The Sicilian's Proposition (5 page)

“Ah, but there’s no need, I have my own private jet and can fly you both over. You will get to meet my family, walk the streets I walked as a child, and visit the family vineyard. So, how about it? I have to get back in a day or two on business. Please say you will come with me?”

Suddenly her mouth was parched. She nodded. “If I can square it up with my editor and the photographer, then yes. Yes, I’d love to come.”

Dante gazed at Joanne and marveled at the excitement on her face, the way her eyes lit up when he spoke, the way she drank in all her surroundings. She obviously hadn’t travelled like this before, in such luxury on a private jet.

“Champagne? At this time of the day?” She giggled.

“And what’s so wrong with that?”

“Well, nothing, to be truthful. It’s just I’m not used to it.” She took the long-stemmed, effervescent flute from the stewardess’s well-manicured hand. “Thank you.”

“Enjoy, Joanne. Please do not feel guilty.”

She blinked several times. “I suppose it does seem a little wrong, it feels so indulgent. This doesn’t feel like work at all, it’s more like a holiday.”

“Well why not combine both? No one said you can’t.”

“True.” She took a sip of champagne and appeared more relaxed. He understood her concerns. From what she’d told him, she normally worked nine to five from the London office, or else she was out on assignment or working from home.

He glanced across the aisle to see the photographer Joanne had introduced as Jackson Byrne, fast asleep, slouched in his seat; he obviously had no feelings of guilt about taking a trip to Sicily. The best thing would be for Joanne to chill out a little. She seemed to give her all to the job. It was refreshing to meet a journalist he didn’t feel was about to massacre his reputation in a newspaper or glossy magazine. She was upfront and honest from what he could sense about her.

“The plane will land in Trapani Airport, and then we’ll take a short car ride to Alcamo to visit my family’s vineyard.”

“It all sounds so exciting…please tell me a little more about your family, Dante?”

Was this part of her interview technique? By the look in her eyes, she was asking out of a genuine interest.

“Well as I told you before, I am the youngest of six children. Papa is still alive and lives with my eldest brother and his family—Gino and his wife, Adriana. Gino takes care of the vineyard these days as Papa is getting old, but he still likes to keep his hand in.”

“So he hasn’t retired then?”

“No. We would have liked him to, but to be honest, work has always been his life. Without work, he would give up on life, even more so now that Mamma is no longer with us.” He crossed himself.

“And the rest of your family?”

“My sister Angelina—I told you about her—has three children still at home with her. The rest of my family are dotted around Sicily, you shall get to meet some of them during your stay. We are an extremely close knit family.”

“But how is it you are the only one who became a millionaire?”

He smiled and nodded. “For a while, the family business was in danger of going under, so I made the right investments at the right time and managed to put money back into it. That’s all. Although the family still earns a good living from it, I am now the owner since the death of my mother as my father is elderly and no longer interested in the business side of things. I have a nose for these things. You might think being the youngest child, I would be the one in the shade, but far from it. I was the one who wanted to step out of the shadow of my older siblings. I wanted to make my mark in life. The trouble is having money doesn’t always bring you happiness, and sometimes, I would give anything to live Gino’s life. He has a lovely wife and four beautiful children.”

“So, you regret not settling down?”

He nodded. “Sure. I was always too busy enjoying myself, but having said that, I hadn’t met anyone I wanted to settle down with until I met Carla.” He watched Joanne’s face cloud for a moment. What was she thinking? It was hard to gauge.
It wasn’t jealousy, was it?
He sighed. “But now when I look back on it, things didn’t work out between us because it was like living with a reflection of myself. We were both in competition with one another, and a relationship should never be like that.”

She narrowed her gaze. “I feel there is something on your mind. What is it you’re not telling me, Dante?”

He drew in a breath and let it out again. It was like a knife that twisted and turned in his gut. “When I spoke to Carla, I discovered the reason she left me was because she had been having an affair for years, since she was a schoolgirl in fact, with a married man. My brother-in-law to be precise.”

