The Billionaires' Club. Rebecca Winters

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      “That’s wonderful.” Gemma was thrilled for her. “Call me when you get there and tell me everything. Just think. You’ll be closer to New York.”

      “It’s very exciting. Now tell me, what’s the situation on your end?”

      “You don’t want to know and I don’t want to burden you when you’re so happy.”

      “Let me be the judge of that.”

      Gemma spent the next while telling her all the shocking truths Vincenzo had revealed. “Although I’ve forgiven him, and I do understand, I’m still hurt he couldn’t tell me the truth before.”

      “He was only eighteen, remember? And tonight he finally told you the whole truth.”

      “But you haven’t heard it all yet. He’s asked me to marry him.”

      “What?”

      “Yes, and because I know a marriage to him is so impossible, I told him a duca doesn’t marry the cook!”

      “Oh, Gemma...you didn’t! No wonder you’re a mess.”

      “I am. During those early years we never had trouble communicating. Not ever.”

      “But you want something that isn’t possible, because you’re not teenagers anymore.”

      “I was more sane as a teenager than I am now. Forgive me for not making any sense tonight.”

      “You’ve been in shock since his return. I’m pretty sure he’s in the same condition. Give it all time to sink in.”

      “I don’t have another choice. Promise to call me from Canada and tell me everything.”

      “Don’t worry. Now try to get a good sleep.”

      “I don’t know if I can. Be safe, Filippa, and good luck!”

      “Thanks. Be nice to Vincenzo. He could use it. Ciao.”

      Those words couldn’t have made Gemma feel guiltier, but she knew her friend hadn’t intended anything hurtful. Quite the opposite, in fact. Filippa always made good sense. With a plan in mind to talk to Vincenzo tomorrow, Gemma got ready for bed and was surprised she didn’t have trouble falling asleep.

      * * *

      The next morning, she got up and ready for the day. With the formal meetings with the owners and staff out of the way, she dressed for regular work in a short-sleeved top and pleated pants rather than a skirt. Before she left Sopri, she would buy a few groceries to put in the mini fridge for future meals. In fact, while she was shopping, she’d buy a pool lounger to take out to the lake behind the castello.

      Until the opening of the hotel, she and Maurice would be working midmorning hours on menus and ordering the staples. But for a few more weeks there’d be free time in the afternoons before the intense work began and she earned her keep.

      In the past there was nothing she’d enjoyed more than watching the swans, especially when Vincenzo had joined her. She assumed the water fowl were still there and would be an attraction for hotel guests. For now, she could lie in the sun and read a good thriller before leaving to drive back to the pensione. Maybe she could ask Vincenzo to meet her out there later in the day so they could really talk.

      Though she followed through with her plans, she discovered that Vincenzo had flown to New York and wouldn’t be back for a while. The news made her ill. She kept busy, but inside she was dying. He could have left Italy for personal as well as legitimate business reasons. She’d never know and speculation didn’t get her anywhere.

      * * *

      Four days later she was in the depths of despair when she overheard Cesare and Takis talking in the kitchen. Vincenzo would be arriving at the airport at eight thirty that evening. She hugged the information to herself, trying not to react to her joy so anyone would notice.

      After she finished the day’s work with Maurice, she drove back to the pensione and kept busy until evening. Once she’d showered and changed into a sundress, she drove back to the castello. To her relief she saw the Maserati parked in front. Thankful Vincenzo was back safely, she hurried up the steps to find him.

      One of the security men, Fortino, let her in the front entrance. This was the first time in ten years that she’d been here at night. The place was quiet as a tomb. Maybe because it was a Friday night and Vincenzo’s partners had gone out. It was too early for anyone to be in bed. Gemma had no idea about their personal lives, though she remembered Vincenzo telling her that they were both single.

      She wished she had his cell phone number, but he hadn’t given it to her. If he wasn’t in the kitchen, he might be out with Takis and Cesare. Then again, he was probably exhausted after his long flight and could be up in his tower room.

      A long, long time ago, she’d gone looking for him there after hearing he’d suffered a terrible fall from his horse, or so she’d been told at the time. Desperate to make certain he was all right, she’d made her way to his aerie at the top of the castello, afraid one of his father’s guards would see her. His door had been ajar and she’d heard him moan.

      Summoning her courage tonight, she stole through the massive structure and made the same trek as before up the stone staircase at the rear. It wound round and round until she arrived at the forbidding-looking medieval iron door. This time it was closed. She held her breath while she listened for any sound.

      Nothing came through except the pounding of her own heart.

      Gemma knocked. “Vincenzo? Are you in there?” She waited.

      Still no response.

      It was here—away from everyone, away from any help—that Vincenzo’s father had attacked him. A little sob escaped her lips to think something so terrible had happened to him. Yet he’d survived. She loved him desperately.

      Desolate because he wasn’t there, she turned to go back down when she heard the heavy door open behind her and whirled around.

      “Gemma—” His deep male voice infiltrated her body. “What are you doing up here?” He was half-hidden by the door.

      “I heard you were back from New York and I’ve been waiting to talk to you in private. I know it’s late, but I need to apologize for my cruelty to you the last time we were together.”

      “Growing up I memorized your mother’s views on class distinctions like a catechism. Your answer to my marriage proposal shouldn’t have come as a surprise, although I’d hoped for a different response.”

      She bit her lip. “That’s why I came up here. To talk about this like an adult.”

      “My problem is, I’m in an adult mood. If you cross over my threshold, I won’t be accountable for my behavior. Is that honest enough for you?”

      Thump, thump went her heart. “Vincenzo—I’m so sorry—”

      “For what?”

      “For throwing your proposal back in your face like I did.”

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