Captivated By Her Italian Boss

His uncle had wept while reciting his rosary after noticing how several days on the land had brought a change in Davide’s behavior and outlook. After a few weeks Davide had willingly returned to school, but had continued to work on the farm after school and on weekends, as well as throughout high school and in the summer when back from university.

Davide’s heart tightened. He would never forget what Zio Francesco had done for him.

Davide’s sister, Violetta, had been shaken but more stoic than he was after the deaths of their parents. She had overseen the household responsibilities that their mother had managed while still at school, but when Violetta was eighteen, she fell in love with a tourist from Canada and she married him at twenty and moved to his home in Steveston, about a half an hour from Vancouver. Tristan had worked as a tour guide at a whale-watching company, while Violetta had worked to develop a small home business with her sewing talents. She had been so happy that she could work from home once they had had their baby, which was five years ago. She had studied English and learned it quickly, and when Bianca was born, she had made sure to speak to her in both languages.

Davide’s English was also fairly good. Violetta had encouraged him to study it with the possibility of moving to Vancouver one day, and he had, but destiny had had other plans for him and he had remained in Valdoro.

Valdoro was where he had first spotted Neve. Neve, pronounced Neh-veh, meaning snow in Italian. She had been standing on one of the balconies of Villa Morgana, owned by one of the wealthiest families in town, a family that derived their wealth from the bounty of the bergamot groves on their outlying properties. Their coral-colored villa was on the main street heading into Valdoro, with ornate wrought iron balconies and ceramic planters bursting with flowers. The entire roof of the villa was a terrace with bougainvillea spilling over the railing. Chairs with bright yellow and blue upholstery were scattered around a table protected by an ombrellone, a huge umbrella tilted to one side.

Davide had been returning from his uncle’s small farm, which he tended to from before sunrise till late morning, as the scorching sun was too prohibitive past noon. He had been later than usual that day, having had to chase after a goat that had found an opening in the enclosure and had wandered off. Afterward, Davide had gathered some of the garden vegetables in a huge burlap bag, and as he had passed the Villa Morgana, he had spotted a girl on the balcony. He hadn’t seen her in Valdoro before. Her hair was wet and she was air-drying it.

Davide’s T-shirt had been sweat-soaked, his jeans earth-stained, and he could feel his face prickling with perspiration. As he had passed in front of the villa from the opposite side of the road, the girl had tossed her hair back and caught sight of him. She had cocked her head and Davide could feel his steps slowing. He had wanted to stop completely and just feast on the vision before him.

He had been mesmerized by her light skin, her strawberry-blond hair catching the rays of the sun and shimmering like spun gold, the white halter dress with big red polka dots, her lean legs. His heart had thumped erratically at her gaze, which couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds before she had started to blink, and he had noticed her eyes traveling past his eyes and down his body.

Davide remembered the embarrassment he had felt at his dusty and sweaty appearance, although she hadn’t give him any sign of arrogance, and he had nodded slightly in the respectful way he had been taught when encountering girls or women, and had forced his cement-like shoes to keep walking.

Showering at the house he had shared with his zio, Francesco, his insides had quivered at the thought of the girl. She had looked to be around seventeen or eighteen. He had been twenty-two, home for the summer from university, and although some of the mothers in Valdoro had discreetly made it known that he was welcome to court their daughters, he had been more intent on his studies. He hadn’t said so much to his uncle, but he was hoping to join his sister in Vancouver after university. His parents had left him and his sister with very little; what money they had was tied up in their small farm property, so his uncle had encouraged him to keep working the land, and he would support him with a modest salary.

That had been the plan.

Until Neve Wilder’s arrival in Valdoro.

* * *

Now, looking at her face on the screen, and knowing she couldn’t see him or ever imagine his identity, Davide felt his gut tighten. He wasn’t a love-struck young man anymore, and how and why fate had thrown Neve Wilder back into his life after eight years was a bizarre mystery to him. When he had tried to meet her back then, her message to him had been very clear. She had wanted nothing to do with him. He was below her and should remember his place.

She had crushed him then and Davide had spent the next few years trying to forget her and vowing to never be below anyone again. He would finish his university education and make something of himself. He didn’t need her or anyone like her.

He had discovered that her family was visiting from Vancouver, where he had planned to go after his graduate studies. Overcome with bitterness, he had changed his mind immediately. He wouldn’t move anywhere where there was even the remotest chance of bumping into her. No, he never wanted to see her face again.

This was a cruel twist of fate, watching an interview with the same girl who, eight years later, was applying for a job as a nanny for his niece. Only she wasn’t a girl anymore. Her pretty looks as a teenager had blossomed into what he had to admit could only be called stunning.

