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They ate in silence after that, both savouring the tastes until, once replete, Emily spread a map of the island on the table.
‘Right, the Royal Palace Gardens are here. I reckon we’ve got time for a couple of hours there before we head to the farm.’
‘Sounds good. Let’s go.’
Half an hour later they approached the lush green hill and looked towards the apex where the palace sprawled in an ungainly beauty. The red-orange walls were dappled with flecks of sunshine and the multi-faceted windows reflected myriad motes of light.
For a moment Luca wondered if Jodi’s friend was inside somewhere, a person who could give him the answers he sought, and then he was distracted as Emily made a sweeping gesture that encompassed lush landscaped meadows, flowering shrubs and bamboo thickets.
‘This definitely has potential.’
‘Yes.’ He looked down at her and for a bittersweet moment it seemed to him as though her words applied to them, that somehow in a different universe and time they had potential to be something more than business colleagues. But not in this one, for all the reasons they had enumerated only hours before.
‘Especially if you want the hint of royalty. Either way I’ll take some good focused shots of the palace and grounds.’
He watched as she clicked away, camera shutter whirring. She paused, looked up at the palace. ‘I wonder what history those walls have seen. And what sort of life goes on in there now.’
So, ironically enough, did he.
‘Anyway, I think I’ve got enough. Are there any particular angles you think I may have missed? Would you like a shot of you?’
‘No. I’m good, thank you. I’m sure you have it covered and I’m sure we don’t need a picture of me to sell chocolate.’
Emily took a deep breath. ‘Actually, I want to talk to you about that. I...well, I’ve had an idea.’
‘Go ahead.’ He indicated a bench and they sat down.
‘I think you would sell your chocolate.’ She pulled her phone out of her pocket and quickly scrolled down to a photo of him in the factory in Turin. ‘This would look great on your website. It could be part of your story. It shows how much you care, your passion for what you create. I think that will make people buy your products. People like the personal touch. You could have a photo of you with your mentor, the famous chocolatier, pictures of you mixing ingredients, on the cocoa farm. I’m happy to do it.’
He watched her expression, the way the light played on her skin, her excitement at the idea, the expressive wave of her hands and he wanted to encourage that, wanted to agree, but he couldn’t. He had always vowed never to do what his father had done—bind his product to his name. ‘I told you, Emily, I don’t want to be on the website. I prefer being an invisible presence.’
‘But why?’ Now she twisted to face him, her brown eyes studying his expression as her forehead creased in puzzlement. ‘You have achieved so much, Luca. It’s...incredible and, damn it, I bet loads of people want to know how you did it, want the personal touch. The Petrovelli brand. The Petrovelli story.’
‘I prefer to remain out of the public eye,’ he said.
She shook her head and he could see hurt dawn in her eyes. ‘It’s OK. Obviously you have your reasons and you don’t want to share them. I thought it would be a good idea. Sorry I overstepped.’
Damn it. Luca tried to tell himself he hadn’t asked Emily to waste her time on this, that this wasn’t his fault. But as she stood up and hitched her camera onto her shoulder he knew he wanted to erase the hurt from her gaze. He suspected she’d been hurt enough recently, knew she’d taken the rejection personally as a slur on her ability.
‘You didn’t. And I truly love your ideas. But I can’t do it—tell the Petrovelli story. You think I should do what my father did, and I understand that it’s a great marketing strategy.’ Dolci’s success had been part founded on marketing the Casseveti name, the entrepreneur husband, the aristocratic beautiful wife, the cute Casseveti heiress, the celebrity lifestyle. ‘But the whole Casseveti fairy tale was built on a foundation of betrayal, on my mother’s misery and abandonment. The Petrovelli story is the flipside of the Casseveti coin. When my father left we had nothing.’ His mother had refused to take anything, had too much pride, ‘Then my mother realised she was pregnant. That chocolate I told you about that she craved—do you want to know why she was so restrained when she ate it? Because there was only one small bar, and even that I begged from the shop owner. When it was gone, we sat and listed the ingredients together, closed our eyes and imagined the taste. That’s how my love of chocolate started. And I’ll be damned if I put that on the website.’
She sat back down on the bench, turned towards him, her focus now solely on him. ‘I’m sorry. I assumed your father supported you, or at least made some sort of settlement.’ The compassion on her face was almost painful and he didn’t want it. This was exactly why he didn’t share his background. He did not want pity, remembered it etched on the man who owned the chocolate shop all those years ago, on the faces of anyone who ever discovered they were Cassevetis, the pauper outcasts of the Dolci brand. Remembered the bullying, all brought about because a playground thug had seen an article on the Cassevetis.
But all that was over. ‘There is no need to be sorry. It doesn’t matter any more. It is best forgotten.’
‘No, it isn’t. Because it makes your story all the more amazing. You built Palazzo di Cioccolato from nothing, built it on a foundation of guts and de
termination. And I bet your mum is proud of you.’
Now he was on easier ground. ‘She is amazing; I couldn’t have done it without her. She didn’t let what my father did make her bitter. And she always put us first. Looking back, I know how terrified she must have been, how lost and lonely. I do remember her crying a lot but always when she thought I couldn’t hear her. And somehow she picked herself up and supported us. Found a way to put food on the table. She worked in some terrible places, but she also studied, did evening courses and now she is a high-flying lawyer. And somehow through all of it she was always there for us, to help with homework, to talk to us, to support us.’
‘She sounds wonderful.’
‘She is. Jodi and I are lucky.’
‘Yes, you are. Truly lucky.’ For a second she looked away into the distance and her wistful voice made him wonder what her own relationship with her mother was like. ‘So why not put that on your website? A tribute to your mum, a picture of you and her, part of your story to honour her strength.’
‘No. I won’t do that; I won’t do what my father did, spin a sugary story of love and devotion and family. I do love my family—I would do anything for my mother, for Jodi. Anything. But I will not use that love and turn it into a publicity stunt to sell my product. Our family life is private.’ Even now he wasn’t sure he understood what his mum had gone through, but he knew he wouldn’t expose her or Jodi in any way to the public eye.
