Her heartbeat increased. There was only one person in the world who could distract her, and that was him.
‘Don’t tell me that old dog Alterra has been up to his tricks again?’ Gianni said with sudden vigour.
‘No! Everyone has treated me very well. I was a bit worried that Italy would be full of bottom-pinching Don Giovannis, but luckily that turned out to be nothing but a—’
She stopped with a squeal, her eyes wide with surprise. Gianni’s hand had slithered over her rump and delivered an intimate squeeze. In between smiling and nodding at his guests as they passed on their way in to dinner, he leaned in close and whispered in Meg’s ear.
‘It would be such a shame if every single man here tonight let the side down, mio dolce!’ he murmured. With a mischievous wink he detached himself from her, ready to take his place at the main table.
Meg couldn’t help herself.
‘Don’t leave me, Gianni!’ The cry escaped before she could stifle it. ‘I’m not cut out for this!’
‘Of course you are!’ His hand darted out to her again, but this time he gave her nothing more than a friendly pat of reassurance. ‘Come and sit down. Remember how impressed I was by you at the Chelsea Flower Show? Think about your spectacular triumph there. Concentrate on your achievements, not your doubts. If all else fails, count your qualifications,’ he finished with dry humour. Suddenly he leaned forward until his breath was whispering right into her ear. ‘You’ve got more to be proud of than all these celebrità put together!’ he murmured. Then he squeezed her elbow, and was gone.
Meg’s mouth fell open. Could that possibly be true? Her mind reeled through everything Gianni had ever said to her. Her body had burned for him from that first meeting at Chelsea. Now she was fired up for quite another reason. She had a job to do, and it was one full of purpose. By helping Gianni push forward with his plans for the Castelfino Estate, she would be securing her own future here at the villa. She might even earn some special thanks from him…
His flattery worked. Meg walked through the banqueting hall with her head held high, full of his encouragement. As she scanned the crowds of Europe’s most influential people only one man could hold her gaze. Gianni was in his element. Tall and suave, he stood behind his chair at the centre of the fifteen-metre long dining table, chatting with everyone. Meg hungered for another taste of his skill at putting people at their ease. She could not wait to take the empty place opposite him, but the crowd in front of her moved with agonising slowness. They were more interested in the life-sized Bellini family portraits ranged around the walls. Meg had to content herself with watching Gianni from a distance as he entertained his audience like the professional he was. She didn’t have long to savour his skill. He must have felt her watching him because suddenly he stopped, and shot a smile straight at her.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen—please give a special vote of thanks to the Villa Castelfino’s head gardener—Miss Megan Imsey. On top of her usual duties, she is responsible for all the wonderful floral art you see around you tonight!’ With that, he began to clap. His audience joined in. They all turned patronising smiles on Meg as she stood in the spotlight, shimmering with nerves.
She could have died from embarrassment, but cringing wasn’t an option tonight. Gianni likes my work so much he’s telling everyone. Perhaps I’m as good as he says I am, after all! She told herself. Nailing on a broad smile, she stood up as tall as she could and flung back her shoulders. The gaggle of guests blocking her way parted like magic. That gave her the confidence to stride straight towards the table. A footman pulled out her chair as she arrived. As she sat down he took the starched napkin from her side plate. Shaking out its folds, he settled it on her lap. Gianni watched the whole performance with undisguised pleasure.
‘I said you would be the star of my show, Megan,’ he murmured.
A portly, florid-faced couple waddled up to take their seats at the table, interrupting before Meg could respond with anything more than a nervous laugh.
‘Can’t you leave the girls alone for a single minute, Gianni?’ the man wheezed cheerfully.
‘When are you going to settle down under a mountain of debt and responsibility, like us?’ the woman added as she took the seat next to Gianni. This must be the Signora Ricci whom Meg had imagined to be a teenaged supermodel. Instead, she was an elderly woman wearing inches of make-up and weighing close to twenty stone. Meg heaved a huge sigh of relief. Despite Signora Ricci’s supercilious expression, Meg gave her a particularly warm smile. Gianni cleared his throat. Always glad of an excuse to look at him, Meg glanced across the table. He fixed her with an amused smile, but the look in his eyes was penetrating. ‘Never, if I have any say in the matter!’
His expression almost took Meg’s breath away. There could be no doubt about it—he meant what he said. This was a stark reminder. Giving her a conspiratorial wink, he greeted the newcomers with his special brand of charm. Meg tried not to look. But she couldn’t help listening in to the conversation, and was soon overwhelmed with a mixture of shock and admiration. Gianni could make all his words sound as convincing as his flirtation. She had to admire him for it. If only she could charm people so easily! She might have bounced Imsey’s Plant Centre out of trouble in minutes, rather than months. That would have left her free to concentrate on her own career. She could have taken that job with the royal family…but then, if she had done that, maybe she would never have met Gianni…
‘Aren’t you going to introduce your latest “friend” to us properly, Gianni?’ Signora Ricci boomed suddenly. She refused to be deflected from inspecting Meg, and looked at her as though she were something usually found in a spa drain. ‘Though how we’re expected to remember the names of all your women I really don’t know. You’ll have found yourself another before the evening’s over, I’ll bet!’
Meg didn’t know what to do. She wished she could think of a stinging reply, but this company was far too important to upset. She blushed and shrank in her seat, but Gianni came straight to her rescue. He drew himself up to his full impressive height. Everyone around them gasped. At well over six feet tall, he towered over his audience. Right now he was using every inch of his powerful build to drive his message home.
‘That’s what you think, Signora Ricci,’ he murmured, his seductive dark eyes hard as jet. ‘Now I am in charge here, the Castelfino estate is my priority. Everything else takes second place. And I mean everything. When I misbehave these days, I do it in private.’
This didn’t satisfy his tormentors. They guffawed loudly. ‘No, you’ll never change, Gianni! It’s a pity your father never saw through you, and recognised the truth. Someone should have told him. All your fast living will wreck this beautiful land, and you couldn’t even be bothered to give him a grandson to carry on the family name while he was alive!’ Signora Ricci cackled.
Until this point Gianni had merely looked annoyed. Now Meg saw a change come over him. At the mention of his father he drew in a long, exasperated breath and raised his granite chin in defiance. A nerve pulsed in his neck. Danger flashed in the glitter of his eyes. This guest had definitely found a chink in his armour of suave sophistication. He looked down his aristocratic nose at her as he delivered a damning retort.
‘That’s all in hand,’ He said coldly. ‘As soon as my plans for the Castelfino Estate are up and running, I shall marry. And I would be grateful if you would show my head gardener a little more respect, signora.’
His manners were perfect, and his smile as polite as ever. Despite that, Meg saw that his body was rigid, and his knuckles were white as he gripped the back of his chair. A cocktail of alarm and dread rushed through her veins. Signora Ricci had no such fears. She laughed out loud.
‘You’re going to get married, Gianni? You?’
’Naturalmente. Tradition means everything to my family. I must have a child, whatever the cost.’
In