Falling for Italy (17 page)

Reminding herself she hadn’t time to think about it just now, she put it on a shelf and got into the shower. She washed quickly and efficiently, then toweled off and set on drying her hair.

The hairdryer provided by the hotel seemed to operate like a mini-computer, and to top it all off, the instructions were—of course—in Italian. After pushing a few random buttons without anything happening, she furiously shouted for Giovanni.

He appeared in the doorway, dressed in a fresh pair of black jeans and a black shirt open at the neck—the perfect balance between casual and elegant.

“What is it, baby?”

“I can’t make this blasted thing work,” she told him frustrated, handing him the dryer.

He took it from her hand and looked at it, then at her, tongue in cheek.

“You just have to press the power button, darling. See? It says here,
acceso
.”

She gave him a murderous glance.

“And how the fuck am I supposed to know what
acceso
means? Never mind.” She shook her head and turned on the hairdryer. “All gadgets hate me, it’s not just this one. They’ve all had a coalition against me ever since that time I kicked that socket out of the wall.”

“You socked a socket?” he asked, amused and incredulous.

“I was really sorry about it,” she said defensively, ruffling her hair to better expose it to the hot air. “But it was half out of the wall anyway. I tried to push it back with my foot, but it broke.”

“By itself.”

“That’s right. Well, maybe I helped a bit. In any case, that’s irrelevant. But ever since that day, all gadgets and electronics hate me.”

He laughed indulgently, patting her bare butt.

“I’ll see to it you don’t have much contact with them. Thank God you told me,” he said and laughed again when she looked down her nose at him, narrowing her eyes. “Hurry a bit, will you? It’s almost two o’clock. I’ll call Mom to say we’ll be there in half an hour.”

Chapter Thirteen

Giovanna’s and Fabrizzio Angeli’s residence—such grandeur couldn’t be simply called a house—resembled a palace of opulence and class. When the BMW approached, the tall gates made from artistically carved wood slid open gracefully.

“Motion sensors,” Giovanni explained as they advanced on the long driveway bordered by extensive gardens.

Though now they were bared by winter, the trees and shrubs tastefully arranged still looked impressive. Sonia imagined that in summertime the place was splendid. Giovanni had told her his mother was very fond of plants, and she could see her passion for flowers had been indulged in style.

The building itself was magnificent, made from gray brick, with ornate windowsills and all the flourishes specific to old Renaissance. Two statues stood guard on each side of the massive wooden door. The ferocious gray marble lions managed to look grand rather than ostentatious, making the elegance of the place even more aloof.

“Only my mom could make this mausoleum of a house look stylish,” Giovanni told her, reading her thoughts. He parked the car on one side of the driveway and stretched across Sonia’s seat to open her door.

She got out of the car and straightened her clothes. She’d decided on wearing black, as her fiancé did. She’d accessorized her dark slacks and shirt with a red belt and the ruby amulet.

Looking up at the opaque windows, she felt intimidated by the house and by the woman she hadn’t even met. The place resembled something of an old haunted castle. She couldn’t imagine the vital, beautiful woman Giovanni had described living as mistress of this house.

“Do they live here alone, just the two of them?” she asked, encompassing with a gesture all the space surrounding them. It seemed a waste for two people to occupy a property the size of a small city.

“Yeah. What can I say? Mother likes luxury and having lots of space. Fabrizzio is as extravagant as she. He fulfills her every wish. Let’s go inside,” he urged, taking her arm and heading toward the front door. It even had a sculptured brass knocker.

“I expect Lurch to come open the door any minute,” Sonia whispered nervously and he gave her an amused look.

The door was opened by the legend herself. Giovanna Angeli was by far the most beautiful woman Sonia had ever seen, looking nowhere near fifty-one. Considering the stunning good looks of Giovanni and his sister, she shouldn’t have been surprised, but she barely had the presence of mind not to let her jaw drop at the sight of her future mother-in-law.

She was almost as tall as her son, her slender hourglass-shaped body outlined in a long, peach-colored dress that perfectly complimented her flawless olive skin. She had gorgeous eyes, very dark—just like Giovanni’s—emphasized by subtle makeup and a pair of black, graceful eyebrows. Her lips were full and beautifully defined with coral lipstick and she displayed pearly-white teeth when she smiled in greeting, stretching out an elegant hand.

“Sonia, I’m so glad to meet you, my dear,” she said in melodious English.
Benvenuto nella mia casa
!”

