Falling For The Venetian Billionaire. Rebecca Winters

the other monk walked on, Gaspare smiled at Vittorio. “I’m afraid I have to get to my duties.”

      “Then I’ll walk you as far as the museum.” Vittorio wouldn’t be leaving the monastery until he knew the identity of the woman. When they reached the doorway, he put a hand on his shoulder. “Take care, Gaspare.”

      “God keep you, Vittorio.”

      * * *

      Ginger was excited because she’d just learned that Father Giovanni was here. She already knew that he was the most knowledgeable about Lord Byron’s life when the poet had spent time at the monastery.

      Ginger wanted to pick his brains. That’s what she kept telling herself, but she also knew there was another reason. Signor Della Scalla was a friend of the monk’s. Ginger wanted to know who he really was. She couldn’t rest until she found out.

      While she waited, Ginger took a walk around the colonnaded courtyard. A ledge with tubs of flowers placed between the columns enclosed the lush green garden where Byron had strolled during his studies.

      Ginger didn’t care if the monk was busy for a long time. She would stay until she’d spoken with him. After a few more minutes, she sat on the garden bench. Before long someone came and sat down near her.

      When she looked up, Ginger almost fainted to see a certain unforgettable black-haired Italian male. She’d never expected to see him again. This morning he was wearing a luxurious dark gray suit and tie. He turned in her direction. His left arm slid along the top of the bench.

      On the third finger of his hand gleamed a gold and red signet ring that looked royal for want of a better word. He hadn’t been wearing it the night of the shipboard dinner. It isn’t a wedding ring. Those fabulous cobalt eyes stared into hers in recognition. Her pulse was racing.

      “We meet again, Signora Lawrence. I thought you only had one day to be in Venice.”

      She could hardly breathe. “My plans changed.”

      “So did mine,” he said in a gravelly voice.

      “What do you mean?”

      “After the night we met, I’d intended to find you here the next day, but fate intervened.”

      Before she could ask him anything else, he stood up because a monk had walked out to the garden and approached them. When she turned around, she let out a quiet gasp.

      The monk bore such an amazing resemblance to Signor Della Scalla, she realized they had to be brothers. But the latter had longer, wavy hair and might have been a little younger.

      Both men were tall with similar features and black hair that shouted their blood relationship. They had a solid build and presence that made them stand out from other men.

      “Father Giovanni? May I introduce you to Signora Lawrence. She was with Dr. Manukyan’s group aboard the Sirena the other week and we met. I told her I knew you well.”

      The monk’s eyes smiled at Ginger. “Good morning. I’m sorry you’ve had to wait. There’s still another tour group ahead of you.”

      Ginger was so dumbstruck, she couldn’t find words. In a daze, she slowly got to her feet. “Good morning, Father. I was told you might be here today.”

      “Please forgive the difficulties. Summer is a particularly busy time.”

      “I understand and it doesn’t matter. If or when you’re free, I’d appreciate it if you had time to discuss Lord Byron’s preface to the grammar book with me.”

      “It would be my pleasure. I’ll be available shortly and can give you an hour before I have to take charge of another tour. Until then, continue to enjoy the garden.”

      Ginger had just walked past it. “Thank you.”

      After Father Giovanni headed for the museum, she turned to his brother. Again, she felt his all-encompassing gaze study her.

      “I’m afraid I’m the person who prevented you from seeing Father Giovanni the first time.”

      She found his Italian accent irresistible. “Why was that?”

      “Our father died in the early-morning hours on the day you were coming to Venice a week ago. I drove to the island to inform my brother and take him home, where our family was waiting for him.”

      “I’m so sorry,” she said on a rush of emotion. “How terrible for all of you.”

      “It’s been the most painful shock of my life so far. As I look back on the events of the night before, I realize you and I weren’t properly introduced.” A faint smile appeared, causing a fluttering sensation in her chest. “My name is Vittorio Della Scalla.”

       Vittorio.

      Ginger knew the Della Scalla name, but it wasn’t until she’d returned to the hotel the night of the dinner and pulled the menu out of her purse that her questions were answered. They’d been honored to eat aboard one of the Della Scalla passenger liners docked in the port.

      Later in Switzerland when she’d been in her room at the farmhouse watching the news, she’d heard that the head of the company, a count of the old Della Scalla aristocracy, had died recently. Suddenly the signet ring on his finger took on significance for her. Everything fit and all the pieces fell into place.

      Vittorio personified the quintessential nobleman of the modern-day Italian aristocracy.