Page 1 of The Sexy Billionaire

1

PAIGE

“Ican’t believe she’s gone,” I sniffle through my tears as we lay my great-aunt to rest in the family crypt in the village cemetery. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and a large crowd has gathered to say their goodbyes to a woman who loved them like they were her own family. One by one, they pay their respects to her and then to us before wiping away their tears and moving on. It’s hard to hold it together while the procession of mourners passes by. I don’t know how much longer I can stand here without collapsing into a heap, especially since my legs are wobbling like Jell-O. I wish my husband was here with me. I need his support at this time, but we’ve only just opened our restaurant back in New York months earlier, and as the head chef, he needed to be there. Thankfully, my girls, Callie and Savannah, are by my side, giving me the strength to get through this heartbreaking day.

Once the last of the mourners have paid their respects to her and us, we head back to my great-aunt’s estate to celebrate her life with a huge Italian feast.

“It was a beautiful day, Paige,” Savannah says, linking her arm with mine as we navigate the cobblestone lanes back to the car.

“She would have loved all the fuss,” I tell her, which makes me smile while simultaneously making my heart ache.

“She never said no to a party,” Callie adds, taking my other arm in hers.

That was the truth; she could out-party people half, if not a third her age. Losing her big ball of energy is going to be hard. I can already feel it about the place; something is missing, and it’s her.

It doesn’t take us long to get back to her estate, and when we arrive, I’m overwhelmed to see the entire village has come back and cooked, producing an amazing meal for all the mourners and placing it on an array of tables that have been set up in the gardens. A band of older men have set up in the corner and are playing traditional music, which has people singing and clapping.

“Girls, you look like you need a drink.” Mario, the winemaker from next door, hands the three of us glasses of wine and tells us all to drink up. Before I know it, the somber mood of earlier has been replaced with one of celebration as everyone sings, chats, drinks, and eats. Lucia would have loved all this; she’s probably looking down on the party as we speak, dressed in head-to-toe designer threads, dripping in diamonds, probably internally cringing that we are using the wrong wine glasses for everyone’s drinks. But she would be saying, “Life is too short to not enjoy it,” and enjoy it she did. She was the coolest woman I knew. Great-Aunt Lucia was an over-the-top, uninhibited Italian spinster who never got married because she never wanted a man to tell her how she could live her life. She balked at the social conforms of women of her era, and she was a force to be reckoned with.

There’s a giant hole left in my heart now that she’s gone. She was my ride-or-die, and we would speak for hours about everything. Each summer, my parents would send me and my brother, Smith, to her estate in the Tuscan countryside to soak up our Italian heritage. Unfortunately, my mother’s parents had both passed before we were born. Lucia was the link for my mother and us to the Italian blood that flowed in our veins.

I loved Italy. It was always my happy place—the sunshine, the rolling hills of vines, the food, the culture, and the fashion. I was a die-hard Italian junkie; so much so that I chose to attend college in Florence instead of back home. I studied at the American University of Florence and received a Bachelor of Arts degree in food and wine studies. I love food and wine;who doesn’t?My great-aunt had a little apartment in the heart of Florence right near the school that I lived in during the week, and on the weekends, I would drive out to her estate and spend most of my time with her. I did this for four years.

She loved it when I asked if I could bring some friends with me for the weekend. She was in her element, hosting everyone, filling us with food, and plying us with wine from her neighbors’ vineyard. My friends loved hanging out with her; she was a larger-than-life character who wore diamonds while cooking up a big batch of homemade pasta. She was eccentric, but also badass.

And now, those times are over. When we found out she was sick, we all flew out as soon as we could. We had a couple of days with her before she passed peacefully in her bed at home. Ever the diva, a ray of moonlight shone on her as she took her last breath as if God himself was calling her to the heavens. I don’t know how I’m going to go on without her being a phone call away.

She was my rock.

The celebration of her life continued well into the evening; it’s been hard putting on a brave face in front of everyone. The wine has helped, but I need a moment by myself; it’s all too much for me.

Why did you have to get sick? Why did you leave me? What am I meant to do without you?

The tears stream down my face as I stare out across the darkened land, the twinkling lights of distant houses illuminating sporadically across the vineyards that have disappeared, along with the sun’s gaze.

“I’m sorry to disturb you. I wanted to pay my respects.” The deep, velvety voice startles me, making me jump, and I pour wine all over myself.

“Shit,” I curse as I drop my glass and jump up, my private moment broken.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” the voice says.

Turning around quickly, I’m seconds away from giving this well-wisher a piece of my mind when I look up into those dark chocolate eyes, ones I haven’t seen in a lifetime, ones that used to know every inch of my body and could read my soul.

“Giorgio.” I gasp as I take in the man standing in front of me. He’s not the shy eighteen-year-old boy he once was. This is a man full of confidence, comfortable in his skin. My eyes trail down over his black tailored suit cut to perfection across his broad shoulders, before returning up to that face, the one that I’d spent all my summers staring at from beneath our sheets, across the table, underneath our favorite tree, and snuggled up in the back seat of his car. “You’ve grown up.” I gulp as the air around us thickens. The boy I once loved has turned into one of the most handsome men I’ve ever laid eyes on.

“So have you,” he says, giving me the once-over, clocking the changes the past fifteen years have had on us.

A flush starts to rise along my chest as he stares down at me. I’m a married woman. I shouldn’t be feeling like this; it’s the wine, that’s all. It’s been a horrible day, and I’m shocked to see him here.

“I’m sorry about Lucia. I know how hard this must be for you.”

The air is sucked out of my lungs and tears start to well in my eyes over long-lost memories that are floating to the surface. The next thing I know, I am wrapping my arms around the man from my past as I start to break down. He stiffens against me before hugging me back. We stand there in dark silence as I try to compose myself. Eventually, I pull away and realize I’ve smudged mascara across his white shirt.

Shit.

“I’m sorry,” I say, staring at what looks to be a designer shirt—it probably cost more than I have.

“It’s fine. Only fair seeing as I made you spill your wine,” he states, giving me a small smile.

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