But she could hoard it anyway, Kathryn thought, feeling dazed. She could hold it close. An unexpected gift she could take out and warm herself with during her next sleepless night—and this was not the time to ask herself why she thought anything this man did was a gift. Not when she knew he’d hate her even more for thinking such a thing.
“And a driving, inescapable passion for a septuagenarian overtook you in this waiting area?” he asked, his voice darker than before, his gaze much too shrewd. “I hear that happens. Though not often to young women in their twenties, unless, of course, you were discussing his net worth.”
“I liked him,” Kathryn said, and that was the truth about her marriage, no matter the extenuating circumstances. She shrugged. “He made me laugh and I made him laugh, too. It wasn’t seedy or mercenary, Luca, no matter how much you wish that it was. He was a good friend to me.”
A better friend than most, if she was honest.
“A good friend.”
“Yes.”
“My father. Gianni Castelli. A good friend.”
Kathryn sighed, and set her plate down on the coffee table, her appetite gone. “I take it you’ve decided in your infinite wisdom that this, too, must be impossible.”
Luca’s laugh this time was no gift. Not one anyone in her right mind would want anyway.
“My father was born into wealth, and his single goal was to expand it,” he told her harshly, the Italian inflection in his voice stronger than usual. “That was his art and his calling, and he dedicated himself to it with single-minded purpose from the time he could walk. His favorite hobby was marriage—the more inappropriate, the better. Do not beat yourself up. Most of his wives misunderstood the breakdown of his affections and attention.”
“I don’t think you knew your father very well,” Kathryn suggested. She lifted up her hands when Luca’s eyes blazed. “Not in the way I did. That’s all I mean.”
“You’re speaking of the two years of your acquaintance with him, as opposed to the whole of my life?”
“A son can’t possibly know the man his father was.” She lifted a shoulder then dropped it. “He can only know what kind of father he was or wasn’t, and piece together what clues he can about the man from that. Isn’t that the history of the world? No one ever knows their parents. Not really.”
She certainly didn’t know hers. Her father had buggered off before she was born, and her mother had given up everything that had mattered to her so Kathryn wouldn’t have to bear the weight of that. Kathryn knew the sacrifice. Her mother reminded her of what she’d left behind for Kathryn’s sake at every opportunity, and fair enough. But she still couldn’t say she understood the woman—much less the way she’d treated Kathryn all her life.
A muscle leaped in Luca’s lean jaw.
“I knew my father a great deal longer than you did,” he gritted out after a moment. “He had no friends, Kathryn. He had business associates and a collection of wives. Everyone in his life was accorded a role and expected to play it, and woe betide the fool who did not live up to his expectations.”
“Is that what this has been about all this time? All the hatred and the nastiness and the threats and so on?” she asked. She tilted her head to one side and said the thing she knew she shouldn’t. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “You...have daddy issues?”
The crack of his temper was very nearly audible. If the plane itself had been thrown off course and sent into a spiraling nosedive toward the ocean, she wouldn’t have been at all surprised—and it took Kathryn a long, tense, shuddering moment to understand that the jet they sat on was fine. The plane flew on, unaffected by the minor explosion that had taken over the cabin—and the aftershocks that were still rolling through her.
The only steep and terrible free fall was in her stomach as it plummeted to her feet.
Luca hadn’t moved. It only felt as if he had.
She watched, as fascinated as she was alarmed, as he tamped that bright current of fury down. He still didn’t move. He stared back at her as if he’d very much like to throttle her. One hand twitched as if he’d considered it. This suggested to her that she’d been more on target than she’d imagined when she’d said it.
But then he blinked and the crisis passed. There was only the usual force of his dislike staring back at her. That and the leftover adrenaline trickling through her veins, making her shift against the sofa cushions.
“Why me?” he asked, his dark voice a spiked thing as it slammed into her. “I’ve made no secret of my opinion of you. What sort of masochism led you to throw yourself in my path when you must know you’d have had a much better time in another branch of the company?”
“Is that a thinly veiled way of asking if I’m pursuing you for my usual gold-digging ends?” she asked, unable to tear her gaze from his and equally unsure why that was. Why did he invade her like this? Why did she feel as if he had more control over her than she did?
“Was it veiled, thinly or otherwise?” he asked, his voice soft. If no less harsh. “I must be doing it wrong.”
Kathryn’s smile felt forced, but she didn’t let it fade. She had the wild notion, suddenly, that it was all she had.
“I considered working for your brother, of course,” she said quietly. “I doubt he’s particularly fond of me, but there’s certainly none of...this.” She waved her hand between them, in that too-thick air and that taut electric storm that charged it. “It would have been easier, certainly.”
“Then, why?” Luca’s mouth curled into something much too dark to be any kind of smile, and the echo of it pulsed inside her. “To punish us both?”
“The fact is that your brother maintains the business and he’s very good at it,” Kathryn said. “He will make certain the Castelli name endures, that no ground will be lost on his watch. He’s a very steady hand on the wheel.”
“And I am what?” Luca didn’t quite laugh. “The drunken driver in this scenario? I drive too fast, Kathryn. But never drunk.”
“You’re the innovator,” she said quietly. It felt...dangerous to praise him to his face. To do something other than suffer through his darkness. “You’re the creative force in the company. Never satisfied. Always pushing a new boundary.” She shrugged, more uncomfortable than she could remember ever having been around him before, and that was saying something. “My personal feelings about you aside, there’s no more exciting place to work. You must know this. I assume that’s why all your employees are so—” Kathryn smiled that little bit brighter, and that, too, was harder than it should have been “—fiercely protective.”
Luca looked thrown, which she might have considered a victory at any other time—but there was something about the way he gazed at her then. It seemed to sneak into her, wrapping itself around her bones and drawing tight. Too tight.
“Can you do that?” he asked, his voice mild but with that something beneath it. “Put your personal feelings aside?”
She met his gaze. She didn’t flinch.
“I have to if I want this job to mean something,” Kathryn told him, aware as she spoke that this might have been the most honest she’d ever been with him. As if she had nothing to lose, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. This was her only chance to prove that she could make something of herself without her mother’s input or directives. This was her only chance to honor her mother’s sacrifices—and also stay free. “And I do. Unlike you, I don’t have a choice.”
* * *
The Castelli château, the center of Castelli Wine’s operations in the States, perched at the top of Northern California’s fertile Sonoma Valley like a particularly self-satisfied grande dame. The vineyards stretched out much like