Joanne blinked. “Oh? But I thought you were a close family?”

“We were. We are. But I think my sister must have kept this from me not to hurt me.”

Nodding, Joanne laid her hand on his arm. “But you must have guessed when Carla left you there could have been someone else?”

“Oh yes, but I was just shocked it had been going on for years and with him of all people. I felt duped, as if Carla had been wasting my time and rubbing my nose in it. She knew full well how I disapproved of him. Any man she’d have taken up with would have upset me, but Ponti is a piece of scum!”

“I see, but I don’t believe relationships are ever a waste of time, Dante. There is always something new to learn. You won’t be the same as before, it will have changed you somehow, and hopefully for the better.”

She left him with that thought as she finished her glass of champagne and closed her eyes for a couple of minutes.

***

There was a car waiting to collect them at the airport. Joanne looked around in awe. So this was Sicily. The quality of light and warmth somehow seemed different here. There was already a chill in the air with the onset of autumn in London, but here, it still seemed summer.

“My driver, Bruno, will take us to the hotel, and then later, when you and Mr. Byrne have rested, we shall pay a visit to the vineyard.”

“The hotel? Don’t tell me you own that one as well?”

He laughed. “Well yes, I did at one time, but I’ve given it to my brother. He runs it these days.”

It was beginning to sound as if Dante’s family owned most of Sicily, although she knew that couldn’t be so.

Joanne turned to see Jackson Byrne standing behind her, his face a deadly shade of gray. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Too much to eat on the plane,” he mumbled.

Too much to eat? What about all the free alcohol he drank on board? He took full advantage of everything on Dante’s private plane, from the lobster thermidor to the classy looking flight attendants. He even slipped his business card into one of the girl’s palms with a promise of taking some portfolio shots of her. Byrne was all right in small doses, but he did have an eye for the ladies that didn’t sit right with her. He was a married man.

“My brother’s hotel is just a short car journey away. It is near the marina at Alcamo in the charming port of Castellammare del Golfo. It’s newly restored and is just a few steps away from the castle that gives the town its name,” Dante explained. “There’s a lovely small beach nearby and a private beach just a three-minute drive away. I know of this wonderful fish restaurant overlooking the sea. The fish is so fresh there, you can actually see the fishermen landing their catch and handing it over to the chef.”

She laughed. “Oh really?” It was hard to believe how everything worked so efficiently in spite of such a laid-back approach on the island.

“I am serious, Joanne. That is the way of life here. We eat a lot of fresh foods. There are olive, orange, and lemon groves growing all over the island. It’s the only way to live, believe me. Where you live, you don’t get the opportunity for much fresh produce. You go to your supermarket, and even there most of the fresh food is imported, but here on this beautiful island, we grow a lot of our own food and make a lot of our own wine. It’s a way of life. There are many different cultural influences too—we are quite…how you say…cosmopolitan in our thinking.”

She gazed at him as she digested his words. He was a remarkable man to achieve so much at his age.

He guided her over to the long black limousine, where Bruno, his uniformed driver, was busy loading their cases and camera equipment into the trunk. The back doors of the car were wide open, ready for them to enter. Dante nodded to Bruno and said something in Italian. Then he followed Joanne and Jackson into the car.

Most days, she’d be at her desk right now, either typing up her latest article, answering a bunch of e-mails, on the phone making inquiries, or else in a meeting with her editor. Whatever she would or should have been doing was no comparison to this, being in a beautiful country with a good-looking, attentive man. It was a shame Jackson had to share the ride to the hotel. She couldn’t be mean; he needed to be there to take the photographs. After the photo shoots, she might not have to see him very much at all.

As the car wended its way through narrow streets with white-washed walls, historic old buildings, and crowded markets, she glanced out the window at people who seemed perfectly content as they chatted in small groups, sitting outside cafes or standing by the side of the road. The pace of life here seemed a far cry from busy London. Sicily was more relaxed somehow. Here there were elderly faces lined with wrinkles, who had no doubt seen a lot of life and sun, children hanging on to their mother’s hands, and young couples in love. It did have a certain charm about it. Near the sea, several colorful boats bobbed up and down on a choppy sea that was a clear aqua green, melded with blue. Who could fail to feel uplifted by somewhere like this?

