"I know all about Mezzuti, Papa. Some of my clients were interested in investing."
"And your advice to them?" There was devastation in his eyes.
"I advised them against it."
His eyes fell, and her worst fears were realized.
"I should have asked you but I thought I knew better." Marco's fingers clutched the rug on his knees. His lips stretched the paper-thin skin of his cheeks in a deathlike grimace. "I invested heavily in them, Melo, and lost it all. In mere weeks I have to pay. We're ruined."
Melo sat in stunned silence. The Bellucci Winery was an old, profitable business. Surely he couldn't be right? "Tell me everything, Papa."
As her father detailed his reckless gamble, using all the funds The Bellucci Winery had earmarked for their modernization, the severity of the situation became clearer. She would have to look through the books, as she wasn't familiar with the finer details, but it seemed as though her father was right. The winery, and the family were in trouble.
"But the wedding," her voice wavered.
No expense had been spared to give Rosa everything she wanted. But at what cost? Could they even settle the bills that were flowing in?
"I put money aside for the wedding. We are covered. But when the payment comes due … " Marco broke off mid sentence and sank his head into his hands as his body shook with the force of his distress.
Marco never cried. But that was the old Marco. The man who sat on the chair next to her was an older, broken version of his former self. She put her arms around him. The stress must have brought on his heart attack.
"I fear we're going to lose the house, and the vineyard. I have told no one but you, Melo. Rosa and your mother can't know." He raised his tear-ravaged face to hers. "It would destroy them."
Papa always felt the winery was his, just as it had been his father's and his grandfather's before him. But in actuality it was a company, and earmarking company money to make investments was theft. The ramifications of his actions didn't seem to have occurred to Marco, but the thought of her frail father in prison chilled Melo's heart.
"You must have told Adam," Melo said.
Adam was to take over his new role of Managing Director within weeks. Surely he would have to know about the disaster that had befallen them?
"I haven't told him. I thought perhaps after the honeymoon I would talk to him. I wanted to try and work out a solution. Perhaps we could sell some land?" Marco's tremulous voice was laced with empty hope.
It made no sense. They owned a lot of land on the island, but none of it was suitable for development, and anyway, planning permission on the tiny island was strict. It sounded as though her poor father was clutching at straws.
"Tomorrow morning I will start work on the accounts and see what can be done," Melo said.
Luckily she hadn't any outstanding work back at the office. She could stay indefinitely and work through the figures. Strength flowed through her. She'd pulled back many a company from the brink, and this time would be no exception. She had the most powerful incentive she'd ever had. She must protect her father-at all costs.
Chapter Three
Fairy lights led from the villa down onto the soft white sand. Four large tables were set up in the moonlight, lit with candles that cast a soft, intimate glow. Fire glittered in the large braziers and illuminated an army of chefs busy at work.
Cade sank into a comfortable wooden chair next to Adam and Rosa. The happy couple was so totally absorbed in each other he might as well not exist. He glanced around, looking for Melo, but she was still noticeably absent. Annoyance burned in his chest. The moments he'd had with her were too fleeting. He wanted her next to him. Wanted to watch her face in the flickering flames, hear her husky voice as she murmured to him. Heck, he wanted to feel her body's heat next to him, breathe in her intoxicating scent. At the mere thought, his body stirred.
The table was filling with guests, and still Melo was absent. Before Cade had a chance to toss his jacket on the chair next to him, a gorgeous Italian friend of the bride's sat down, to his annoyance. It would be churlish to claim the seat now. Churlish and impolite. He gritted his teeth, and replied to her introduction with ill-concealed irritation.
The crowd started to clap, and he looked up to see Marco Bellucci step out onto the sand, supported by Melo and a nurse.
Melo's heels sank in the sand. She paused to slip off her shoes, leaving them in the pile of discarded footwear on the path.
Cade had escaped the shackles of footwear earlier, had reveled in the sensation of the dry sand between his toes. He stood as Marco approached the table. The blonde next to him stood too, but didn't move over. Darn it.
Melo glanced his direction with a shy smile. She looked different. Worried.
Cade guessed the talk with her father had been difficult. He indicated the blonde with his eyes, raised his shoulders slightly in apology.
Melo nodded and sat down.
Now everyone was present, the waiters circulated with plates of antipasti and everyone started talking again. The moon cast its silvery glow over Melo's long waves of hair. She'd let it down, and the effect was even more attractive than when it was tied up. His hands itched to run through it. Would it feel as soft as he imagined? The table was too wide for him to even talk to her.
The blonde was talking. Cade swallowed a snarl, and rebooted a polite smile, as if he gave a damn about what she was saying. The best man had to be polite.
****
Melo bit into the black Tuscan crostini. The musicians she'd hired played the soulful strains of the guitar arrangement of Nessun Dorma, the perfect accompaniment. Across the table Sophia Panichi rested her hand on Cade's sleeve.
He looked down into Sophia's perfectly made up eyes and smiled.
The mere sight speared an arrow of pain through Melo's heart.
The music swelled. It was an instrumental version of the famous song, but she knew the lyrics, and they echoed in her head as she watched his head move closer to hear what Sophia was saying.
Tu pure, o, Principessa,
Nella tua fredda stanza,
Guardi le stelle
Che tremano d'amore
E di speranza.
Even though she was fluent in Italian, her first language had always been English. She translated the words in her mind, feeling them to her core.
Even you, O Princess,
In your cold room;
Watch the stars,
That tremble with love and with hope.
The sky was perfect. Like a black velvet curtain strewn with diamonds. As a child she'd stared up at the sky many times on nights like this. Nights when the utter perfection of the sky had held her captive in its spell. It wasn't until she'd left the island that she realized the sky wasn't so beautiful everywhere. Isola dei Fiori's lack of smog or city lights made the sight unique in all Italy. The beauty of the island was potent, magical.
Melo breathed in the scent of the barbequing lamb, marinated in rosemary. She'd missed her childhood home. Sorting out the tangled financial web would take weeks instead of the couple of days she'd set aside for her holiday. She didn't relish the task ahead, but at least she could spend more time on her beloved island.
The waiter cleared, and set plates with the next course in front of the diners. Fusilli with pesto. It was a special recipe. Instead of the usual basil, the pesto was made with sage, which grew in abundance on the hills.
Melo's mouth watered as she speared a forkful. The tangy taste exploded on her taste buds. She glanced at her mother, who was receiving compliments for her choice of menu graciously, even though the choice of primi had been completely left up to her daughter. In fact, she hadn't even been aware of what would be served this evening.
Cade's compelling beauty drew her gaze again.
He was watching her. Dark, watchful and intense. She couldn't look away. Didn't want to. She'd dreamed of him looking at her like that. As if he could devour her. Passion flooded her as the rest of the party faded away. She wanted to be closer. Wanted to feel his hands on her. His hair, parted slightly to the left of his crown made him look like a conquistador. A man not constrained by the stuffy traditions of today. A man who knew what he wanted, and wasn't shy about getting it. And by the look in his eyes, she was what he wanted. Her throat was sandpaper scratchy. She swallowed. Her heart pounded faster, like an oncoming buffalo stampede. Cade's jaw tilted down a fraction. Then he smiled. Slowly. Confidently transforming her insides to mush.
Sophia asked Cade something. He tore his gaze from Melo's and gifted his dinner companion with a smile capable of melting metal. Melo wished she were drinking. She could do with something to take the edge off. He'd blasted her with just a look. A look filled with passion and promise.