the whole group of scholars assembled to ride to their hotel with him in the hope of talking to her for a while longer. But it had increased his guilt over Paola, who still thought he would marry her. How was he going to let her down gently?
* * *
Once he and Gaspare reached the jetty, they climbed on the boat and Vittorio headed toward the bell towers of San Marco and San Giorgio Maggiore in the distance. As the island receded behind them, his mind was still on a certain gorgeous woman who would be arriving there soon.
But before long they reached the palazzo, where their devastated family was waiting for them to arrive. Once again Vittorio felt the dark cloud of sorrow descend, knowing their father was gone and he was now the head of the family. He felt the heavy weight because already the family looked to him for everything.
CHAPTER TWO
THE NEXT DAY nothing went the way Ginger had planned. First of all, when she arrived in Venice and went to the monastery, she discovered that Father Giovanni, the resident authority on Byron, had been called away for the better part of a week.
One of the other monks showed her around, but he didn’t have the information to certain questions only an expert could answer. Disappointment swept through her before she took a water bus back to Venice. By five in the afternoon she met Zoe’s plane.
Ginger was thrilled to see her friend. They ate dinner and headed for the train station, excited to meet up with Abby and enjoy their month in Switzerland. But another disappointment awaited all of them the next day when they arrived in Switzerland and found out the vineyard where they’d be vacationing had been sold.
Magda’s friend had died.
Though they could stay on while the caretakers ran the place, the girls decided they would prefer to go somewhere else and not be a burden. They were planning to travel to Europe together to make the most of their last few weeks. Then came another shock—Abby had met an attractive French relative of the previous owner staying at the vineyard, and he invited her to travel to Burgundy with him.
The invitation had included Ginger and Zoe, but they didn’t want to intrude if something of a romantic nature was happening to their friend. Instead they agreed to go back to Italy and Greece, where they could spend a week in each place.
After taking the morning to visit a chocolate factory in Switzerland, Ginger and Zoe bid Abby goodbye, wishing her luck, and left in a rental car for Italy with Ginger doing the driving.
A sigh escaped Zoe’s lips en route. “Our famous vacation at the vineyard in Switzerland fell apart fast, didn’t it? Trust a man to ruin our plans.”
Ginger nodded, but to her chagrin, her thoughts weren’t on Bruce. Instead she’d been thinking about Signor Della Scalla. He was constantly in her thoughts. “In all honesty you have to admit that Raoul Decorvet wasn’t just any man,” she reminded Zoe.
“No, I suppose not, but it’s hard to trust someone so attractive.”
Zoe’s unfaithful husband had done a lot of damage. Given time, and hopefully a wonderful man, love would come into her life.
As for their friend Abby, she’d been smitten, an old-fashioned word that seemed to suit. The more she thought about it, the more Ginger began to realize the same thing had happened to her.
Since that unforgettable moment at dinner aboard the passenger liner outside Ravenna where she’d met the gorgeous Italian, Ginger had a lot more insight into why Abby had accepted Raoul’s invitation to travel to France.
“It’ll be interesting to see how that turns out,” she murmured.
“After what Nigel did to her heart, Ginger, let’s pray this Frenchman doesn’t end up breaking it.”
There were a lot of ways a heart could be broken, as all three women had found out. Ginger had been trying hard not to dwell on the fact that in losing her husband, she had lost her chance of happiness. There’d never be a man she could love as she had Bruce. Thanks to his death, Ginger hadn’t had the chance to have children. It had raised the fear that she might never have them, not without a remarkable husband. Ginger couldn’t believe one existed.
Being an only child, Ginger had longed to raise a family with Bruce. They’d talked about it from the beginning, but his death had ended that hope.
Perish the thought of meeting a man she could fall in love with a second time. If something ghastly were to happen to him, Ginger knew she’d never be able to handle it. Ginger shivered as the image of Signor Della Scalla passed through her mind.
On Zoe’s mournful note, they drove on. By the evening they’d arrived back in Venice and had checked in at the Hotel Arlecchino. It was one of the hotels where you could park a car in their garage.