Her fair skin was luminescent, with a faint smattering of freckles over her nose and peach-tinted cheeks, and that mane of hair, although restrained in a loose chignon, seemed even more burnished. Her eyes, never close enough for him to determine their exact color, were a dark bluish-green that reminded him of the sea in winter. And that mouth. Her lipstick was a luscious magenta pink, the same color as the delicious inner fruit of the cactus pear.

She could be a sea witch, he thought, a modern Scylla, the whirlpool in the waters off the coast that was personified in Greek mythology as a female monster impeding the way of the hero Odysseus...

Davide watched as Neve’s eyes shifted to the camera. She leaned forward and her face filled the screen. He swallowed, his pulse drumming wildly as a corner of her mouth lifted and she nodded. And then said “Grazie,” her witch eyes never blinking once.

Twelve interviews, and none of the applicants had impressed him. Until the thirteenth. Thirteen was a lucky number for Italians. But the last thing he felt now was lucky. If it had been anybody but Neve, he’d have hired her on the spot. Her qualifications were spot-on; her answers had been genuine. She had seemed so humble, so caring and devoted. How could this be the same Neve who had arrogantly put him down and rejected him?

Bianca needed a competent nanny. She would be starting school in a couple of months, and the trauma of losing her parents had shattered her world. None of her previous nannies had worked out. The first hadn’t been sensitive enough, the second had been caught snooping through his desk papers and the third had shown more interest in wanting to help him through his grief, using her physical allure...

Bianca’s occasional tantrums and crying outbursts had increased. Davide’s gut was telling him to offer Neve the job.

His bruised heart was pounding, No!

Davide watched as Neve shut down her laptop. He stared blindly at the screen and let the voices in his head battle it out. The memories of Neve in Valdoro eight years ago clashed with his fresh memories of the interview. Wearily, he finally stood up from his desk and drummed his fingers along the edge before buzzing for Lucia in the smaller office next to him.

“What did you think of the last applicant?” he said curtly in Italian.

“She was the best, Signor Cortese.”

Davide trusted Lucia’s opinion; she was his valued research assistant and friend, and genuinely cared for Bianca. When she addressed him in such a formal manner, he knew she was very serious.

“Yes...she was,” he murmured, his fingers beginning to tap again.

He cleared his throat. This wasn’t about him, he tried to convince himself. He had to do this for Bianca. What were the chances of finding someone as perfect as Neve Wilder for the position of nanny?

“Send her an email offering her the position. Sign it with your name, not mine. And tell her her flight and all travel costs will be covered. Rail, hotel, food, everything. I understand she’s finished with her school year toward the end of June. I want her here for the first or second of July. Please and thank you.”

“Prego, Davide. Let’s hope for the best.” She gave his hand a reassuring pat and left the room.

Davide sat back down at his massive sixteenth-century carved walnut desk. He opened a drawer, and then reached farther into a hidden back drawer and retrieved a folded note. His heart thudding, he gently opened it and read the message inside:

I will not meet you.

Your bold request is inappropriate and offensive. You would do well to remember your place.

Neve

Davide felt the heat rise from his chest to his neck and face. The silly note still got to him. His jaw clenched. Eight summers ago, Neve Wilder had succeeded in humiliating him and putting him in his place with her arrogant reply.

And now she’d be working for him. How could he not help feeling even the tiniest temptation to put her in her place?

CHAPTER TWO

THIS NANNY JOB, if she got it, would be like winning the lottery, Neve thought wistfully. She wanted to get away. No, she needed to get away. Her mother, who was controlling at the best of times, had become especially clingy and obtrusive lately.

Neve sighed. She wished that some of the attention her mother was directing toward her nowadays had been given when her father had died and afterward. Neve could still remember feeling heartbroken and confused in her youth. Devastated that her dear father would no longer accompany her to any of her school events or swimming lessons, or read her any fairy tales at bedtime, and bewildered by her mother’s emotional distance. While her mother had eased her grief with a drink while staring out a window, Neve had often cried herself to sleep hugging the plush dragon her father had bought her for her seventh birthday. Her eyes prickled at the memory of her dear father, always encouraging, never judgmental of her or others.

Unlike her mother.

It hadn’t taken Neve long in her youth to recognize certain traits in her mother that made her feel uncomfortable, especially in public. Lois Wilder, who had enjoyed a wealthy lifestyle since she was young, expected and often demanded service from others. Saw herself as above certain people. Neve had become embarrassed more than once by her mother’s arrogant demeanor, even with some of her school friends. Whenever she had brought a friend over, Lois had always asked them about their parents’ jobs, scrutinized their clothing and ultimately tried to manipulate whom Neve should socialize with.

She had even tried to dissuade Neve from pursuing such a common profession as teaching. “Why don’t you accept a position in your father’s company?” She owned the company now and had pressed Neve constantly to get on board. “You could have it made, sweetheart, instead of trying to educate rug rats. And in kindergarten, how much teaching will you actually be doing? They’re still babies. You’ll be spending most of the time on your knees, cleaning up after their accidents, wiping snotty noses, dealing with tantrums. And you’ll be making peanuts compared to what you’d be earning working in your dad’s computer business.”

