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‘At the last report she was fine,’ he said coolly as an attendant approached to inform them they would be landing soon.
The drive from the airport to the Montaldi estate near Monreale was swift and conducted in silence on her part, and with rapier-sharp Sicilian conversation on Alessio’s. At some point he switched to French, then to German. From the snippets she could grasp, several irons he’d placed in his fire before being snowbound with her were ready.
But despite the flash of triumph on his face after each call ended, he grew tenser as they passed beneath what looked like a caretaker’s residence spread over towering iron gates.
Giada grasped the reason for the grand entrance when, after three heart-racing minutes driving along a tree-lined stone drive, an honest to goodness eighteenth-century castle unfolded into view.
Complete with battlements, turrets and pointed arches, it was straight out of a neo-Gothic fairy tale.
‘Welcome to Castello Montaldi.’ The throb of pride in his voice didn’t defuse his tension as he threw open his door and held out his hand to her.
Giada followed him up a porticoed entrance and into a jaw-dropping marble foyer, determined not to be overwhelmed.
A single step later, she knew it was a lost cause. Everywhere she looked, Alessio’s proud heritage loomed.
‘I need to attend to a few things. Vincenza will show you to your room.’ A middle-aged woman with a kind smile and greying hair stepped forward, her clothing and bearing marking her as the housekeeper. Alessio started to turn away, then veered back. ‘Vincenza will also help you pick an attire for tonight. I’ve had a few delivered for you.’
‘What’s happening tonight?’ she asked.
A hard little smile lifted his lips. ‘A family party. You’ll be attending as my guest, of course.’
Giada wanted to shout at him to come back. To curse him for springing this unwanted surprise on her. But she feared it would fall on deaf ears. Or worse, that she’d dissolve into hysterics. How foolish had she been to think leaving their snowbound chalet behind would mean the end of this roller coaster?
And how especially foolish was she to experience that lingering thrill that she would spend at least another day with Alessio before—?
The bracing reminder of Gigi’s plight shaved off several layers of her traitorous feelings as she followed Vincenza up one set of sweeping stairs.
‘Thecastellois big,signora, so it will be better if a maid stays close by to bring you where you need to go,se?’ Vincenza smiled when Giada nodded.
Several hallways later and a brief history that informed her there were nineteen bedrooms, a chapel, and a private park on the estate among many other eye-goggling facts, double doors opened into a stunning stone-walled room, complete with four-poster, antique sofas she was sure were as old as thecastello, and blood-red velvet drapes tied back with gold rope.
And at the foot of her bed, a rail of exquisite gowns waited on hangers. A glimpse of the labels made her eyes widen, although, in hindsight, she shouldn’t have been surprised.
She nodded through the quick tour of her suite, then as Vincenza prepared to leave after promising a tray of refreshments, Giada cleared her throat. ‘Is the party for a specific reason or is it a yearly thing?’
Vincenza hesitated, then her eyes shadowed a little. ‘The Montaldi Christmas ball is a tradition started by hismatrithat Signor Alessio continues.’
Aball, not a party. Damn Alessio. ‘I see.’ Her gaze drifted back to the gowns. ‘And what time am I to be ready?’ she asked.
‘It starts at seven. I’ll return to help you get dressed,’ Vincenza replied.
She wanted to tell the older woman not to bother, that she could dress herself, but something held her tongue. Alessio’s tension suggested this wasn’t just another traditional holiday event. The last thing Giada wanted was to compound her sins.
She murmured her thanks, and when the tray arrived, she nibbled on olives, parcelled meats and pastries, washed down with a gorgeous chilled limoncello. Then she took a long, leisurely bath, attempting not to succumb to the growing anxiety at Gigi’s continued radio silence.
She chose the blood-orange velvet gown because it was festive, she told herself. Not because the Montaldi coat of arms she’d seen stamped on various items throughout her suite bore the same colour.
Vincenza’s smile of approval when she saw Giada’s choice eased her growing jitters. And by the time the older woman had expertly coiled and woven Giada’s newly shampooed ash-blonde hair into an elaborate chignon, it was impossible not to feel a resurgence of overwhelming sensation.
Dragging her gaze from the woman in the full-length gilt-edged mirror, who was at once familiar and alien to her, Giada smiled at Vincenza. ‘Thank you for your help.’
The housekeeper returned her smile, then reached for the velvet pouch she’d brought with her. ‘From Signor Alessio. For you to wear, then meet him downstairs.’
Giada spun to face her. ‘What is it?’
Vincenza pulled out a squat jewellery box and deftly flipped it open. Giada gasped. If she’d thought the perfect little gems from the chalet were breathtaking, this was on another level. The ruby and diamond necklace winked and sparkled its brilliance from its velvet bed. And, damn it all, it was perfect for the dress she’d chosen.
Giada thought of refusing but as quickly as the denial rose, she squashed it. There was no point.