They immediately began exploring the area called Frezzeria, a part of Venice where Byron had lived above a merchant’s textile shop. It was no wonder the poet had chosen to stay here. This was one of the most famous districts of the city and included the Piazza San Marco with its cluster of restaurants, shops and museums frequented by the glitterati of Venice. Perhaps some detail would come to light they could send on to the writers working on Magda’s film.
But the next morning, Zoe broke down and was honest with Ginger. “Venice is fabulous, but as long as I have a little more free time before going back to California, Greece is where I want to be.”
Zoe had fallen in love with Greece, but Ginger knew something else more important was propelling her to go back. So far, Zoe hadn’t told Ginger what was really on her mind. That was all right. Ginger had been entertaining a few private thoughts about the gorgeous Italian that didn’t bear scrutiny.
“I understand completely, Zoe. The trouble is, I hated leaving Venice when I was here before. Now I have a chance to finish up some more research for Magda’s project.” Maybe she’d find that Father Giovanni was back at the monastery.
“Thanks for understanding.” Zoe immediately phoned the airline to make a reservation for an evening flight. After dinner Ginger drove her to the San Marco airport in their rental car. They pulled up outside the terminal. “I wish you’d come to Greece with me, Ginger.”
“After I finish up my research here, I’ll probably fly to Athens and join you. I know you loved it there and it was hard for you to leave.”
“Only time will tell. Are you sure you’re all right if I leave you?”
“Positive. Who knows?” Father Giovanni still might not be there. “I could be joining you sooner than you think.”
“I’d love that,” Zoe exclaimed before getting out of the car with her suitcase.
Ginger smiled at her. “Text me when you arrive so I’ll know you got there safely.”
“You know I will. Enjoy Venice to your heart’s content. Before long we’ll all be back in class lecturing again and dreaming about days like this.”
At the moment Ginger couldn’t comprehend being anywhere else but here. She watched until Zoe disappeared, then she headed back to the hotel to park the car.
As she passed the front desk at the hotel, Ginger made arrangements to visit Burano, a place Byron loved for its color. The film being made on Byron would be enriched by some scenes from there. After she got back to her room, Ginger had a surprise phone call from Abby.
“Abby? Hey—what are you doing phoning this late?”
“I’m sorry, but I’m flying to Venice tomorrow and will try to plan a flight that fits in with your and Zoe’s schedule.”
“You’re not staying in Burgundy?”
Ginger heard Abby release a shuddering sigh. “No.”
“So the ‘come and see my notebook’ thing turned out not to be for real.”
“Actually there was a notebook with a poem, but it wasn’t an authentic signature of Byron’s.”
“But he really had something to show you?”
“Yes. I met his grandparents and they showed it to me.”
“Then he was on the level.”
“Yes.”
“You sound odd. Are you okay? What’s going on with you two?”
“It’s been a very full day with a funeral and a dinner. He’s a very important man. Don’t let me keep you up any longer. Shall I come early or late? You’d better check with Zoe.”
“She’s not here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Zoe decided to fly to Greece early, so I took her to the airport this evening and now I have the car. Tomorrow is Sunday and I’m going to Burano Island for a couple of days. I’ve already paid for travel and the hotel room for two nights on a special deal. Why don’t you check flights for Tuesday and I’ll meet you whenever you say?”
Ginger heard a hesitation, then, “That sounds fine. I’ll call you Tuesday and we’ll plan from there.”
“Perfect.”
Ginger realized something had gone wrong with Abby’s plans. What a shame for her.
The next morning Ginger left on a water bus for Burano and explored the island. The bright colors of the houses were remarkable, and she was glad she had come. After another productive day, Ginger returned to the hotel in Venice, tired and happy.
The next evening, she was getting ready for bed when she received a text from Abby rather than a phone call.
I won’t be flying to meet you after all. Maybe you should be sitting down. Raoul and I are going to be married in two days in a civil ceremony. We don’t want to wait. I adore him and I know it’s forever. We’ll have a church service later on and I hope you and Zoe will be able to come. I promise to tell you everything later. Love, Abby
Ginger read the text three times. How absolutely amazing and wonderful for their friend. Zoe would have received a text, too. But Ginger was worried for Abby. Wasn’t she nervous about getting married so fast when her engagement to Nigel had ended so painfully?