“
Grazzie, signora Angeli
,” Sonia replied as she shook the woman’s hand, hoping she didn’t sound too foolish. “Thank you for having me. Your home is lovely.”

“Ah, I like it, though my son always tells me it is too large and formal for me,” Giovanna said, smiling at Giovanni.

“Mamma
, bella come sempre,
” he said, wrapping his arms around her affectionately. Sonia saw Giovanna’s face lighting, her entire being radiating love and pride for her son as she embraced him tightly.

“I have missed you,
diletto
. He remembers to call so rarely,” she told Sonia, turning to her, an arm still around her son’s waist. “But please come in. I have been expecting you very anxiously,” she confessed with a charming smile.

So saying, she put her other arm around Sonia’s shoulders and urged them inside.

Contrary to Sonia’s expectations, the Angelis’ residence was quite homey. The typical décor—similar to the one displayed by the
Sontuoso
hotel—kept the perfect balance between modern amenities and the refined luxury of old aristocracy.

The furniture was not only decorative, but also practical. The sofas in the parlor looked comfortable and the chairs had a cozy aspect, rather than the stiff air reserved for etiquette and formal guests.

Whoever had decorated the interior—Giovanna was the first suspect in Sonia’s mind—had boldly used strong colors, as well as pastels. Pale shades of cream and blue contrasted quite pleasantly with deep red and bright orange.

Giovanna led them to the dining room. An entire rust-colored brick wall framed a marble-carved fireplace. Flames were burning lively in the hearth, dancing in the milky light coming from the window on the opposite wall.

The room was beautiful by any standards, but the most striking elements were the huge natural-sized paintings of teenaged Giovanni and Linda, facing each other across the long festive guest table—one on each wall. They were breathtaking, made by an obviously brilliant artist.

Sonia stared unblinkingly at the young image of her lover, marveling over his remarkable good looks. Even as a teenager, he’d been handsome and attractive—a prelude of the extraordinary man he was now.

She could say the same about Linda when she turned around to study the other painting. Giovanni’s sister had been an extremely beautiful girl and had turned into a superb woman—tall, blonde and blue-eyed.

The difference in their looks had seemed odd to Sonia, but Giovanni had explained that it was a consequence of their genetic baggage. He and Linda contrasted like dark and light, vanilla and chocolate, an angel and…a different kind of angel.

“Vincente—my ex-husband and my children’s father—painted them,” Giovanna told her, noticing her mote admiration. “A nice variation to the nude nubile girls he preferred.”

“Let’s eat, Mamma, we’re starving. Isn’t Fabrizzio joining us?” Giovanni asked, encircling Sonia’s waist with his arm.

“As a matter of fact,” Giovanna replied smiling, “this is the first day in months he’s taken time off to come home early and meet your fiancée. I think he’s about to arrive.”

Just as she said that, the door opened and a blindingly sexy version of a young Antonio Banderas appeared in the doorway. He lifted his arms in greeting when he saw them, speaking in accented English. “Ah, our guests have arrived,
regina mia
! Giovanni,
mio figlio
, you finally come visit us again! And this must be your lady,
la principessa
who stole your heart.
Dio mio
, aren’t you splendid, my dear Sonia! Let me look at you.”

Sonia could only blink when the older man took her hand into his warm ones and spun her in a circle. She’d been expecting a middle-aged man in a smart business suit, with graying hair at the temples and a stern attitude.

Instead, she was face to face with a slick and polished Latino lover, with shoulder-length black hair and tanned skin. He was dressed in a white shirt open at the neck, worn jeans and expensive-looking boots. His teeth flashed white against his dark, unshaven face and Sonia could see in the glinting brown eyes the charm that must have swept Giovanna off her feet.

She smiled up to him and said, “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Angeli.”

“Oh, listen to her! Mister Angeli,” he mocked her good-humoredly, to the others’ amusement. “It’s Fabrizzio,
bambina
. We are family now. And isn’t that a kick in the ass, as you English people say?” he went on, flashing her a dazzling smile. “Who would’ve thought our Giovanni was ever to get married? But now I see why he has fallen for you. And the fact that you can handle guns will surely help keep him on his toes,” he added, winking, putting one arm around Giovanni’s shoulders. “
Amore
, have you offered the children anything to drink yet?” he asked his wife, who watched all of them lovingly, a Madonna smile on her exquisite face.

