Since he’d been too young to remember his father, he didn’t miss him, only the idea of him. Cesare had envied his friends who had fathers and taught them things. Early in life he’d felt embarrassed at times that he was the only one who went to mass unaccompanied while the other boys walked in the church with their own fathers.
As he grew up, the embarrassment went away, but he lacked the confidence he saw in his friends whose sense of belonging seemed to give them an extra layer of it.
Cesare couldn’t comprehend a man abandoning his wife and children, never caring about them again. Sometimes in his teens he’d dreamed about meeting his father, but those dreams were unsatisfactory because his father always turned away from him. The dreams eventually stopped, but not the feeling that there was something lacking in him.
At the age of thirty, Cesare was living a different life. Thanks to the college mentor who’d taught him and his partners how to invest, his worth now figured in the billions. But the past could never be forgotten and had formed him into the man he’d become.
Over time he’d seen enough to decide romantic love was transitory at most. Of course there were exceptions, like his partners’ marriages. But at this stage in his life Cesare wasn’t that confident that he was marriage material. He hadn’t witnessed two parents loving each other. So far he felt he was better off alone like his mother. With a sister and brother-in-law and their daughter Elana, Cesare was happy enough with the family he loved.
In fact he had all he needed, including the occasional relationship with a woman. There was no guarantee that one would stay with him if he did get married, or that it would last.
Or that he might not be more like his father than he thought...
From time to time that thought haunted him because he hadn’t met a woman who meant everything to him. Maybe he’d subconsciously pushed them away so he didn’t have to deal with commitment. Though he didn’t want to bring up past pain to his mother, one of these days he would have a talk with her about the man who’d disappeared on their family, on him.
When the limo finally reached the villa, Cesare put his darker thoughts away and paid the driver before getting out. His mother was expecting him, and knew he’d be flying Ciro Fragala back to Milan with him the next day. But it was close to one o’clock. She always went to bed early.
He’d told her not to wait up and they’d talk in the morning before Ciro arrived at the villa in a limo Cesare had arranged for ahead of time. The man would be shipping his belongings to Milan and he’d stay in a room at the castello until he decided where he wanted to live.
Every time Cesare came to Palermo, he was charmed by the large ochre-colored villa spread over two floors with three beautiful terraces and a Mediterranean garden. The small pool was lined with glazed tiles of North African origin.
From the terrace off the dining room he was met with a glorious view of the Gulf front. It was a sight he’d always loved after climbing the bluff called Mount Pellegrino many times in his youth. From there he could imagine himself escaping the suffocating heat and madness of the city and sailing away to America. Incredibly that dream had come true.
Once he’d entered the foyer, he turned off the outside light and moved across the stone tiles of the villa in the dark to the kitchen with his suitcase. After setting it down, his first instinct was to grab himself a small bottle of his favorite grappa digestivo from the cabinet where he knew it was kept, then head upstairs to his suite with it. Before sleep, all he wanted was to take a few sips to remind him he was back in the land of his roots.
But as he turned to pick up his suitcase, he bumped into another body and heard a cry.
“Mamma?” He automatically hugged her to him. “Mi dispiace tanto. I didn’t think you’d be up this late. Did I hurt you?”
That’s when the bottle slipped from his hand and cracked on the floor. But the strong scent of the 60 proof alcohol wasn’t nearly as shocking as the feel of the woman in his arms.
She wasn’t built anything like his wiry brunette mother or her housekeeper who came in several times a week. In fact she was taller than both of them. To add to his surprise, the flowery scent from her hair and skin intoxicated him. It took him a second to gather his wits.
“Don’t move. There’s broken glass. I’ll turn on the light.” He let her go and walked to the doorway to flip the switch. Cesare was shocked yet again.
If he didn’t know better, he would think he’d released a gorgeous enchanted princess from her bottle. Her stunning figure was swathed in a lemon silk robe. Thank heaven she was wearing sandals. Between her medium-length black curls and eyes gray as the morning mist off the ocean, his gaze managed to swallow her whole before he realized she looked familiar to him. He knew he’d seen her before but couldn’t place her.
She stared back as if disbelieving before taking a few steps away from the wet mess on the stone flooring. A hand went to her throat. “You’re Cesare,” she murmured, sounding astonished.
“I’m afraid you’ve got me at a disadvantage, signorina.” Maybe he was in the middle of a fantastic dream, but so far he hadn’t awakened. Quickly he walked over to the utility closet for a cloth and brush to pick up the glass and clean the floor.
“My name is Tuccia. I’m so sorry to have startled you.”
Tuccia. An unusual name.
Tuccia. Short for... Princess Tuccianna of Sicilian nobililty?
Over the years there’d been photos of her in the newspapers from time to time, mostly stories about her escapades away from the royal palazzo where she got into trouble with friends and was seen partying in local clubs to the embarrassment of the royal household. But Cesare had never seen her up close.
The latest news in the Palermo press reported she was engaged to be married to some French comte who lived in Paris and was one of the wealthiest men in France.
No. It couldn’t be, yet he realized it was she.
“I’m afraid I don’t recognize it,” he dissembled until he could work out why the daughter of the Marchese and Marchesa of the ancient Sicilian House of Trabia, was in his mother’s villa.
“You probably wouldn’t. It’s not common.”
She was trying to put Cesare off, but he intended to get to the bottom of this mystery. “Did Mamma hire you to be a new maid?”
She averted her eyes. “No. Signora Donati allowed me to stay with her for tonight.” He frowned, not having known anything about this. Why hadn’t his beloved mother told him what to expect when he arrived? “I—I thought I heard a noise, signor,” she stammered, “but I didn’t have time to turn on the light.”
“No. We were both taken by surprise,” he murmured, still reeling from the sensation of her incredible body clutched to his so she wouldn’t fall.
Cesare had enjoyed various relationships with attractive women over the years, but he’d never gotten into anything serious. Yet the feel and sight of the beautiful young princess, whose face was like something out of Botticelli, had shaken him.
“I guess you know you have the most wonderful mother in the world,” she gushed all of a sudden, breaking in on his private thoughts. He was amazed by her comment. It had sounded completely sincere.
He closed the utility door and turned to her, growing more curious by the second. “I do. How did you two meet?”
His question caused her to hesitate. “I think it would be better if you ask her. I’m truly sorry to have disturbed you and will say goodnight.” She darted away, leaving him full of questions and standing there wide awake in the trail of her fragrance.
The princess, reputed to be a spoiled, headstrong handful, had elegance and manners.