Abby hadn’t even known that Nigel was married and had children back in England. Now she was going to marry a Frenchman after such a short period of knowing him? It sounded very scary to Ginger. But at the same time she had to admire their friend who’d decided to take the plunge anyway and not let fear prevent her from following her heart.
Ginger got up from the side of the bed, realizing that’s what she was doing, following her heart by wanting to return to the monastery. Of course, she desired to talk with Father Giovanni, but she now knew he was friends with Signor Della Scalla. The monk was her link to the dark-haired stranger who’d mesmerized her.
She could still hear what he’d whispered. “Alla prossima, signora.” Did he really hope to see her again? After asking her to spend another day with him, Ginger had to believe it.
Her heart pounded painfully to imagine seeing him again. The possibility gave Ginger the impetus to follow through with her plan. Abby’s decision had given her a little more daring.
By the next morning Ginger was up early to drink coffee and eat a roll, unable to sleep any longer. She checked her hair and makeup in the mirror.
Today she teamed a short-sleeved pink-and-white-striped blouse with a summery white skirt. After putting a small notebook in her purse, she left the hotel at nine thirty and took a water taxi to the island.
A semicloudy sky covered the lagoon with its boats and ferries. The temperature would be a little warmer today.
Father Giovanni ought to be on the island. He just had to be.
* * *
For the last seven days Vittorio had spent all of his time with family while they dealt with the funeral and interment. Now he had to attend to business. But with his father gone, Vittorio wasn’t prepared for the pang of loss he felt as he arrived at the Della Scalla Shipping and Passenger Line Company.
As Vittorio’s uncle Bertoldo was the general manager, he’d asked the executive secretary to call a June meeting of the fifteen-member board set for 9:00 a.m. His father’s successor would have to be voted in as chairman. Everyone needed to be here, no exceptions.
Vittorio was the financial director for the company. He would prefer to stay in that position. But with the funeral over, it was necessary to restructure the business. Now there would have to be changes. One by one the board members arrived and took their place around the conference table.
Vittorio was the youngest board member and was probably resented by some of the older men. Maybe a few of them, like his uncle, had a hard time realizing he was the new Count Della Scalla. He despised the whole title business. Bertoldo, two years older than Vittorio’s father, never had children.
There were other problems. Bertoldo had his own ideas on how the company should be run. The two brothers had argued over the company’s direction for a decade, but it had never been full-out war.
Long ago Vittorio’s grandfather, the former Count Nunzio, had secretly influenced the board to vote in his son Mario instead of Bertoldo when he’d stepped down because of ill health. Of course, it didn’t stay a secret, and Bertoldo had always carried a grudge.
As Vittorio grew older, he recognized the wisdom of putting Mario in charge. His father had vision and knew when to take the necessary risks. Which is why he’d kept the business in the black at a time when Italy was going through economic crisis.
But now the situation had changed. Vittorio knew Bertoldo hoped to be made chairman. Both Vittorio and Gaspare liked their uncle well enough despite his view of limiting company expansion beyond Italy’s borders. His ideas would have held them back. In that regard, Vittorio had his own ideas about venturing further afield and knew his father had been in agreement, as well as Renaldo Coronna, his father’s friend and Paola’s father.
With Mario gone and their grandfather no longer alive to influence the vote, it was possible Bertoldo would finally achieve his dream. Vittorio could live with that if he had to. But there were other men on the board perfectly qualified to run the company.
In a few minutes the executive secretary called the meeting to order. Everyone in the room took a turn to express their sympathy over Mario’s passing. They’d all been to the funeral and had talked to Vittorio and his family, but he was touched by the outpouring of praise for his father.
Finally, the secretary called for the vote to elect the new chairman. Vittorio knew whom he wanted and wrote down the name Salvatore Riva, one of the directors. Within ten minutes the ballots were collected and tallied.