Captivated By Her Italian Boss

Feeling her eyelids start to droop, Neve pulled the stopper and stepped out of the tub, shivering despite the warmth of the room. She wrapped her terry-cloth robe around her and dried herself briskly before changing into a knee-length nightshirt. Under the covers, she let out a deep sigh. She was really doing this. Her travel clothes were laid out, and she was ready to fly to Italy and be a nanny! She hugged her pillow and let the memories of sun-drenched days, delicious Southern cuisine and the magical Ionian Sea lull her to sleep.

* * *

Davide drummed his fingers on his desk. He checked the time on his cell phone. Neve’s plane should be landing in minutes at the Lamezia International Airport. Tomaso, his occasional driver, would be waiting for her, holding a card up with her name on it. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be a delay in claiming her luggage. If complications arose, Tomaso would take care of them.

Davide wondered if Neve still spoke some Italian. The second time he saw her on her balcony, he had smiled and said, “Ciao, signorina.” She had hesitated, given a quirk of a smile, and replied, “Ciao.” It came out sounding more like the English “chow,” and, embarrassed, she quickly repeated it with less of an aspiration at the start of the word. He had nodded in approval, and as he continued walking, he couldn’t resist looking back and saying, “Ciao, bella.” But she had already gone in.

Davide had tried to push recurring thoughts of her away after she had left Valdoro and returned to Vancouver. But if he had managed to accomplish that even temporarily during the day, he had been plagued by dreams of her at night.

His zio, Francesco, had noticed his malaise and had encouraged Davide to confide in him. Is it about a girl? He had eyed Davide with furrowed brows. Davide had been too embarrassed to talk about his feelings. Especially to his uncle the priest. How could he have possibly discussed his unquenchable desire for Neve, and his feelings of bitterness and humiliation?

“The best thing is to concentrate on your studies—and perhaps frequent Sunday mass a little more often,”his uncle had solemnly suggested.

Davide smirked. He had taken his uncle’s advice about his studies, but not so much on the second suggestion. Davide had had an issue with God and the whole destiny thing, and at twenty-two, forgiveness was not a strong male virtue. Davide had still gone to mass on special occasions, like the main holidays and an occasional funeral mass for a family friend, but other than that, he had stayed away. Besides, he had had goals he needed to accomplish.

And he had. He gave a bitter laugh as his gaze fell on the copy of his award-winning novel on his desk. Maybe he should thank Neve personally for her part in his literary success. Maybe he should have included a few words about her in his acceptance speech. After all, it was her written words that had ignited the chain of events leading up to the writing of his book.

Let it go, an inner voice whispered. Davide took a deep breath. Indeed. Why should he continue to be bitter about the words and actions of a teenage girl? He was a man now. His young ego may have been bruised then, but surely he was mature enough to have moved on?

Davide thought he had dealt with all those immature emotions, but he couldn’t deny the sharp twinge in the core of his heart when Neve’s face had appeared on the screen. She was still beautiful. Bellissima. He had watched the interview a few times after Lucia had gone home. Studied Neve’s face as she spoke. Paused to go over her every feature. He had drunk in the sight of her like a man coming across a source of water after days of walking in a scorching-hot desert.

Could he handle her living in the castle with him, interacting with him daily, watching her deal with his beloved niece? Only time would tell...

His phone indicated a text. He checked the message, written in Italian.

Signorina Wilder has arrived. We are on our way.

Va bene, Davide replied swiftly.

He set down his phone, strode over to the credenza and poured himself a shot of brandy.

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_093fe910-582d-5789-b03a-6e5e08878ce9)

AS SOON AS Neve stepped out of the plane, the dry July heat enveloped her like a swaddling blanket. She was glad she had packed light. Her carry-on contained her laptop and a few emergency items in case her luggage was lost. And in her one piece of luggage, which she would shortly claim, there were just enough items to last her three weeks. She would alternate clothes over her two-month stay, and if she really got tired of wearing the same thing, she’d go to any one of the outdoor markets and buy something new. After all, she wasn’t there to be in a fashion parade; she was there for work.

