Captivated By Her Italian Boss

* * *

For the next few days Neve had been too busy with her school obligations to think much about the ad. When an email from a Mrs. Lucia Michele arrived, informing her that she was one of the applicants who could proceed to be interviewed, Neve’s heart had done a leap. She had thought it was a long shot, as there must have been hundreds of applicants, if not more, and her pulse had quickened at the thought that she might actually stand a chance of being hired.

Mrs. Michele’s email had informed Neve of the interview details. It would be conducted by her.The employer would be watching the interview privately. Due to the sensitive nature regarding the child, she had been instructed to keep the employer’s identity confidential until the chosen applicant actually arrived in person in Southern Italy.

And now here Neve was, communicating with SignoraLucia Michele, who was asking her in halting English about her philosophy of discipline. Neve felt a little self-conscious doing a Skype interview while her prospective employer watched from his computer.

Neve paused for a moment, wondering what stance “the boss” expected her to take. She looked beyond the woman, almost expecting that he—why she thought it would be a he, she didn’t know—would appear, and took a deep breath. She could only answer truthfully.

“I believe that consistency is essential in discipline,” she replied, her voice steady. “The child must know what you expect, and as a kindergarten teacher, I tell my children right at the beginning that I expect to be treated kindly, with respect, and that I will be treating them in the same manner. I make sure they know right away that A, their parents have trusted them to my care because I will keep them safe and take good care of them, and B, they will learn and have fun with me.”

She couldn’t help smiling, thinking of her school kids as they looked at her with wide eyes on the first day of school. “Those are the two main things they need to know. And then, day by day, they will learn how to interact, how to solve problems, how to be a good leader.” She looked straight at the camera. “And they will learn about consequences when they do something inappropriate. I believe in positive discipline and fairness, and flexibility when it is required...without laying a hand on the child.”

Signora Michele gave a curt nod. “And I see you have...ah...some esperienza with children who have suffered—how do you say?—oh, yes—loss?”

Neve tried to control her eyes from misting. Yes, she had experience, she replied, and bit her lip. She told the signora about the courses she had taken to help understand what children who had lost a parent through death or separation or divorce were going through. “You can’t assume that every child who enters your classroom has had a happy, cheerful childhood,” she said wistfully. “If only...” She blinked and thought of a frail-looking girl called Tessa, who had lost her mother to cancer a month before starting kindergarten.

Don’t cry, she told herself. Hold it together.

And then Signora Michele turned slightly and touched her ear. Neve spotted the hearing device that was obviously the means of communication between her and the employer.

She nodded and turned back to Neve, her face expressionless. “Thank you for your time, Signorina Wilder.You will be contacted with an answer within a day or two. There are still a few other applicants to consider... Grazie.”

Neve nodded and gave her a small smile before the woman left. She looked again right into the camera at the top of her screen, knowing the employer would be watching until the last moment. Neve stared briefly, then nodded, her eyes never faltering.

“Grazie,” she addressed the unseen employer before shutting down her laptop.

* * *

Davide Cortese’s pulse leaped. If he had entertained the smallest doubt when she had first appeared on his laptop screen in his study, after mere seconds he could no longer deny it. The interview had lasted twenty minutes or so between his assistant and the applicant, but it had taken him only a few stunned moments to realize the latter’s identity.

Neve Wilder. He hadn’t seen her name and the others in the file Lucia had prepared; he had wanted to see all the Skype interviews first. Neve was the thirteenth applicant to be interviewed by Lucia, and Davide had almost lost hope that a suitable nanny could be found for his five-year-old niece, Bianca.

His expression softened at the thought of his niece. She looked like the mirror image of her mother, his sister, Violetta. Her face still had the cherubic roundness of babyhood, but she had grown taller, even since the accident. The accident. Just those two words caused his body to freeze, just like the first time he was told by Violetta’s friend Alba that Violetta and her husband, Tristan, had skidded on an icy mountain road after their skiing weekend in Banff and had died instantly when their vehicle hit a tree.