“Mom, I have no interest in the world of computers. I want to make a difference with kids. Help them to love learning.”

“Well, at least get your masters and doctorate, and then you’ll be able to teach at the university level. That would give you some status.”

“I’m not interested in status, Mom.” Like you...

Neve had had to control herself from being rude, although sometimes she had come very close. By the time she had graduated with her teaching degree, she had been more than ready to leave home. Lois had tried to bribe her with a luxury car and promises of travel if she stayed put.

Neve was having none of it.

Her mother had been hinting about a new manager in one of the departments that she thought might be a good match for Neve. The last thing Neve wanted was a man her mother approved of. A man who had similar qualities as her mother. Rich and snooty. Controlling and manipulative.

No, Neve had started her search and had found herself a bachelor apartment in a section of a house owned by Italian immigrants, and her teacher’s salary had covered her rent and expenses. The “allowance” her mother insisted on sending her, Neve had put in her savings and travel accounts. Lois had insisted that she wanted Neve to have her inheritance—or at least some of it—before she passed away. “That way I can see you enjoying the finer things in life, darling.”

* * *

Neve was immersed in watching a recent YouTube video of Valdoro when her cell phone chimed. She glanced down on the counter where she had left it and felt a swirl of butterflies in her stomach at the sender and the subject.

Lucia Michele. Re: Your Application

She hadn’t expected to hear back the same day, let alone after half an hour. It had to be a form letter, fired off that quickly. Her heart sank. What had she expected, anyway? There had obviously been other applicants with much more experience than she had...

Neve sat down at the kitchen island and opened up the message on her phone. Her heartbeat quickened at the first sentence.

Dear Miss Wilder,

You have been accepted for the position of nanny. I will be sending you another email with information about the child’s situation as well as other pertinent details you should know. The child’s name is Bianca. She is five years old and living with her uncle.

I trust that you will be satisfied with the proposed salary and conditions of employment. After you have read the email, please download the attached contract, sign it and either scan and resend, or take a photograph and email it to this address.

Once this is done I will book your flights and send you an email with itinerary details. On July second you will be met at Lamezia Airport and a driver will bring you to your employer’s residence.

Cordially,

Lucia Michele

Neve blinked, stunned. She had the job! She read the email again. She couldn’t exactly call it a warm letter; it was very matter-of-fact and to the point. There was no commentary on her qualifications, the interview itself or anything else. The employer had obviously been satisfied with her detailed CV and with how she had responded in the interview.

Neve thought about everything she needed to do in the next two weeks. Less than two weeks, actually. Finalize report cards. File. Clean up her classroom. Pack. No, shop first. She needed some light dresses and new shorts. And definitely a couple of new swimsuits. Her favorite one, a fuchsia one-piece, had faded from the chlorine at the local swimming pool. And not that she’d have much time to herself, but the ad did say there would be one day off. Well, she would most certainly be frequenting the nearest beach on that day.

Neve thought about the little girl she would soon meet. Bianca. Such a lovely name. What had occurred in Bianca’s young life to cause her such distress? Why was she living with her uncle? Dozens of questions swarmed in Neve’s mind... She would get the answers soon enough.

She opted for an early night after a quick shower. The school was having their end-of-year play the following day, and she needed to store up her energy for the scheduled activities that included her class of twenty-four kindergarten students. There would be fun and laughter, but Neve was prepared for the possible tears and other behaviors that some of her five-year-olds might display after a few hours in the sun.

Yawning, she changed into a light blue baby doll and snuggled under her covers. She thought about Bianca’s uncle. It was hard to get any kind of impression of him from his assistant’s email. Did he have a wife, and if so, she must be working, or else wouldn’t she be taking care of Bianca? Stop, she told herself. She’d know more when she got Mrs. Michele’s next email.

Neve felt her eyelids getting heavier. What if Bianca’s uncle is single? And the sudden thought: What if that guy from across the street is still in Valdoro? He may very well have moved to work in a bigger city up north, like Rome or Milan, as many of the Southerners tended to do. But if he was still in Valdoro, would she recognize him? He’d be maybe twenty-eight or so, and he’d probably be married with a couple of kids... Or maybe not... The picture of him she had kept in her mind had faded and blurred a little, but even so, she felt her pulse quicken.

And the image of his intense black eyes was the last thing she saw before she drifted into sleep.

* * *

Davide shut down his laptop. He left his study and strode to his bedroom. He opened the shutters and stood for a while, gazing at the twinkling lights dotting the countryside, and the indigo streak beyond—the Ionian Sea. It had been another scorching day; the locals had said it was the hottest summer in history. A smile curved his lips. For as long as he could remember, Valdoro’s residents had said the same thing every summer. And the people in neighboring hamlets and towns were no different.

