The Italian Billionaire's Christmas Miracle

Following, he eyed her critically. “How much water have you drunk since you got here?”

“Not enough, I guess.” She squinted against the painfully bright glare of the sun beyond the awning. “I did bring a bottle with me, but I finished it hours ago.”

“You didn’t notice the coolers at the end of each row of vines? You didn’t think to ask what they were for?”

“No.” She swallowed, the smell of warm yeasty bread, olives and sharp cheese suddenly causing her stomach to churn unpleasantly.

He let fly with an impatient curse and strode to the table, returning a moment later to thrust at her another bottle of water, this one well chilled. “It didn’t occur to me you’d need to be told to keep yourself properly hydrated. I assumed you had enough sense to reach that conclusion unaided.”

Another of his sisters, this one well into pregnancy, happened to overhear him. “Domenico, please! Can you not see the poor woman has had enough for one day?” she chided, hurrying forward with a plate of food. “Here, signorina. I’ve brought you something to eat.”

Arlene grimaced, by then so sick from the pounding in her head that she was afraid to open her mouth to reply, in case she threw up instead.

With a sympathetic murmur, his sister lowered herself carefully to her knees. “You are in distress, cara. What can I do to help you?”

She tried to shrug away the woman’s concern but, by then, even so small a movement was beyond her. “I have a bad headache here,” she mumbled, pressing her hand to her temple, and hating herself for her weakness almost as much as she hated Domenico for witnessing it.

“More than just a headache, I think,” his sister said, glancing up at him. “It is the emicrania, Domenico—the migraine. She needs to be looked after.”

“I can see that, Renata,” he snapped.

“Then drive her down to the house and let Momma take care of her.”

“No!” Horrified by the idea, Arlene managed to subdue another wave of nausea long enough to articulate her objection without embarrassing herself.

Renata took ice from a cooler and wrapped it in one of the linen cloths lining the bread baskets. “Do you have a rented car, cara?” she asked, placing it gently at the base of Arlene’s skull.

“Yes, but not here. My friend dropped me off this morning.”

“Just as well, because you’re in no shape to drive.” Once again, Domenico hoisted her to her feet, this time showing more care than he had before. “Avanti! Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“I’m taking you back to your hotel before you pass out. I don’t imagine your friend will appreciate having you flat on your back—at least, not in your present condition.”

If she hadn’t felt so lousy, she’d have challenged him on his last remark. Instead she submitted to being bundled into the Jeep, leaned her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes.

To his credit, he drove carefully down the rutted track from the vineyard so as not to add to her discomfort, but when they reached the paved road, he wasted no time covering the miles into town. Beyond a terse, “Which hotel?” he mercifully made no other attempt at conversation.

Once arrived, he ignored the hotel’s No Parking sign, stopped the vehicle right at the front door, and came around to help her alight. “What’s your room number?”

By that point almost blind with pain, she sagged against his supporting arm. “Four twenty-two.”

“You have a key card?”

“Yes.” She fumbled without success in her tote.

He muttered indistinctly under his breath—something unflattering judging by his tone—found the card himself, and hoisting her off her feet, strode past the doorman and across the lobby to the elevator just as its doors swished open and Gail emerged.

Stopping dead in her tracks, she let out a horrified gasp. “Heavens, Arlene, what happened? You look like the wrath of God!”

“Step aside, per favore,” Domenico ordered, when she continued to block his entrance to the elevator. “I wish to take her to her room.”

“Hold on a minute!” Gail replied, clearly not the least bit fazed by his autocratic manner. “You’re not taking her anywhere without me.”

“Indeed? And who are you?”

“Arlene’s roommate.”

“You’re her friend?”

“You’re her mentor?” she shot back, imitating his incredulous tone. “The one who’s supposed to be teaching her everything there is to know about growing grapes?”

“I am.”

“Well, congratulations! You’re doing a fine job, bringing her home dead drunk in the middle of the day.”

“I’m doing nothing of the sort!” he snapped. “What kind of man do you take me for?”

“You don’t want to know!”

“Gail,” Arlene protested weakly, “it’s okay. I have a headache, that’s all, and just need to lie down until it passes.”

Gail’s face swam into her line of vision. “Sweetie, what kind of headache has you practically passing out?”

“A migraine,” Domenico interjected on an irate breath. “Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

“Oh.” Her tone suddenly less confrontational, Gail backed into the elevator. “I’m…um…sorry if I came on too strong. I’ll help you get her upstairs.”

“Close the shutters,” Domenico instructed, when they reached the room. “I understand it helps to have the room darkened.”

While Gail scurried to obey him, he lowered Arlene to the bed farthest from the window, then sat on the edge of the mattress and stroked a cool hand down her forehead. “Close your eyes, cara,” he murmured, and even in the depths of her misery, the shift in his attitude was not lost on her. Whatever had given rise to that unspoken edge of hostility between them yesterday and which had continued into this morning, melted in the deep, soothing warmth of his voice.

“I’ve never seen her like this before,” she heard Gail whisper from the other side of the bed. “Shouldn’t we call for a doctor?”

“She doesn’t usually suffer from migraines?”

“Not that I’m aware of, and if anyone would know, I would. We’ve been best friends ever since college.”

The mattress shifted slightly as he rose to his feet. “Stay with her and keep the ice pack at the back of her neck.”

Panic lacing her voice, Gail hissed, “You’re just dropping her off, then leaving? What if—?”

“I’ll be back,” he said, as his footsteps receded quietly over the tiled floor.

As soon as she heard the door click shut behind him, Arlene struggled to sit up. “Gail…? I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Oh, cripes!” Gail slipped an arm around her shoulders and eased her to her feet. “Okay, sweetie, come on. I’ll help you to the bathroom.”