Page 6 of My Fake Italian Marriage

He turned her hand over; checking for an engagement or wedding ring, she realised. She wore a few rings, including her favourite, an amethyst set in rose-gold filigree in the shape of a dragonfly. But none on her ring finger. He smirked, and she snapped her hand away. “Now that you’re here, perhaps we can get to business?”

“You don’t want to see your room first or freshen up?” Signora Fioravanti asked.

“I won’t need a room. I won’t be staying.”

“You brought a suitcase,” the older woman pointed out.

“I’ll find a hotel room in town.”

“You are not staying with your friend?” Luca eyed her speculatively, finally connecting the dots.

Cleo shook her head. “Her guest rooms are fully booked this weekend with a wedding party.”

His mother’s eyebrows arched in enquiry, and Cleo suppressed the feeling of being on the wrong side of an interrogation. Luca had made the connection between her and Sarah, but clearly his parents hadn’t.

“Sarah di Biasi is my friend,” she explained.

Their gazes turned frostier, and she didn’t entirely blame them. Sarah not only owned the rival neighbouring vineyard, but she was the reason their vineyard was in hock to Crown Venture Capital. Though, to be fair, Sarah had only asked Kevin to invest in this vineyard because Giovanni Fioravanti’s greed had threatened her inheritance.

Interestingly, Luca’s eyes did not turn frosty. They kindled, crinkling at the edges in the age-old sign of piqued interest.

Cleo resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Luca had tried to seduce Sarah when she first arrived in Tuscany, and by all accounts he’d been pretty good at it. But he’d also been seeing heaven-only-knew how many other women at the same time. Typical arse. Well, fore-warned was fore-armed, as her mother often said, so even had Cleo not sworn off good-looking men who believed themselves God’s gift to women, she still wouldn’t give Luca Fioravanti the time of day.

“A hotel will not be necessary.” Signora Fioravanti glanced at her husband. “You will stay here until your business is done. This house is big enough, and we have everything you need.”

Her tone left Cleo no way to politely refuse. So much for a quick in and out visit. But hopefully she wouldn’t need to stay more than one night. She could get the business stuff sorted with Luca, and still spend the rest of the weekend playing tourist, and be back in the office in Cheapside on Monday morning. On the bright side, maybe being this close to the family wasn’t such a bad thing. She’d have the opportunity to find out what Giovanni Fioravanti’s chances of recovery really were. “Thank you for the invitation. That’s very kind of you.”

The older man nodded, then sent a pointed look at his son. “You will take Miss Arendse to the winery and introduce her to Silvio.”

Cleo wasn’t entirely sure what that look meant, but she could guess:use your charm, keep her happy, get rid of her.

She snort-laughed. She knew the rules of this particular game. Women like her were supposed to be malleable, easy to impress and easy to seduce. Good enough to flirt with and to bed, but never good enough for anything else where the beloved son and heir was concerned. But Cleo had never been good at following the rules, and she’d worked her way up in an industry dominated by wealthy men. She was neither malleable nor easy to impress, and if they thought she was such a pushover that a pretty face would distract her from work, then they had another think coming.

She gave Luca the smile that her brothers would have recognised as saying “Bring it on”.

ChapterFour

Le disgrazie non vanno mai sole.

(Troubles never come alone.)

The winery was a long, squat building with the same generous proportions as the main house, and with the same red-tiled roof, though this building was of sand-coloured stone, more rustic than the imposing mansion—clearly a building made for work rather than to impress. Though it wasn’t far from the main house, a curve of the hill and a row of dark, stately cypresses concealed it from the house’s view. Despite the walkable distance, Luca insisted on driving them. No doubt to show off his sports car. It would take more than a common or garden Ferrari Portofino to make her blink, though. Evan had driven a Lamborghini Roadster, a highly impractical car for London’s congested streets, but it had achieved its aim and turned more heads wherever they went than Luca’s car ever would.

“So, what does a banker know about winemaking?” he asked as he parked in the shade of the cypresses. Though he said it with a dimpling smile, she heard the challenge in his voice.

“Like you, I was raised on a wine farm.” But unlike Luca, she hadn’t grown up with wine in her blood. Being the daughter of the farm foreman was a world away from being the son and heir of the estate, as she knew only too well.

Silvio, the vineyard manager, came out to greet them. His hair was a thick mop flecked with grey, and his face was sun-lined and tanned. Cleo liked him immediately. He wiped his hands on his overalls, before extending one to Cleo to shake. He led them into the cellar building, introducing Cleo to the couple of cellar hands who hovered inside, eyeing her with undisguised curiosity, then escorted them upstairs to Giovanni’s spacious, modern office, which had a sweeping view over the sloping vines. He offered them coffee, and since she’d never got that cup of tea, Cleo gladly accepted, though when it arrived it was strong enough to stand a spoon up in.

If the jolt of raw caffeine wasn’t enough to give her a headache, then the situation at Fioravanti Vineyard certainly was. “This vineyard cannot operate without Giovanni,” Silvio said bluntly, though he inclined his head diffidently to Luca. “I’m a farmer, not a businessman.”

She turned to Luca too, with a lot less diffidence. “Your father implied that you are running the business in his absence.”

He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I will help where I can, but I’ve never been involved in the vineyard. I’m an advocate, not a winemaker.” He shrugged. “But isn’t this why you are here? To run the vineyard until my father recovers?”

Cleo opened her mouth to tell him she had absolutely no clue how to run a wine farm, but just as quickly clamped it shut again. Better to let him think the bank had sent an expert, than have him wonder why she’d been sent instead. “I have a heavy workload and other clients to attend to. I can’t take too much time away from London.”

Luca frowned. “Then you are here to foreclose and sell the vineyard?”

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