Neve took a moment to text her mother that she had arrived, and joined a slow-moving throng to get clearance from the uniformed officials. She then proceeded to the baggage claim area. She looked eagerly for a middle-aged man holding a sign with her name on it, asLucia Michele had indicated in her email, and when she had spotted him, she waved and walked briskly toward him. He welcomed Neve in Italian and introduced himself as Tomaso Rocco. She smiled back at him and thanked him in Italian for having come to the airport to pick her up and drive her back to her employer’s house.

Neve noticed that his eyebrows had lifted at the word casa. Maybe he was surprised that she could speak Italian. She had studied it since her trip to Italy as a teenager, and made it a point to use it with her Italian landlady and landlord, so she felt fairly comfortable communicating right away with Tomaso. Strangely enough, he switched to a faltering English after she had spoken.

“Would you care for a refresh before we proceed?” Tomaso pointed to a nearby kiosk. “Or a panino?”

Neve smiled. “Grazie, SignorTomaso, but I had a nice meal on the plane. I wouldn’t mind finding a ladies’ room, though.”

He nodded and once she returned, she positioned herself near one of the conveyors to scan the moving luggage. A few minutes later she spotted the suitcase with two extra-large stickers of the Canadian flag and the Italian flag placed side by side. Tomaso deftly grabbed it and a few moments later they were driving south along the coast. Neve was glad that Tomaso was not a man of many words, as the view around her had her total attention. She caught her breath at the shimmering expanse of the Gulf of St. Euphemia in the Tyrrhenian Sea, and the pastel-colored facades of villas and apartments. The familiar sight of oleander trees, with their profusion of white, pink and fuchsia blooms, growing not only around homes but also along endless stretches of railroad tracks, made Neve think of an impressionist painting, with its mesmerizing combination of multicolored strokes.

Despite the stifling heat of the afternoon, Tomaso had opted to roll the windows down instead of putting on the air-conditioning, and Neve actually didn’t mind as she breathed in the sweet scent of the oleander blossoms perfuming the air.

Before long Tomaso had changed direction and was heading inland. The view changed from seascape to hills and valleys, with miles and miles of olive groves. Neve loved the look of the olive trees, with their gnarled branches and silver-green foliage. She started as the vehicle jerked to a sudden stop, and Neve, turning her head, discovered the cause: a herd of goats crossing the road. The goatherd ambled by, waving at Tomaso, and he gave a resigned wave back. “People not like to hurry here,” he said to Neve in his broken English. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You understand? Sometimes is like a thousand years ago.”

“I understand.” Neve stifled the urge to chuckle. “It’s like time standing still.”

Tomaso gave her a baffled look and then exclaimed as some of the goats started to backtrack. He gave a quick blast of the horn and the goats finally crossed over. Neve settled back to enjoy the magnificent views as the road snaked its way through what she discovered as she checked her map, was the Aspromonte mountain range. The Bitter Mountains.

She couldn’t help a slight shiver as she recalled reading about some of the nefarious happenings within the dark recesses of the heavily wooded slopes. Stories of bandits, or briganti. Some had been the Italian counterpart to Robin Hood, but others were immortalized in folk songs for their notorious deeds.

Neve marveled at some of the hamlets perched on top of a hill. Some had been abandoned for years, and the houses were crumbling in areas. But even these ghost towns, with their borders of cactus pear plants and hillsides of golden broom, had a mysterious and romantic air about them, conjuring all kinds of stories in her imagination.

Totally absorbed in the mountain landscape, with its dark gullies and sheer cliff sides with often no guardrails, Neve found herself holding her breath. It was like seeing everything with new eyes. Perhaps at eighteen she had had other things—or people—that had grabbed her attention, but now the mountains, trees and the scintillating waters were even more majestic and striking than she remembered.

Tomaso started whistling an old folk tune; she had heard it at a festival during her last trip to Italy. She knew the title, Calabrisella Mia, and if her memory served her right, it was about a young man who spotted a young lady washing clothes at the public fountains and was captivated by her. Well, maybe nobody went to do laundry at the fountains or by the river anymore, but Valdoro still celebrated the chivalry of the “old days” at their annual summer festival, the Festa della Calabrisella