Page 13 of Saved by the CEO

At first she didn’t look twice at the internet alert, the helpful online tracker she’d created to stay on top of the news. Another reference to the wedding, she assumed. Every day brought two or three mentions. It wasn’t until she was about to log off that she realized the alert was one she’d set up before leaving Boston. The words Louisa Clark leaped from the screen in boldface type.

Her heart stopped. A year. A whole year without mention. Why now?

She slid her fingers to the mouse. Please be a coincidence, she prayed.

And she clicked open the link.

CHAPTER THREE

SCAM KING’S EX HOSTS ROYAL WEDDING

Is Luscious Louisa Looking for a New Partner?

After nine months under the radar, Louisa Clark, the blonde bombshell who seduced and ultimately brought down bogus financier Steven Clark has reappeared. This time in Europe under the name Louisa Harrison...

A BIG FAT PHOTO of her smiling at the royal couple ran under the headline.

The article went on to list her as the owner of Palazzo di Comparino and suggested that hosting the wedding had been her way of snagging a new billionaire husband. Because, after all, that was how she’d landed Steven, right? She was the young femme fatale employee who’d seduced her older boss, only to sell him out when the feds began closing in. Never mind that the narrative didn’t remotely resemble the truth. That she was the one who had been seduced and betrayed. Just as long as the story sold papers.

Louisa tried to breathe, but an invisible hand had found its way to her throat and was choking the air out of her. The site even used that god-awful nickname. Stupid headline writers and their need for memorable alliteration. No way would this be the only article. Not in the internet era when every gossip blog and newspaper fed off every other.

Sure enough. A few shaky keystrokes later, the search results scrolled down her screen. Some of the stories focused on rehashing the case. Others, though, created all-new speculation. One politician in Florence was even demanding an investigation into the al fresco discovered in the palazzo chapel last summer, claiming it could be part of an elaborate art fraud scheme. Every page turned up more. Headline after headline: Ponzi Scheme Seductress Turns Sights on Tuscany and Italy: Lock Up Your Euros! and Royal Scandal! Is Halencia’s Financial Future at Stake?

Oh God, Christina and Antonio. She’d turned their fairy-tale wedding into a mockery. They must hate her. Everyone must hate her. Dani. Rafe. Nico. They loved Monte Calanetti; all they wanted was for their village to thrive, and she was tainting the town with scandal. How could she ever show her face in town again?

The phone rang. Louisa jumped. Don’t answer it. It could be a reporter. Old habits, buried but not forgotten, kicked right in.

Not a reporter, thank goodness. The bank. The name appeared under the number on her call screen. One guess as to why they were calling. Forcing air into her lungs, she answered.

“Signorina Harrison?” an unfamiliar female voice asked.

“Y-yes.” Louisa fought to keep her voice from shaking, and lost.

“I’m calling for Signor Merloni. He’s asked me to tell you he can’t meet with you today. Something has suddenly come up.”

“Right. Of course.” What a surprise. A lump formed in her throat. Only pride—or maybe it was masochism—made her hang on the line and go through the motions. “Did...did Signor Merloni give you a new date?”

“No, he did not,” the woman replied. “I’m afraid his calendar is full for the next several weeks. He’s going to have to call you when a time becomes available.”

And so the ostracism started. Louisa knew the drill. Signor Merloni wouldn’t call back. No one would.

They never did.

Phone dropping from her fingers, Louisa stumbled toward the terrace doors, toward the fresh air and rolling hills she’d come to see as home, only to stop short. Paparazzi could be lurking anywhere, their telephoto lenses poised to snag the next exclusive shot of Luscious Louisa. They could be hiding this moment among the grapevines.

So much for going outside. Backing away, she sank into the cushions when her calves collided with the sofa. What now? She couldn’t call anyone. She couldn’t go outside.

It was just like before. She was a prisoner in her own home.

Damn you, Steven. Even in prison, he was still controlling her life.

* * *

The Brix level matched the portable reading exactly. Nico wasn’t surprised. When it came to grapes, he was seldom wrong. Of course not. Making wine is the only thing you really care about.

The voice in his head, which sounded suspiciously like his former fiancée’s, was wrong. Making wine wasn’t the only thing he cared about; there was his family, too. And tradition, although tradition involved winemaking so perhaps they were one and the same. Still, while he found great satisfaction in bottling the perfect vintage, if Amatucci Vineyards collapsed tomorrow, he wouldn’t collapse in despair. That was his parents’ domain. If he couldn’t make wine anymore, he would cope, the same way he’d coped when Floriana had walked out on him, or whenever he’d come home to discover his parents had broken up—again. Dispassion, when you thought about it, was a blessing. Heaven knew it had saved him from going mad when growing up.

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