Alba, who had been babysitting Bianca, had delivered the news tearfully by phone, and all at once Davide had felt numb, devastated, angry, sad and desperate. His only sibling, gone. She was six years his senior, and he had always looked to her for guidance growing up, especially after both their parents had died. Their father had passed first when Davide was ten, and their mother, heartbroken, had succumbed to cancer a year later.

Life had been hard enough without his gentle father around, but losing his mother so soon after was a blow that had siphoned what remained of Davide’s childhood spirit. Davide had lost his joy, his appetite, his interest in school. He had become frail, withdrawn and had often missed school.

He and Violetta had been looked after by their uncle, ZioFrancesco, a priest in their town of Valdoro. Zio Francescohad told Davide when he was older about how he had begun to despair of reviving Davide’s spirit and physical health. He had wondered if bringing him out to the farm and letting Davide occupy himself with planting jobs and the tending of the animals might restore him in some way.

His uncle had wept while reciting his rosary after noticing how several days on the land had brought a change in Davide’s behavior and outlook. After a few weeks Davide had willingly returned to school, but had continued to work on the farm after school and on weekends, as well as throughout high school and in the summer when back from university.

Davide’s heart tightened. He would never forget what Zio Francesco had done for him.

Davide’s sister, Violetta, had been shaken but more stoic than he was after the deaths of their parents. She had overseen the household responsibilities that their mother had managed while still at school, but when Violetta was eighteen, she fell in love with a tourist from Canada and she married him at twenty and moved to his home in Steveston, about a half an hour from Vancouver. Tristan had worked as a tour guide at a whale-watching company, while Violetta had worked to develop a small home business with her sewing talents. She had been so happy that she could work from home once they had had their baby, which was five years ago. She had studied English and learned it quickly, and when Bianca was born, she had made sure to speak to her in both languages.

Davide’s English was also fairly good. Violetta had encouraged him to study it with the possibility of moving to Vancouver one day, and he had, but destiny had had other plans for him and he had remained in Valdoro.

Valdoro was where he had first spotted Neve. Neve, pronounced Neh-veh,meaning snow in Italian. She had been standing on one of the balconies of Villa Morgana,owned by one of the wealthiest families in town, a family that derived their wealth from the bounty of the bergamot groves on their outlying properties. Their coral-colored villa was on the main street heading into Valdoro, with ornate wrought iron balconies and ceramic planters bursting with flowers. The entire roof of the villa was a terrace with bougainvillea spilling over the railing. Chairs with bright yellow and blue upholstery were scattered around a table protected by an ombrellone, a huge umbrella tilted to one side.

Davide had been returning from his uncle’s small farm, which he tended to from before sunrise till late morning, as the scorching sun was too prohibitive past noon. He had been later than usual that day, having had to chase after a goat that had found an opening in the enclosure and had wandered off. Afterward, Davide had gathered some of the garden vegetables in a huge burlap bag, and as he had passed the Villa Morgana, he had spotted a girl on the balcony. He hadn’t seen her in Valdoro before. Her hair was wet and she was air-drying it.

Davide’s T-shirt had been sweat-soaked, his jeans earth-stained, and he could feel his face prickling with perspiration. As he had passed in front of the villa from the opposite side of the road, the girl had tossed her hair back and caught sight of him. She had cocked her head and Davide could feel his steps slowing. He had wanted to stop completely and just feast on the vision before him.

He had been mesmerized by her light skin, her strawberry-blond hair catching the rays of the sun and shimmering like spun gold, the white halter dress with big red polka dots, her lean legs. His heart had thumped erratically at her gaze, which couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds before she had started to blink, and he had noticed her eyes traveling past his eyes and down his body.

Davide remembered the embarrassment he had felt at his dusty and sweaty appearance, although she hadn’t give him any sign of arrogance, and he had nodded slightly in the respectful way he had been taught when encountering girls or women, and had forced his cement-like shoes to keep walking.

