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I let cool water pool in my palms and brought it to my face and then to the back of my neck. I took several deep breaths while I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I’d dreamed of Mylos last night, and it left me feeling unsettled. He was angry with me. He’d shouted his words at me, none of which I couldn’t remember when I woke. I’d never known him to raise his voice. He’d never spoken a word to me in real anger. He’d scolded me all those years ago when I tried to use him to make Paolo jealous. How ironic that the three of us were in the same place at the same time once again.
I leaned forward and used the tip of my finger to wipe away the mascara that had run, washed, and dried my hands. When I came out of the ladies’ room and looked over to the bar, the table where I’d seen Mylos sat empty.
“Here you are,” said Paolo, handing me a small envelope and leading me to the elevator. He pressed the button for the tenth floor, and the door closed, leaving us alone.
“You’re on ten, I’m on nine, unless you’d like to switch. The rooms are identical.”
“Thank you for honoring my request, Paolo.”
“Separate rooms?”
“Sì.”
He leaned against the elevator wall and rested the back of his hand on his forehead. “You continue to resist me, but soon, I’ll win you over. If it’s the last thing I do. Until then, I will remain your devoted servant.”
I smiled and swatted his arm. “Sciocchino.”
“We’ll meet in the lobby at seven?” he asked after walking me to my room.
“Thank you again, Paolo, for allowing me to come with you on this trip.”
“Sweet, sweet, Pia. The pleasure is all mine.”
We had a dinner meeting scheduled for eight with the Fellwood Group, the largest wine and spirit distributor in the UK. If they were to add our wine to their list, that alone would give me the sales I needed not only to keep V
alentini afloat, but to implement some of the other ideas I’d been toying with.
Throughout the meal, I found my thoughts drifting to Mylos. Why had he been in the bar of our hotel? Had Lily told him I was visiting London? I hadn’t told her where I was staying.
“Pia?” Paolo touched my arm.
“Pardon?”
“Mr. Fell asked what your current production levels are for Brunello di Montalcino and Rosso di Montalcino?”
“Ten thousand cases each, at the DOCG level, of course.”
Mr. Fell and his colleague, Mr. Wood, raised a brow.
“Additionally, fifteen thousand cases each of Brunellos and Brunello Riservas.”
“Impressive. Paolo, these numbers are higher than yours,” said Mr. Wood.
“If I may, while production may seem high for these particular wines, unlike Viticcio, we only grow Sangiovese.”
The rest of the dinner conversation was focused on more of the same, and at the end, the gentlemen from Fellwood promised we’d hear from them in the next few days with an order.
“This is fantastic,” said Paolo on the cab ride back to the hotel.
“It is.” I tried to match his enthusiasm, but until I saw what the orders were, I was hesitant to celebrate.
“What do you say we have a nightcap?” he asked as we walked into the hotel.
“Thank you, Paolo, but I am very tired. I think I’ll call it a night. Thank you again for all you’ve done for Valentini.”
“I’ll ride up with you.” He put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “We make a good team, Pia.” As we waited for the elevator, he lowered his lips to mine. I tried to back away, but with his arm around my neck, I couldn’t, so I turned my face. “Paolo, please.”
“I thought perhaps, since dinner went so well, you would be in the mood to…thank me.”
