Page 30 of The Housekeeper and the Brooding Billionaire

‘You’ve already discussed this with them?’ Alessio’s voice was sharp with warning.

Charlotte heard it. Her crossed arms and tight shoulders now looked defensive rather than challenging.

‘After I asked Mario about it, he mentioned it to some of the others. A couple of them spoke to me.’

In other words, she’d gone behind his back. Alessio’s chest rose and fell as he reined in anger.

Anna had asked about a festival last year, but she’d understood, as had the other islanders, that such a celebration was inappropriate given his loss.

‘This is none of your business. You’re an outsider.’

Once again Charlotte’s cheeks flushed pink. Then the colour faded, leaving her features pale and taut. Piling another layer of guilt onto Alessio’s conscience.

‘I apologise if I’ve overstepped the mark.’ Her voice was brittle but not, he realised, with apology. ‘I’ve followed the guidelines you and Anna set. Given your instructions not to interrupt you, I haven’t had a chance to raise the issue with you before now.’ She paused as if daring him to disagree. Her eyes flashed fire, and his skin prickled. ‘So I decided to start at least preparing thecastelloin case you agreed.’

Her breasts rose against her pale shirt, and Alessio couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if Charlotte shared some of the passion she tried to suppress with a man. With him. His groin grew tight and heavy, and that annoyed him even more.

Alessio was trapped in a never-ending cycle. Solitude brought little relief. But being with people again brought more problems. He couldn’t even manage his feelings for his housekeeper. He was wracked by libidinous urges he couldn’t relieve and bound by past mistakes to live out his penance alone.

‘Well, you know now. No festival.’

‘Even though the people here want it? Just because you want to bury yourself here, don’t they deserve their celebration?’

Alessio stared. Was she accusing him of being selfish? She hadn’t used the word, but the implication was clear. He saw the judgement in those blazing eyes. As forburying himself, no one bar his Great-Aunt Beatrice had the nerve to say such a thing.

‘Wouldn’t the festival be another, bigger chance to showcase the island and local businesses? A showcase they badly need. I’ve heard people come from Rome and beyond for the celebrations. It would be a huge boost locally. From what I’ve heard, they badly need that.’

The truth of her words stopped his automatic refusal.

Alessio grew hot and then cold with shame. He’d made a point recently of visiting his neighbours, gauging how they were doing. Most were highly skilled craftspeople, many in specialised fields. A few had weathered the recent economic difficulties well, but others hadn’t. He had plans to help them but hadn’t even considered the festival as a springboard for those plans. Now he realised it was an obvious starting point.

Not that anyone had mentioned the festival to him. Because they respected his mourning? Or because they knew he’d dismiss it out of hand?

Self-absorbed.Selfish.The words circled in his head.

Had his rejection of the outside world meant he held his own people to ransom? His gut curdled, and his mouth tugged down in a grimace self-disgust.

He spun around and planted his hands on the stone balustrade, feeling his lowering head drag heavily at his shoulders. Feeling the lead in his belly as he stared at the beautiful, unforgiving waters that had shaped his life.

‘If you’re concerned about being with strangers...’ She faltered to a stop as he swung around.

He’d had enough of Charlotte analysing him. It was clear she believed he was hiding away, a skulking hermit too scared to leave his home or meet others.

Yet you haven’t left the island in three years.

That didn’t matter. That was his choice. He had everything he needed here. Yet her pity grated.

Out of the plethora of emotions bombarding him, guilt, dismay, determination and even unwilling arousal as he watched Charlotte’s breasts rise with each quick breath, the strongest was anger. At himself above all, for being blind and thoughtless, burying himself in his own needs instead of doing his duty by his people.

Anger at Charlotte too, for seeing what he hadn’t and making him face it. He knew he was at risk of shooting the messenger. She hadn’t actually done anything wrong, but his fury needed an outlet.

Alessio leaned back against the balustrade, planting his hands on the stonework and crossing his ankles with a nonchalance he didn’t feel. She thought him pitiable? A shadow of the man he’d been, scared to face the world again?

Battered pride rose. It was easier to cling to that than admit she was right and thank her for forcing him to see what he’d done.

‘Very well. The festival will go ahead.’ Her eyes rounded and her lips, those sweet lips that haunted his dreams, curved in the beginnings of a smile. ‘I’ll take care of it.’ He’d get started today. ‘Except for the grand spring ball. That’s what you’re cleaning the chandeliers for, isn’t it?’

Before Charlotte could respond, he continued. ‘There’ll be several hundred guests. Some locals but many more from elsewhere. The cream of European high society.’

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