Return Of Her Italian Duke. Rebecca Winters

she was going back to the place where she’d known such joy...and pain. What if by some stretch of the imagination she got the job? How would she feel? How would her mother feel to realize her daughter had graduated with honors from the top cooking school in Italy and was going to make it despite what the duca had done to them?

      Wouldn’t it be the height of deliciousness to be hired there, of all places on earth? Such sweet revenge after being kicked to the gutter.

      * * *

      Gemma was relieved when morning came. After washing her hair and showering, she dressed in a peach-colored two-piece suit, wanting to look her best. At ten she ate breakfast at a trattoria before leaving for the castello ten minutes away. She’d planned to get there early enough to look around and ask questions. Surely someone would be able to tell her about Vincenzo.

      For him to disappear on her was a betrayal so awful, she hadn’t been able to put her trust in another man for years. Even after she’d starting dating, the memory of that horrible time when it became clear he’d never be back still haunted her nights.

      It had taken until a year ago for her to have her first serious relationship with a man. After a month of dating, Paolo wanted to sleep with her, but she couldn’t. Her heart wasn’t in it. She explained to him that in another eight months she’d be graduating and looking for a position, hopefully in France. There could be no future for them. She had to follow her own path.

      After breakfast Gemma opened the car window and breathed in the warm June air as she drove past the familiar signposts, farms and villas toward the massive Castello di Lombardi.

      The ocher-toned structure, with its towers and crenellated walls sprawled over a prominent hilltop, had its roots in ancient times. So many nights she and Vincenzo had walked along those walls with their arms around each other, talking and laughing quietly so none of the family or guards would see or hear them.

      Closer now, cypress trees bordered her on either side of the winding road. Memories came flooding back. Because of Vincenzo, she knew all about its history. The remains of a Romanesque church standing in the inner courtyard dated back to AD 875. But the castello itself had been built in the fourteenth century to protect the surrounding estate from invasions.

      Many owners had possessed it, including the House of Savoy. By the mid–eighteen hundreds it had become the residence of the Gagliardi family. Although it was the first Duca di Lombardi who was considered illustrious, as far as Gemma was concerned that right would have belonged to Vincenzo. That was, until he’d plunged a dagger in her heart by disappearing.

      The visitor parking beneath the four flights of zigzagging front steps held no cars. Her breath caught to see the profusion of flowers and landscaping done to beautify everything. New external lighting fixtures had been put in place. At night it would present a magnificent spectacle to guests arriving.

      After taking it all in, she drove down a private road that wound around to the rear entrance where in the past the tradesmen used to come. Beyond it was a large parking area that she remembered had been used by the staff.

      There were a dozen vans and trucks, plus some elegant cars, clustered in the enclosed area around the door. From the front of the castello the entire place had looked deserted, but that clearly wasn’t the case.

      Once she’d gotten out of her car to walk around, a male gardener planting flowers called to her. “The lady is lost, perhaps?” he asked in Italian.

      She shook her head. Anything but. “I’m here for a job interview.”

      “Ah? Then you must go around to the front. The office is on the right of the entrance hall.”

      “Thank you.” It seemed that the day room she remembered must have been converted into an office. She could never have imagined it. “Tell me—do you know why the castello was sold in the first place?”

      He hunched his shoulders. “No lo so.”

      With her hair swishing against her shoulders, Gemma nodded and walked back to her car, realizing she’d get nothing from him. Her watch said eleven forty-five. She might as well arrive a few minutes early to show she was punctual. She backed her car around, retracing her short trip back to the main parking lot, where she stopped the car and got out.

      How many hundreds of times had she and her childhood friend Bianca—who’d had a crush on Dimi—bounded up these steps after getting off the school bus looking for Vincenzo and his cousin?

      They would enter the castello through a private doorway west of the main entrance and hurry down the corridor to the kitchen. Once they’d checked in with their mothers, they’d run off to their hiding place in the back courtyard, where hopefully the two Gagliardis would be waiting.

      To her surprise the old private entrance no longer existed. The filled-in stone wall looked like it had been there forever. Gemma felt shut out and could well believe she’d dreamed up a past life.

      But when she entered through the main doors, she had to admit that whoever had undertaken to turn this into a world-class resort had done a superb job of maintaining its former beauty. Many of the paintings and tapestries she remembered still adorned the vaulted ceilings and walls on the right side of the hallway.

      The biggest difference lay in the bank of floor-to-ceiling French doors on the left. They ran the length of the long hallway she used to run through on her way to the kitchen. Beyond the mullioned glass squares she could see a gorgeous dining room with huge chandeliers so elegant it robbed her of breath.

      On the far side of the dining room were more French doors that no doubt opened on to a terrace for open-air dining. Gemma knew there was a rose garden on that side of the castello. And though she couldn’t see it from here, there was a magnificent ballroom beyond the dining room to the south.

      She was staggered by the changes, so exquisite in design she could only marvel. Whoever had taken over this place had superb taste in everything. Suddenly she realized it was noon and she swung around to report she was here.

      The enormous former day room had been transformed into the foyer and front desk of the fabulous hotel, with a long counter, several computers and all the accoutrements essential for business. She sat down on one of the eighteenth-century sage-and-gold damask chairs with the Duca di Lombardi’s royal crest and waited to see if someone would come.

      Just as she was ready to call out if anyone was there, she saw movement behind the counter that revealed an attractive brown-haired male, probably six foot two and in his late twenties. Strong and lean, he wore trousers and shirtsleeves pushed up to the elbows. When his cobalt-blue eyes wandered over her, she knew he’d missed nothing.

      “You must be Signora Bonucci.”

CHAPTER TWO

      GEMMA CORRECTED HIM. “I’m Signorina Bonucci.”

      “Ah. I saw the ring.”

      “It was my grandmother’s.” Gemma’s mother had given it to her on her twenty-first birthday. Her grandmother had also been a great cook, and the hope was that it would bring Gemma luck. Now Gemma wore it on her right hand in remembrance.

      As for the name, Bonucci, that was another story. Once Gemma and her mother had left the castello, Mirella had insisted Gemma use her maiden name. She’d hoped to be able to find work if the duca couldn’t trace them through her married name, Rizzo.

      One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “Now that we have that straightened out, I’m Signor Donati, the one who’s late for this meeting. Call me Cesare.” With that accent the man was Sicilian down to his toenails. “Thank you for applying with us. Come around the counter and we’ll talk in my office.”

      She got up and followed him down a hallway past several doors to his inner sanctum, modern and in a messy state. Everything about Cesare surprised Gemma, including the informality.

      “Take a seat.”

      Gemma