Showering at the house he had shared with his zio, Francesco, his insides had quivered at the thought of the girl. She had looked to be around seventeen or eighteen. He had been twenty-two, home for the summer from university, and although some of the mothers in Valdoro had discreetly made it known that he was welcome to court their daughters, he had been more intent on his studies. He hadn’t said so much to his uncle, but he was hoping to join his sister in Vancouver after university. His parents had left him and his sister with very little; what money they had was tied up in their small farm property, so his uncle had encouraged him to keep working the land, and he would support him with a modest salary.

That had been the plan.

Until Neve Wilder’s arrival in Valdoro.

* * *

Now, looking at her face on the screen, and knowing she couldn’t see him or ever imagine his identity, Davide felt his gut tighten. He wasn’t a love-struck young man anymore, and how and why fate had thrown Neve Wilder back into his life after eight years was a bizarre mystery to him. When he had tried to meet her back then, her message to him had been very clear. She had wanted nothing to do with him. He was below her and should remember his place.

She had crushed him then and Davide had spent the next few years trying to forget her and vowing to never be below anyone again. He would finish his university education and make something of himself. He didn’t need her or anyone like her.

He had discovered that her family was visiting from Vancouver, where he had planned to go after his graduate studies. Overcome with bitterness, he had changed his mind immediately. He wouldn’t move anywhere where there was even the remotest chance of bumping into her. No, he never wanted to see her face again.

This was a cruel twist of fate, watching an interview with the same girl who, eight years later, was applying for a job as a nanny for his niece. Only she wasn’t a girl anymore. Her pretty looks as a teenager had blossomed into what he had to admit could only be called stunning.

Her fair skin was luminescent, with a faint smattering of freckles over her nose and peach-tinted cheeks, and that mane of hair, although restrained in a loose chignon, seemed even more burnished. Her eyes, never close enough for him to determine their exact color, were a dark bluish-green that reminded him of the sea in winter. And that mouth. Her lipstick was a luscious magenta pink, the same color as the delicious inner fruit of the cactus pear.

She could be a sea witch, he thought, a modern Scylla, the whirlpool in the waters off the coast that was personified in Greek mythology as a female monster impeding the way of the hero Odysseus...

Davide watched as Neve’s eyes shifted to the camera. She leaned forward and her face filled the screen. He swallowed, his pulse drumming wildly as a corner of her mouth lifted and she nodded. And then said “Grazie,” her witch eyes never blinking once.

Twelve interviews, and none of the applicants had impressed him. Until the thirteenth. Thirteen was a lucky number for Italians. But the last thing he felt now was lucky. If it had been anybody but Neve, he’d have hired her on the spot. Her qualifications were spot-on; her answers had been genuine. She had seemed so humble, so caring and devoted. How could this be the same Neve who had arrogantly put him down and rejected him?

Bianca needed a competent nanny. She would be starting school in a couple of months, and the trauma of losing her parents had shattered her world. None of her previous nannies had worked out. The first hadn’t been sensitive enough, the second had been caught snooping through his desk papers and the third had shown more interest in wanting to help him through his grief, using her physical allure...

Bianca’s occasional tantrums and crying outbursts had increased. Davide’s gut was telling him to offer Neve the job.

His bruised heart was pounding, No!

Davide watched as Neve shut down her laptop. He stared blindly at the screen and let the voices in his head battle it out. The memories of Neve in Valdoro eight years ago clashed with his fresh memories of the interview. Wearily, he finally stood up from his desk and drummed his fingers along the edge before buzzing for Lucia in the smaller office next to him.

“What did you think of the last applicant?” he said curtly in Italian.

“She was the best, Signor Cortese.”

Davide trusted Lucia’s opinion; she was his valued research assistant and friend, and genuinely cared for Bianca. When she addressed him in such a formal manner, he knew she was very serious.

“Yes...she was,” he murmured, his fingers beginning to tap again.