Reunited with Her Italian Ex

‘It sounds like your hotel is doing really well,’ Damiano said. ‘You’ve got a great future ahead of you.’

‘I think I just might have,’ Mario said, grinning.

‘No doubt,’ Damiano said cheerfully. ‘After all, look who taught you.’

This was a reference to Damiano’s successful career as the owner of several hotels. Mario had learned the trade working in many of them and had finally become ambitious for his own establishment.

‘That’s right, I learned from the best,’ Mario said. ‘And having a place in Verona is a help. Several of us hoteliers have got together to promote the Romeo and Juliet angle.’

‘The city of lovers,’ Damiano said wryly. ‘That should suit you. You’d hardly believe some of the tales I’ve heard about you.’

‘Not recently,’ Mario said quickly.

‘No, you’ve settled down these last couple of years, but before that I remember you gave a whole new meaning to the term “bad boy”.’

‘Most of us do before we find the right woman,’ Mario pointed out.

‘True. I wasn’t a saint before I met Sally. But you haven’t met your “Sally”, so what made you suddenly become virtuous?’

‘Virtuous? Me? No need to insult me.’

Damiano grinned. ‘So is it just a smokescreen?’

‘No. I really have changed, not necessarily for the better.’

‘Don’t say that. You’re much improved—quieter, more serious, more grown-up...’

‘More suspicious and demanding, nastier sometimes,’ Mario said quietly.

‘Hey, why do you put yourself down?’

‘Perhaps because I know myself better than anyone else does. I’m not the nice guy I used to be—if I ever was.’

‘So what made it happen?’

Mario clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t ask me. It’s a long story, and one that—well, that I don’t care to think of too often. Let’s leave it. I’d better be going. Giorgio has hired a journalist he says will be brilliant at promoting the Romeo and Juliet angle. I’m meeting her for dinner when I get back tonight.’

‘Best of luck. Goodbye, brother.’

They embraced each other. Damiano stood back, waving as Mario turned out of the car park and across the causeway that led to the mainland.

From Venice to Verona was nearly seventy-five miles. During the journey Mario reflected wryly on his brother’s words. Damiano didn’t know that one of the turning points in Mario’s life had been Damiano’s marriage to Sally, four years earlier. Mario had been strongly attracted to Sally, something he’d had to fight. He’d fought it by working in Damiano’s hotels in Rome, Florence, Milan, only rarely returning to Venice.

Until then his life had been free and easy. He was young, charming and handsome, with no trouble attracting women. He’d had many girlfriends. Too many, he now realised.

He’d returned to Venice for the birth of his brother’s son and found, to his relief, that Sally no longer attracted him, except as a sister. He’d settled into a life of work and pleasure.

Then had come the other great turning point in his life, when he’d met the one woman who could make a difference, drive away the loneliness and give his existence meaning.

Fantasy dictated that she should feel the same and throw herself into his arms. The bitter reality was that she had walked out on him, slamming the door in his face, condemning him to a bleak isolation that was all the worse because he had glimpsed a glorious future, and come so close to embracing it.

Buying the hotel two years ago had been a lucky chance. The owner was eager to sell and accepted a discounted price, and now Mario felt that he was headed for success and independence. If he did nothing else in his life he would triumph in this, he vowed to himself. With that hope to guide him he could banish the pain and bleakness of the last two years.

At last he reached the hotel. Giorgio came to the entrance to greet him.

‘It’s all set up,’ he said.

‘Has the lady arrived?’

‘Yes, an hour ago. She’s not who I was expecting. The agency made a last-minute change, but she seems serious and professional.’

‘I can’t wait to meet her.’ As they walked across the elegant lobby, Mario looked around him at the place he was beginning to regard as his kingdom. ‘You know, I have the best possible feeling about this,’ he said. ‘We’re on the right road, and we’re going to reach a great destination.’

‘One where the money is,’ Giorgio supplied with a grin.

‘Of course, but that’s not the only thing. Somehow, everything is beginning to feel right.’

‘That’s the spirit. Get settled in and then I’ll introduce you to... Mario? Mario, is something wrong?’

But Mario didn’t hear him. His attention had been drawn to the great staircase that led to the next floor. He was staring at it like a man stunned. A young woman was walking down the stairs. She moved slowly, pausing to look at the paintings on the wall, so that at first she didn’t seem to notice Mario standing by the bottom step.

When her eyes came to rest on Mario she stopped suddenly, as if unable to believe her eyes.

* * *

A terrible stillness came over Natasha as she looked down the staircase, trying to understand what was happening. It was impossible that Mario should be standing there, staring up at her with a thunderstruck expression.

Impossible.

And yet it was true. He was there, looking like a man who’d seen a nightmare come to life.

She tried to move but the stillness enveloped her. Now he was climbing the stairs slowly, as though unwilling to approach her too quickly or come too close. When he spoke it was uneasily.

‘I believe...we’ve met before.’

A dozen answers clamoured in her head, but at last she heard herself say, ‘No, never.’

That took him off-guard, she could see. While he struggled for a reply, Giorgio’s voice reached them from the bottom of the stairs.

‘Aha! I see you two are getting acquainted.’ Waving cheerfully, he climbed up to join them.

‘Natasha, let me introduce Mario Ferrone, the owner of the hotel and President of the Comunità. Mario, this is Natasha Bates, the lady who’s going to tell the world about Verona.’

Mario inclined his head formally. ‘Buongiorno, signorina. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

‘How do you do?’ she said, nodding towards him.

‘Let’s go and eat,’ Giorgio said, ‘and we can have a good talk.’