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He nodded. “I have promised a special friend of mine a tour of the kitchens. Would you be able to show Miss Smith around?”
“Of course, it would be my pleasure.”
“She is an exceptional chef, and will no doubt have many questions for you.” Then, to Charlotte, he offered a smile that was laced with sensual heat, so she almost forgot they had an audience. “Have fun.” Then, leaning closer, so only she could hear, “But not too much fun. Save that for me, later.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened and she swallowed with great difficulty, past a throat that was constricted by desire and need.
It was an afternoon out of a fantasy. Maria didn’t skip a single part of the trial kitchen, where new recipes were experimented with, and special editions crafted. She showed Charlotte all of the treats they were working on, for next year, and Charlotte tasted each and every one, offering her thoughts and suggestions. The work was incredibly seductive.
As a perfectionist driven by flavour, she could see how incredibly satisfying it would be to be tasked with the creation of a new flavour, of sampling many, many interactions to arrive at just the right palette sensation. It was hard not to feel a wave of envy for these chefs, who’d ended up working in a place like this.
Only a text from Dash had her pulling out of this fairytale—he’d sent a silly selfie with his friend and a note saying to have fun with Melody, so Charlotte felt a hint of guilt at the little white lie. But it was a necessary evil—she hadn’t been prepared to miss this experience.
Maria was lovely, and as they walked, she asked Charlotte about her work and life and Charlotte found herself opening up in a relaxed and informal manner, so that when Alessio returned, she couldn’t believe an hour had flown by.
“It’s wonderful,” she gushed, when they climbed back into his car, this time, alone, with Alessio behind the wheel.
“I thought you’d like it.”
“I really did. Thank you for bringing me here,” she said, with a shake of her head.
Alessio’s expression was knowing and while she couldn’t fathom why, twenty minutes later, when he turned the car off the main road and headed towards two large, wrought iron gates, her lips parted in an involuntary gesture of surprise. For beyond the gates, marked on three sides by rows of large, snow-covered pine-trees, was the most magnificent castle Charlotte had ever seen.
“Is this where we’re staying?” She asked of the hotel—so exclusive it didn’t even have signage.
He made a noise of agreement and excitement hummed inside Charlotte’s blood.
But as they approached the castle, something twigged in her mind. There was a noticeable lack of staff, of security, of other guests. He drew the car to a stop and a single servant appeared in a thick winter coat and hat, moving towards the car with a polite smile as he opened the doors.
“Signore Cavalcante, welcome home.”
“Grazie,Paolo.”
“Home,” she said with a shake of her head. “I should have known.”
He grinned in response, taking her hand in his as they walked away from the car.
By the time he’d shown her a little of the castle—it was enormous and would take days to see properly—Charlotte’s mind was spinning. “I can’t believe you ever go anywhere else,” she remarked. “If this was my home, I don’t think I’d be able to leave.”
“It gets very cold,” he responded lightly. “Sydney holds a certain appeal at this time of year.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Not for me. I love the winter, and I particularly love a white Christmas. Surely, there’s nowhere on earth more perfect than this?”
Alessio looked at her for several beats and the air seemed to evaporate out of the room. “Are you hungry?”
“I just ate my body weight in chocolate. I don’t know if I’ll ever be hungry again.”
“You haven’t tasted my housekeeper’s cooking.”
Charlotte’s brow lifted and despite the fact she was no longer remotely hungry, it was impossible not to feel a curious sense of interest in what might be on offer.
“But there’s no rush,” he said with a wink. “I want to show you something else first.”
Leading her through the ancient, formal living room, beyond a library, they emerged onto a terrace with a light covering of snow, and a little way over, a burst of steam. She frowned, trying to connect the dots.
“One of my favourite ways to relax,” he explained, pulling her with him towards the edge of the terrace, and the spa. It was large, lined with stone, filled with steaming hot water that looked so perfectly inviting, Charlotte trembled with anticipation.
“Swim with me?” The words were couched as a question but in fact, there was a hint of command in his tone—a command she had no interest in disobeying.
