Page 1 of His Innocent's Passionate Awakening

CHAPTER ONE

ARTEMISIA BELLANTE STARED at her father’s lawyer in abject horror. ‘But there must be some mistake. How can Castello Mireille be...be mortgaged? It’s been in my father’s family for generations. Papa never mentioned anything about owing money to a bank.’

‘He didn’t owe it to a bank.’ The lawyer, Bruno Rossi, pushed a sheaf of papers across the desk towards Artie, his expression grave. ‘Have you heard of Luca Ferrantelli? He runs his late father’s global property developing company. He’s also a wine and olive producer with a keen interest in rare grape varieties, some of which are on the Castello Mireille estate.’

Artie lowered her gaze to the papers in front of her, a light shiver racing down her spine like a stray current of electricity. ‘I’ve vaguely heard of him...’ She might have spent years living in isolation on her family’s ancient estate but even she had heard of the handsome billionaire playboy. And seen pictures. And swooned just like any other woman between the ages of fifteen and fifty.

She raised her gaze back to the lawyer’s. ‘But how did this happen? I know Papa had to let some of the gardeners go to keep costs down and insisted we cut back on housekeeping expenses, but he didn’t mention anything about borrowing money from anyone. I don’t understand how Signor Ferrantelli now owns most, if not all, my family’s home. Why didn’t Papa tell me before he died?’

To find out like this was beyond embarrassing. And deeply hurtful. Was this her father’s way of forcing his shut-in daughter out of the nest by pushing her to the verge of bankruptcy?

Where would she find the sort of money to dig herself out of this catastrophic mess?

Bruno shifted his glasses further up the bridge of his Roman nose. ‘Apparently your father and Luca’s father had some sort of business connection in the past. He contacted Luca for financial help when the storm damage hit the castello late last year. His insurance policy had lapsed and he knew he would have no choice but to sell if someone didn’t bail him out.’

Artie rapid-blinked. ‘The insurance lapsed? But why didn’t he tell me? I’m his only child. The only family he had left. Surely he should have trusted me enough to tell me the truth about our finances.’

Bruno Rossi made a shrugging movement with one shoulder. ‘Pride. Embarrassment. Shame. The usual suspects in cases like this. He had to mortgage the estate to pay for the repairs. Luca Ferrantelli seemed the best option—the only option, considering your father’s poor state of health. But the repayment plan didn’t go according to schedule, which leaves you in an awkward position.’

Artie wrinkled her brow, a tension headache stabbing at the backs of her eyes like scorching hot needles. Was this a nightmare? Would she suddenly wake up and find this was nothing but a terrifying dream?

Please let this not be real.

‘Surely Papa knew he would have to eventually pay back the money he borrowed from Signor Ferrantelli? How could he have let it get to this? And wouldn’t Luca Ferrantelli have done due diligence and realised Papa wouldn’t be able to pay it back? Or was that Ferrantelli’s intention all along—to take the castello off us?’

Bruno leaned forward in his chair with a sigh. ‘Your father was a good man, Artie, but he wasn’t good at managing finances, especially since the accident. There have been a lot of expenses, as you know, with running the estate since he came home from hospital. Your mother was the one with the financial clout to keep things in the black, but of course, after she died in the accident, it naturally fell to him. Unfortunately, he didn’t always listen to advice from his accountants and financial advisors.’

He gave a rueful movement of his lips and continued.

‘I’m sure I wouldn’t be the first person to tell you how much the accident changed him. He fired his last three accountants because they told him things had to change. Luca Ferrantelli’s offer of financial help has meant you could nurse your father here until he passed away, but now of course, unless you can find the money to pay off the mortgage, it will remain in Luca’s possession.’

Over her dead body, it would. No way was she handing over her family’s home without a fight, even if it would be a David and Goliath mismatch. Artie would find some way of winning.

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She had to.

Artie did her best to ignore the beads of sweat forming between her shoulder blades. The drumbeat of panic in her chest. The hammering needles behind her eyeballs. The sense of the floor beneath her feet pitching like a paper boat riding a tsunami. ‘When and where did Papa meet with Signor Ferrantelli? I’ve been Papa’s full-time carer for the last ten years and don’t recall Signor Ferrantelli ever coming here to see him.’

‘Maybe he came one day while you were out.’

Out? Artie didn’t go out.

She wasn’t like other people, who could walk out of their homes and meet up with friends. It was impossible for her to be around more than one or two people at a time. Three was very definitely a crowd.

‘Maybe...’ Artie looked down at the papers again, conscious of warmth filling her cheeks. Her social anxiety was far more effective than a maximum-security prison. She hadn’t been outside the castello walls since she was fifteen.

Ten years.

A decade.

Two fifths of her life.

As far as she knew, it wasn’t common knowledge that she suffered from social anxiety. Her father’s dependence on her had made it easy to disguise her fear of crowds. She had relished the role of looking after him. It had given her life a purpose, a focus. She had mostly avoided meeting people when they came to the castello to visit her father. She stayed in the background until they left. But barely anyone but her father’s doctor and physical therapists had come during the last year or two of his life. Compassion fatigue had worn out his so-called friends. And now that the money had run dry, she could see why they had drifted away, one by one. There wasn’t anyone she could turn to. Having been home schooled since her mid-teens, she had lost contact with her school friends. Friends wanted you to socialise with them and that she could never do, so they, too, had drifted away.

She had no friends of her own other than Rosa, the housekeeper.

Artie took a deep breath and blinked to clear her clouded vision. The words in front of her confirmed her worst fears. Her home was mortgaged to the hilt. There was no way a bank would lend her enough funds to get the castello out of Luca Ferrantelli’s hands. The only job she had ever had was as her father’s carer. From fifteen to twenty-five she had taken care of his every need. She had no formal qualifications, no skills other than her embroidery hobby.

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