All too soon the car drew up at a hotel named Casa Alphonso. Ah, she recognized the family name. The name
casa
translated into English as
home
. It was nice, a hotel family home, very reassuring. The hotel was white-washed walls with colorful flowerbeds adorning its borders and surroundings. Some small tables and chairs were set outside where several people sat drinking coffees or sipping cool beers. It looked like quite a small establishment, but at the same time welcoming.

A man who looked a little like Dante walked toward them with arms wide open, and he hugged Dante with a passion. Dante turned to her. “Joanne, I’d like you to meet my brother and proprietor of this hotel, Giovanni.”

Giovanni hugged her and kissed both cheeks. “
Bellismo
!” he said, smacking his fingers to his lips.

Joanne smiled. She was unused to this kind of welcome from a stranger. Back home, it was a polite hello and maybe a handshake.

Giovanni greeted Byrne in the same manner. The photographer stood stock still, appearing unused to that type of greeting from another man. Then, as if realizing an opportunity, he arranged for Dante and his brother to pose for a few photographs outside the hotel.

Once Byrne had finished snapping away, Dante showed Joanne to her room. For a brief moment it appeared as though he were about to stay. He told her to get some rest and he would send his driver back later to take her to the vineyard. A sliver of disappointment coursed through her. He wasn’t going to accompany her. After all, he was a busy man and she was here to work.

When he departed, she took a shower and changed into a pair of oatmeal-colored linen trousers, strappy top, and a thin, white, cotton overshirt. She had no idea what it would be like walking around a vineyard. If she wore layers, she could always remove her shirt. She decided to take a straw floppy hat and a pair of shades along to protect herself from the sun. As she dried her hair, she noticed a note on the table beside a basket of fresh fruit and a large bottle of water.

“Please make use of the small refrigerator. There’s a salad prepared for you inside and some fresh bread on top of that. Also, there’s a bottle of wine chilling for you. If you need anything else, please ring reception. Dante.”

That was so thoughtful of him. She pulled the salad from the refrigerator and added some ham and cheese that had been left for her too, sliced a couple of pieces off the rustic looking loaf, and poured a glass of white wine into a glass. Studying the label on the bottle, it read, “Vino d’Alphonso.” That must be a bottle from the family vineyard. She took the food and drink out onto the small balcony and ate al fresco. There was something about eating and drinking good food and wine outside; it reminded her of the other evening at Dante’s hotel suite.

Her mind drifted back to that night…the soft music and the dancing. She had thought he might have tried to kiss her, but he pulled away at the last moment, leaving her weak-kneed and confused. The feeling of being in his arms was incredible. The tension between them was almost palpable. She closed her eyes and imagined herself locked in his embrace once more. Her daydream was shattered as she heard Byrne’s voice drifting from the balcony below. It sounded as though he was speaking to his long-suffering wife. Joanne didn’t want him around. He would be accompanying them to the vineyard, but she realized he had a job to do.

The bedside phone rang and a receptionist, speaking in broken English, informed her
Signor
Alphonso had sent his driver to collect her and the photographer from the front of the hotel in ten minutes.

By the time she arrived at reception, Byrne was already there waiting. He smirked. “We should get plenty of free booze out of this!”

“Is that all you ever think of?”

He nodded. “Yep. I have to say well done, you securing us this assignment. We don’t get that many freebies. Have you been doing a couple of favors for the Italian Stallion, then?”

Joanne’s skin crawled.
The
creep!
Somehow, Byrne had a habit of contaminating everything around him with his hard-drinking, womanizing ways. Her body tensed. “Definitely not. This is just a working assignment. Mr. Alphonso is a very busy man, and it was kind of him to allow us to come over here on his private plane and stay at his expense.”