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With her cerulean blue eyes fixed smilingly upon him, Vito was only too happy to oblige.
* * *
Their stay in San Remo was fleeting, and soon they were driving on towards Genoa, before turning south towards Portofino, and then the pretty villages of the Cinque Terre and the Tuscan coastline. Rome was only a day away now.
As they neared the city Eloise could feel her mood changing. These last few days with Vito it seemed her ardency in his passionate embrace had been even more intense than ever. She had clung to him as if she would never let him go.
But I don’t want to let him go! I don’t want this to end. I want to stay with him.
That was the emotion that was distilling within her as every passing kilometre brought them nearer to Rome. And when they finally entered the city, as she watched Vito tangling with its infamous traffic with long familiarity, she could feel that emotion intensifying.
Will he take me to his apartment? she wondered, as they drove into the Centro Storico, where all Rome’s most famous landmarks and sights were.
But she realised they were pulling up outside the Viscari Roma—the original Viscari Hotel. Vito was telling her about its history, and she could hear the pride in his voice as he did so—could see how eagerly he was greeted as they made their way towards an elevator that whisked them up to what had originally been the attics, now redesigned as a penthouse suite.
Eloise let Vito lead her out on to a little roof terrace, gazing out at the city beyond.
‘Roma!’ He sighed, sliding an arm around her waist and pointing out the famous landmarks that could be glimpsed, and the outline of the fabled seven hills—they looked low, to Eloise’s eyes, but she marked them fondly all the same, for they were dear to Vito.
And he is dear to me.
The thought was clear in her head, catching at her consciousness. Making her lean into him even more, wrap her arm around his strong, lean waist. He turned to her, gazing down at her, and in his dark, long-lashed eyes Eloise saw desire, felt her own body respond as his mouth swooped to graze her tender lips, parting to his.
It did not take them long to make their way indoors again and take full advantage of the privacy and luxury of the penthouse’s master bedroom.
‘Welcome to Rome, my sweetest Eloise,’ was Vito’s soft murmur as he swept her away.
And all thoughts as to why Vito had brought her to yet another hotel instead of his own apartment, even though he was in his home city, fled from her utterly in the heady passion of his lovemaking.
* * *
Vito frowned, setting down the phone abruptly and swinging restlessly and with displeasure in the leather chair at his desk in his office. Accidenti, this was not what he wanted! Yet his mother had been adamant.
‘You absolutely have to be there tonight,’ she’d said, her tones strained.
But attending the function as his mother was insisting was the last thing he wanted to do—let alone on his first evening back in Rome after so long an absence. What he wanted to do—the way he wanted to spend the evening—was quite different!
To show Eloise Rome by night...
His expression softened. Eloise! Just thinking about her cheered his mood—a mood that had been tightening all day as he’d caught up on corporate affairs here at his head office. He’d wanted the evening off, to spend with Eloise, but now he’d be on show as the head of the Viscari family, no longer only the heir apparent while his uncle and father ran the business between them. Now everything rested only on him—the whole future of Viscari Hotels.
A bleak, painful look showed in Vito’s eyes. He leant back in his chair. His father’s chair. Four generations had preceded him. And they had created and held on to the legacy that now rested upon his shoulders and his alone.
Except... His eyes darkened now. That legacy was not his alone...
Vito’s hands gripped the arms of his chair. What had possessed his uncle Guido to leave his half of the Viscari shares not to his nephew—as had been the long-held understanding in
the family, given Guido’s lack of children of his own—but to his widow? That disastrous decision had, Vito knew, contributed to his father’s heart condition, hastening his premature end fifteen months ago, when he’d been frustrated in his attempts to buy back Guido’s shares from his widow Marlene.
Vito knew his parents had always considered her a social-climbing interloper into the Viscari family, hungry for power and influence. And that was why, Vito surmised, Marlene was adamantly refusing to sell her inherited shares, despite the handsome premium offered to her.
His eyes hardened to pinpoints. It was the same reason that lay behind Marlene’s most persistent and ludicrous fixation.
When she had married Guido, ten years ago, she had arrived from England with her teenage daughter Carla in tow, and ever since Guido’s death one obsession had dominated her. One way for her to cement her position in the Viscari family permanently.
Dream on, thought Vito, his mouth thinning. Marlene could have all the dreams she liked, but she would never achieve her ambition—her ludicrous, fantasy-driven ambition.
Vito was adamant. She was never, however much she wanted it, going to get him to marry her daughter.
