Dreaming Of... Italy: Daring to Trust the Boss / Reunited with Her Italian Ex / The Forbidden Prince

“Just coffee.” She smiled at Vivi. “So you are my contact.”

“Actually, Mr. Engle is in charge of the project.” She glanced at him briefly, long enough to see his eyes narrow as she spoke. Embarrassment flared. Why couldn’t she have thought of something suave, something sophisticated to say before she’d ran from him and his earth-shattering kiss? Why couldn’t she have sashayed into the house as if the kiss had meant nothing?

Taking his seat, Constanzo laughed. “She is modest, our Vivi. This is her plan.”

Vivi’s gaze shot to Tucker again. He turned his attention to his breakfast. “It is her plan. And Antonio seems to respond to her. She should be your contact.”

A serving girl poured coffee for Patrice, and Vivi explained her idea. Patrice very quickly outlined the process of bringing an artist’s work to a gallery for a showing.

“The very least amount of time we’d need would be two weeks. But I’d suggest a month. We’ll spend the first week ironing out the details of our agreement and then I’ll take three weeks to choose paintings and get things set up.”

“Sounds great.”

After finishing breakfast, they wasted no time. Constanzo called for a limo to be brought out front. Vivi and Patrice entered first. Constanzo slid in and sat beside Patrice. Tucker automatically sat beside Vivi. No hesitation. No comment. No complaint.

Knowing it would look childish to slide as far away from him as she could, she stayed where she was, but it was torture. The vague scent of him brought back memories of that kiss. Worse, she had no idea what he was thinking. Had he even liked kissing her? Did he think she was an idiot?

Probably.

When Antonio answered the door, Patrice took over, stepping forward and shaking his hand. “Antonio! It’s wonderful to meet you. Mr. Engle and his assistant, Miss Prentiss, raved about your work and we knew we had our artist for the showing Mr. Bartulocci wants to do.” She stopped talking, turned to Constanzo and brought him forward. “This is Constanzo Bartulocci. He is your benefactor for the show we’d like to put together.”

Tears filled Constanzo’s eyes and Vivi blinked back a few of her own. He was meeting his child, his son, the person who should be heir to everything he owned. The person who should be filling his quiet life with noise and love and laughter.

Antonio held out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Composing himself, Constanzo shook his hand. “It’s good to meet you, too.” He pulled in a quick breath and smiled. “So where are these remarkable paintings?”

Antonio laughed. “I don’t know about remarkable.”

Tucker said, “Antonio, this is no time for modesty. Hundreds of people will come to your showing expecting a man confident about what he’s done. Confident that he’s made a statement. You need to be that guy.”

Antonio laughed again and Vivi, Tucker, Constanzo and Patrice followed him into the room he referred to as his painting room.

Patrice looked at the pictures then glanced at Tucker. “You’re right. They’re splendid.”

Relief wove through her voice, but Vivi’s nerve endings crackled anyway. Maria Bartulocci definitely wasn’t Tucker’s type but pretty, stylish, educated blonde and beautiful Patrice? Tucker belonged with somebody like her.

She drew in a quiet breath and told herself not to care as she walked over to Antonio. Tucker and Patrice lost themselves in discussions about his paintings and Antonio looked a bit like he was going to throw up.

“First time having anybody see your work?”

“No. I had a lot of interest in New York, but nothing ever panned out.”

Constanzo put his hand on Antonio’s shoulder. “This will pan out. We’ll do the showing. People will love your paintings. This time next month, you could be famous.”

“I don’t want to be famous. I want to paint...and eat.” He laughed nervously.

Constanzo frowned. “Don’t you want people to enjoy what you’ve done?”

“Yes.”

Like a father, Constanzo softly said, “Then this is all good.”

Vivi said, “You’ll be fine. You’ll simply have to figure out how to strike a balance between fame and a private life. Lots of people do it.”

“Thanks.”

They spent another hour looking at the paintings and talking with Antonio. Before they left, Patrice gave him her card and told him to be at her office the following day to sign papers. Constanzo explained that because he was footing the bill for the showing, Antonio would get every cent paid for any of his paintings, minus the commission for Patrice’s gallery. But there was still a need for a formal agreement.

As a precaution, Tucker had Patrice email the agreements for him to peruse that night. They arrived in his in-box right at dinnertime, but Tucker told Constanzo he wasn’t hungry anyway. He stayed in his room all night, and Vivi was sure he thought her so much of a ninny he didn’t even want to be in the same room if possible.

But he came to breakfast the next morning and seated himself. “You’ve given your son quite a good deal.”

Constanzo laughed. “Of course, I have.”

Vivi relaxed. “So, we’re paving the way for you to tell your son who you are.”

“I don’t think we’re quite ready for that yet.”

Her gaze shot up and over to Tucker. But Constanzo laughed. “You’ve switched sides.” He pointed at Vivi. “First you wanted to hold back and he wanted to tell.” He faced Tucker. “Now you want to hold back and she wants to tell.”

“Whatever Olivia wants is fine.”

She quickly looked away. “Since we started off slowly maybe we should continue to move slowly.” But when she risked a peek at Tucker a few minutes later, he was still watching her, studying her.

After breakfast they took the limo to retrieve Antonio then drove along twisting country roads to Bordighera. Cobblestone streets and walkways took them to Patrice’s villa gallery. As they drove, Constanzo pointed out the villa of a British royal, the sites Monet had painted and the homes of two novelists.

When they stepped out of the limo, the June sun washed them in warmth. The sound of the surf caused Vivi to turn and see the ocean.

“It’s beautiful.”

Antonio said, “Now you can see why I decided to stay.”

She laughed and nodded, as Patrice opened the front door of her villa and welcomed them inside.

Vivi glanced around in awe. Rich red Oriental rugs accented the white marble beneath them. White drapes billowed to the floor. Chandeliers were everywhere. Eight or ten paintings hung on each wall. Antique tables held small sculptures and blown glass.

“I can’t imagine living here.”

“I don’t,” Patrice said, leading them to a stairway and her office. “Well, technically, I do since I have an apartment on the third floor. But I always thought this villa too beautiful to keep to myself.” She smiled at Vivi. “I made it a gallery so I can share it.”

They signed the agreements in Patrice’s office—a warm, welcoming space, different than the formal rooms of the gallery. Right from the beginning, working for Tucker Engle had been eye-opening, and coming to Italy would probably top her list of favorite things she had done in her lifetime. But standing in a gallery, surrounded by paintings and sculptures, blown glass and jewelry so perfect it had to be displayed as art, was surreal.

Oddly, she felt she belonged here. As if she had come home.

Antonio, Constanzo and Patrice shook hands. Patrice made arrangements to go to Antonio’s house the next day to begin selecting paintings. Constanzo suggested dinner at his home to celebrate and though Patrice declined, Antonio happily accepted.

They played pool. Ate dinner outside. Drank Scotch.