Bound by the Italian's Contract(77)

                Her company would soar—he would make sure it did. She would find great success. One day she would find a good man, a thought he didn’t like envisioning at this moment, maybe never would.

                So be it. She would have a fine life and he would return to the one he’d chosen, one that didn’t demand more of him than he was willing to give. It was the way it had to be.

                He kept that thought in mind as the audience filed into the dining hall. No expenses had been spared for the selection of antipasto misto, primo of pastas, soup and risotto, secondo of meats and fish, contorni of vegetables and insalata and dolce, those being the first things some would select. Wines and mineral waters were in abundance as well.

                Guests and prospective clients laughed and ate and drank and stole as much of Caprice’s time as she’d allow. The new staff that she’d chosen remained busy booking appointments well into the next month, he suspected.

                Everyone was happy, especially Caprice. She’d gotten the control she wanted, and he’d seen a new spark of life in his brother. That’s why he’d hired her, and attaining his one goal should make him happy. So why wasn’t he? Why was he gripped with the sensation that he was losing something he would never regain again?

                “Congratulations, bella,” he told Caprice a good hour later when she was finally free.

                Excitement still danced in her eyes and kissed a rosy flush to her cheeks. Beautiful. She was absolutely beautiful.

                She grasped his right hand and squeezed the fingers. “Never in my wildest dreams did I expect this wonderful response. You were so right about everything.”

                He saluted her with his vino. “Told you so.”

                Her grin shouted her happiness to the world as she accepted the champagne a waiter handed her. This was how he wished to remember her always.

                Too soon she turned solemn. “What’s wrong, Luciano? You look like you just lost your best friend.”

                He had, he admitted, taking a sip of the wine he favored and finding it bitter on his tongue, tainted by sour memories. “I’ll tell you when this is over.”

                “Is it serious?” she asked, clear concern widening her eyes now.

                He shook his head and managed the barest smile. “It is good news for us. You’re still much in demand. Smile,” he told her as a young news reporter nabbed her attention.

                It was the perfect cue for him to take his leave. In silence he retreated to his office. The amber silk tie went first with a shrug. Next he traded his cabernet for a generous glass of Bunnahabhain and slumped behind his desk, wanting to drown his irritation in Scotch.

                Why couldn’t he shake the feeling that he’d let the best thing in his life slip from his grasp forever?

                * * *

                The exhilarating high Caprice had floated on for the better part of two hours dropped her back to earth the second she stepped into Luciano’s office. He sat at his desk, glass of amber liquid sitting before him either untouched or a refill. To the side was a clean glass beside the bottle of imported Scotch from the isle of Islay, a favored label of his.

                “Forgive me but you don’t look like a man who’s received good news,” she said.

                One side of his mouth pulled up at the corner. “One man’s good news is bad to another. Want a drink?”