He almost felt like driving down the mountain to have a swim in the refreshing depths of the sea. But Bianca was sleeping and Lucia had gone home. They had decided to carry out the interview in early afternoon Vancouver time, which was nine hours behind Italian time.

Davide peeled off his shirt and pants and tossed them over a chair. There was hardly a breeze, and the night air had dropped a dozen degrees, but it was still too warm. He didn’t have to worry about his neighbors seeing him, though. Last year he had purchased this house on a steep mountain on the outskirts of Valdoro, a few kilometers away. There were no neighbors to look across from their windows or balconies to his.

He smiled wryly. It wasn’t actually a house; it was an eighteenth-century castle that had been built by the Baron of Valdoro. Fortified castles had been built inland on impossibly high mountains throughout Calabria, and their lords or barons had employed the locals to work the land of their vast properties, or latifundi, as they had been known. The last descendant of the Baron of Valdoro had died childless a hundred or so years earlier, and the land around his castle had long been abandoned. Although the castle was within the boundaries of Valdoro, it had not been maintained; the town simply hadn’t had the financial means to restore it.

Three years ago, when Davide’s first novel had been awarded Italy’s prestigious literary award—the Premio Strega—followed by international sales and a film and miniseries option that made him a multimillionaire in months, he had spent the first year swirling from interview to interview, in between countless literary readings and festivals all over Italy. His face had been on the cover of practically every newspaper and magazine.

He had been one of the youngest recipients of the Strega. His hometown had attracted tourists, which had boosted the economy and profile of Valdoro, pleasing both the town officials and the residents alike. Davide was given the ceremonial key to Valdoro, and he had celebrated with his uncle and neighbors in a day of festivities culminating in a spectacular show of fireworks.

He still couldn’t believe that the words he had penned about a family during the unification of Italy in 1861 had garnered such fanfare. It had been compared in scope to Il Gattopardo, the famous novel written by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa. Davide had studied The Leopard in high school, had been riveted by its rich complexity, propelling him to pursue further studies in history and literature.

He had made a promise to himself the summer Neve Wilder had visited Valdoro with her mother. And that was to let Neve’s harsh words on the note she sent him burn into his soul until he had accomplished one goal, and that was to elevate himself to the point where she, or anybody else, could not look down on him.

That meant continuing to further his education and to make something of himself. His uncle had lived very humbly as a priest, and had stretched himself to the limit to provide for him. Davide had been very appreciative, but he had realized that he had to push himself to go beyond his or his uncle’s normal expectations.

In between his studies and work on the farm, Davide had taken to writing. Late at night and before dawn, he had let his knowledge of history, his culture and his imagination combine and transform into the fictional story of the daughter of a Bourbon lord, who had become captivated with the ideals of General Giuseppe Garibaldi in his quest to oust the Spanish Bourbon regime and unify the South with the rest of Italy. The girl had fallen in love with one of Garibaldi’s soldiers during the revolution and successful ousting of the Bourbons, and had abandoned her family and relinquished her status to elope with him in the mysterious Aspromonte mountain range in Calabria.

Writing this story had been bittersweet, and his hand had sometimes trembled with emotion as he created the scenes between the two lovers. His protagonist, Serena, had turned out to be an Italian version of Neve, dark-haired but with the same fair skin and blue-green eyes that were not often seen in the South.

Davide had made Serena everything he had fantasized about Neve before she had crushed his illusions...and Vittorio was the name he had called the man who had captured her heart.

Davide gave a harsh laugh. What a fool he had been eight years ago. A romantic fool.

After first catching sight of Neve on that balcony, he had used every excuse possible to walk by. He had had asked his friend Agostino, whose mother had been working as a housekeeper at the Villa Morgana, to keep him informed of any excursions Neve’s family was planning, and Davide would innocently show up around that time. Just to catch sight of Neve.

When he had had the good fortune of first spotting her on the balcony, he had dared to hold his gaze for longer than a casual glance. And to his delight, after gazing away shyly, she had returned it. But then, with each subsequent walk-by, she had attempted a quirky smile, her face flushing like a ripe peach.

After a couple of days Davide had made the bold move of crossing the road to walk on the same side of the villa on his way home from working on the farm. And then later, once he had showered and changed, he had returned. The local bakery was just down the street from the villa, and this had become his excuse to walk by every day.

Zio Francesco had commented about Davide’s sudden sweet tooth, for Davide was bringing home a bag of brioche filled with custard one day, or a few marzipan fruit cookies or hazelnut biscotti the next day. Davide couldn’t very well reveal the real reason for his purchases to his uncle; he had shared his feelings only with Agostino, who had revealed the girl’s name to him.