Page 31 of The Housekeeper and the Brooding Billionaire

His mouth twisted. He had no doubt every invitation would be accepted. Everyone would be eager to see how he fared after his wife’s death. To try to discover the truth of the rumours they’d all been spreading.

‘Apart from the invitation list, I’ll leave every detail of that in your capable hands. As well as spring cleaning thecastello, of course.’ Alessio smirked, knowing preparation for the gala ball alone usually took a team months of work. Charlotte’s arrested expression told him she was beginning to guess as much.

Good. That would keep her busy and out of his way.

‘If you manage that to my satisfaction, I’ll give you a glowing reference to take to your next position.’

He straightened and headed for thecastelloentrance.

‘One more thing.’ He paused beside her, knowing he was being unreasonable, knowing he’d owe her a massive apology later, yet unable to prevent himself taking out his simmering fury on the woman who’d brought all this to a head. ‘I want you there through it all, but not behind the scenes. I want you front and centre as my hostess.’

It was one thing to work for rich hotel clients, quite another to mix with them as an equal in a social setting. Charlotte Symonds would learn how tough that was.

Maybe then she’d have some tiny inkling of how appalling it was for him to face the prospect of society’s curious gaze. The whispers and gossip. The false sympathy hiding eagerness for juicy details of his personal life.

If he had to suffer through the spring festivities, so could she. With luck she’d resign when she realised what she was facing. Then maybe he’d have some measure of peace in his home.

The thought should have pleased him. Yet as he stalked inside, Alessio’s mood was grimmer than ever.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHARLOTTELIFTEDHERhead and stretched cramped fingers. She’d missed the sunset again, her favourite time of day. Now the island and lake were bathed in deepening indigo.

The place had a special quality she’d felt from the beginning. A beauty and peacefulness that she appreciated more the longer she stayed.

Even now, with preparations for the festival in full swing. The silence was regularly broken by the sound of power tools, boats and voices as structures were made for outdoor celebrations and seating to view the boat races. For the peace was about far more than silence. The island drew her, welcomed her. She’d miss it when she left in two months.

Her mouth flattened and she rose, rolling stiff shoulders and walking to her window at the sound of voices.

Alessio approached down the cobbled lane with three other men. They stood close, gesticulating as they talked, pointing to the shoreline and arguing the merits of putting banked seating there. Alessio murmured something, and there was a roar of laughter.

This wasn’t the first time she’d witnessed his easy interaction with the locals, though a mere week ago they’d seemed more reserved, as if they weren’t used to his company.

Had he cut himself off fromeveryone? Her heart squeezed.

Clearly, though, they respected and liked him, and he felt the same about them. No wonder they’d protected his privacy. Alessio might enjoy adopting the role of lofty lord of the manor with her sometimes, but he wasn’t always so stiff-necked.

Something pulled in Charlotte’s chest. Pleasure, seeing him interacting easily when once he’d been so reclusive? Delight at his resonant, deep chuckle that, even from this distance, melted some of the tension in her weary body?

She tried to summon anger. It was his fault she was exhausted, working through the evenings. He’d set her an almost impossible challenge because she’d dared to interfere.

Still, Alessio undid her as no man ever had.

Just as well they didn’t spend enough time together for him to notice. Though, to his credit, he increasingly sought her out to check how she was faring and, she suspected, to give her the chance to ask for help. But she’d been too proud, determined to prove herself.

Her father had consistently underrated her, jeering at what he called the humdrum domestic skills she’d learned from her mother. Charlotte didn’t know if she was working herself to the bone to prove herself to Alessio or to the father who’d never see the fruits of her labour.

And she thought Alessio had problems, letting the past shadow the present too much!

Face it. It’s not your father you’re trying to impress. It’s Alessio. You want him to be stunned by how wonderful the ball is, how successful and grand. You want him to look at you with admiration and respect.

She watched the men walk away and drew a deep breath, scented with sweet-smelling flowers.

Slowly Charlotte turned, her gaze falling on rich, blue velvet. The dress she was making for the ball.

Alessio had wanted to punish her for daring to question him. She’d read his temper. No doubt he’d expected her to be out of her depth and turn to him, begging for help.

Her lips twisted. For once her past was her secret weapon instead of a burden. She’d been born and bred for events like this. Even in her teens, she’d worn designer evening gowns.

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