“Not yet. They have just arrived. They said they are hungry, so I’m going to ring Donato to serve lunch. Come on, have a seat,” she invited them and they all sat at the long table—Fabrizzio at the head of the table, Giovanna to his right, Sonia and Giovanni facing her.

To Sonia’s amazement, Giovanna had rung an old-fashioned bell placed on the table. A white-haired man in a dark suit opened the door. He appeared to be somewhere in his fifties and greeted them in Italian. Sonia murmured a
Buongiorno
, assuming correctly this was Donato—the family butler or some equivalent of that.

“What would you like to drink?” Giovanna asked them.

“A soft drink is fine,” Sonia replied.

“Nonsense,” Fabrizzio put in. “This is a celebration, so we shall have champagne. Isn’t that so,
amico
?” He gestured to Giovanni, who shrugged and smiled at Sonia, in a do-we-have-a-choice
manner. “I agree, Fabri. This occasion definitely calls for champagne.”

Giovanna told Donato something in Italian and he inclined his head, then left the room.

“So, is this the first time you come to Italy, Sonia?” Giovanna asked.

“Yes, it is. I find it lovely, one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been to.”

“It’s so very brave of you to come and live here without even having seen the place first, without knowing the language,” Fabrizzio remarked, his fingers linked in front of him.

“I…have every confidence in Giovanni,” Sonia said, fighting the need to squirm under the curious gazes of her interviewers. She knew they were weighing and studying her, and she perfectly understood. If she would have been in Giovanna’s place, she would have questioned her motivation and been circumspect out of love for her son.

“That’s good,” Giovanna said approvingly, toying with her wedding ring—a platinum band surrounded by sparkling diamonds. “How did you meet my son anyway? Giovanni never got around to telling me much about you, except for the fact you two are planning to get married.”

“He came to the place where I work and asked me to teach him to shoot. I’m a target shooting trainer.”

“The best,” Giovanni put in and squeezed her hand under the table, in comfort and reassurance.

She smiled.

“You probably said that to make me stay overtime and give you a lesson when you came to the range that day,” she said, smiling into his eyes at the sweet memory of that first December night with him in the deserted range.

“And you told me you were indeed the best and that I’d never be as good as you,” he reminded her grinning one-sidedly, making the older couple laugh.

“I like a self-confident woman,” Giovanna said, entertained. “Do you like Italian food, Sonia?”

“I like food of any kind as long as I don’t have to cook it,” she replied. Then it occurred to her maybe that wasn’t a wise thing to say to her future mother-in-law. But Giovanna only chuckled.

“You do remind me of myself, my dear. Fabri is terrified whenever I attempt to enter the kitchen.”

“Well, it is dangerous for you to be there,
amore,
” her husband confirmed, smiling widely. “Terrible things happen when she sets her mind to cook. Last time she made the pasta so spicy my eyes watered for two days.”

Giovanni snorted and Sonia darted him a look, silently warning him to keep his mouth shut about her own attempt in the kitchen that had ended with similar consequences.

“Linda did say you two ladies are very alike,” he reminded her. “Gerard agreed too.”

“They did? Well, personally I’m flattered by the comparison,” Giovanna said delighted. “I’m so sorry we couldn’t be there for their wedding. But we will surely be there for yours.”

Donato came in pushing a cart loaded with so much food one could feed an entire regiment. He proceeded to serve them, and then asked Fabrizzio something in Italian.

“No, no.” He waved the butler away. “Go and rest, Donato. I will do the honors and open the champagne,” Fabrizzio said in English, then stood. “Glasses at the ready,” he urged everybody, taking the quirk screw. He opened the bottle with a flourish and a cheerful
pop
, as the others cheered, extending their arms to catch the bubbly liquid in their glasses before it spilled.

When all glasses were full, he lifted his own.

“To our son and the beautiful bride he has chosen. May you be as happy as Giovanna and I are. Welcome to the family, darling Sonia!”

“
Salute
!” Sonia and Giovanni entwined in unison. The clink of crystal sounded festive—a token of joy and the optimism of new beginnings.

“Now let’s eat!” Fabrizzio prompted, sitting again in his chair.

The pasta had been served with a rich sauce. Sonia detected tomatoes, ham and mushrooms in it, as she mingled it with the thin spaghetti ribbons. She was just wondering if she could make something similar without disastrous results, when Giovanna reopened the conversation.

“I have to admit when Giovanni told me what you do, I was speechless. I don’t mean in a bad way,” she added, taking a fork full of pasta. “But it’s a quite unusual career choice. How did you come to be a target shooting trainer?”