Chapter Eight
Simone sat on the stone terrace at the rear of the home, shaded by grape vines, overlooking the garden.
She’d wandered through the space a few times since she’d been here, through the olive and fig trees.
Hidden away from the bustle of Milan. A little oasis.
This morning, she sipped a coffee. The silence only punctuated by the twitter of birds.
It had been two days since the charity ball and they’d barely left the bedroom since arriving home.
Simone rolled her shoulders, stretched her neck, enjoying the subtle aches from their lovemaking.
Simone had known Leo was a perfectionist when she’d begun working for him.
He was driven, a workaholic. Everything she’d expected from a man who’d come from nothing to own an empire.
She’d just never really thought what it would be like to have all that drive and perfectionism turned onto her.
A wicked slide of heat journeyed through her veins.
Yes, the man was a perfectionist in the bedroom too and she’d reaped all those delicious rewards.
Making love through the night, into the early morning.
They’d been insatiable and perfectly attuned to each other’s needs, their desires.
It consumed her. And Leo too, his well-earned ego seemed to be overfed by making her scream.
It’s better than music, he’d murmured into her ear the night before.
It was better than just about anything.
‘Why are you not still in bed?’
Simone shut her eyes at the deep lilt of his voice.
Right now she wanted to ditch her coffee and do just that, run to the bedroom and make love all morning, but she’d come out here for a reason and Leo had a business to run.
He’d left her dozing to go and work and she’d felt guilty lying there whilst there were things plaguing him, like the so-far failed attempts to purchase the Tessitore family’s textile company.
She realised now what it meant to him to acquire it, as a way of avenging his mother. And whilst she didn’t really think revenge was the healthiest coping strategy, she understood him better than she ever had before. For that reason, she wanted to help.
‘You were working and so was I.’
He leaned over and kissed the side of her neck.
She angled her head sideways allowing him more access as he drifted her lips over her sensitive skin.
Goosebumps fizzed over her, making her shiver, even in the warmth of this perfect morning.
Leo stroked his hand over her arm. ‘Are you cold, tesoro? Should I take you back to bed and warm you up?’
‘Yes, I mean, no! You make it impossible for me to think.’
‘I don’t want you thinking. I want you feeling.’
‘Leave feeling till later.’ She waved at the table. ‘Sit down, I have some ideas.’
Leo grinned, the look one of pure wickedness. ‘So do I. Since you’re not cold, did you know that ice applied in the right way can be extremely pleasurable?’
The whole of her flushed hot. She was sure she’d gone as red as if she’d suffered a bad case of sunburn.
‘Leo! Take a seat. I’m serious.’
‘So am I,’ he murmured into her ear, his breath warm as it feathered against her overheated flesh.
She sighed. ‘Later then.’
He gave her neck a final kiss then drew out a seat next to her and sat.
Whilst he said he’d been working, he wasn’t dressed for it.
All he wore were a pair of black, silk pyjama bottoms, slung low on his hips.
His skin a rich gold in the morning light.
The man wasn’t shy in showing off his body, for good reason.
She knew exactly why the talent scout had taken one look at him and contracted him almost immediately.
‘You said you were working and yet here you are, feasting on me with your eyes. Maybe you could feast on me for real instead?’
She only noticed then that he had his own cup of coffee in front of him. The man was a menace to her concentration and clearly an excellent multi-tasker.
‘You’re still not gaining any headway with the Tessitore family?’ Simone asked.
Leo raked his hand through his thick, dark hair, leaving him looking gorgeously dishevelled. ‘No. They blow hot, they blow cold. Right now, they’re cold.’
‘Are you sure they want to sell?’ Simone asked.
Leo frowned. ‘That’s what they claim.’
‘And you’ve tried phone calls and meetings?’
‘Every approach. Direct and indirect.’
Then there was the dinner they’d meant to go to before her fall, but neither of them would mention that.
She didn’t want to think about it, even though she still couldn’t remember the fall itself.
Yet she could see it in Leo’s eyes, a distant expression.
He seemed to remember it all too well. What must it have been like, to see her lying there?
Especially after his mother had died after an accident like hers?
Simone couldn’t imagine. Maybe that’s why he’d reacted like he had. Clearing her diary and giving Marchesa her job, albeit fleetingly. He’d been trying to protect her, not control her.
‘What are you thinking of?’ Leo asked.
That she’d had a stunning realisation, but there was no time to dwell on it now.
‘They’re a family,’ she said. ‘That’s why you married me. Because they had trouble with you and your playboy lifestyle.’
‘Yes. They’re a deeply traditional Lombardi family, who’ve been textile makers for centuries. Where are we going with this?’
‘Then that’s what you have to show them,’ Simone said patiently. ‘You might have married me, but that didn’t really mean anything to them. With you, it’s been all about the business. You need to make it about family instead. Show them who you really are.’
Leo cocked his head. ‘I’m not sure how to do that.’
She understood him a little better now. Leo held back, always kept something in reserve.
He was well-liked and on the surface seemed to connect with people, but deep down, there was something about himself he protected.
Spaces he kept his own. Things locked deep inside he wouldn’t divulge.
He was known as a consummate businessman, warm and generous with charities.
Yet at their wedding, were there any real friends of his there?
Allies, yes. But did they go any deeper?
She wondered if he ever let anyone get close to him, at all.
And that’s what he needed to do to gain Tessitore, if only Leo could let it happen.
‘Invite them here for dinner. To your home, not your office, not a fine restaurant. Here, where you can host them. It’s a place you’ve always kept private, so why don’t you show it to the Tessitores?’
She stood with her cup of coffee in hand and began walking around the terraced area, envisaging what she had in mind.
‘It can still be a business dinner, but something a little more casual. Maybe out here with a long table under the vines. It’s a beautiful space if the weather’s good. Maybe I could cook something?’
Leo raised his eyebrows. ‘My wife does not need to cook. I have a personal chef.’
‘Yes, yes…and he’s brilliant.’ Each meal magnificent, a refrigerator always full on the days he didn’t work. Details of each meal left behind, what was in it, how to heat it up. She felt spoiled, but having a chef wasn’t the same. ‘But there’s a soft power in real hospitality.’
At the back of the property was a vibrant kitchen garden with eggplant, tomatoes, radicchio, rucola and other vegetables and herbs. Had Leo’s chef and gardener not protected that patch of the home as their own domain, she would have made something with it all. Maybe in time…
She wasn’t sure where that random thought was headed.
‘We can use vegetables from the kitchen garden.’ She waved to the back of the property.
‘Eat—I don’t know—not fine food, but something a little more homely.
Traditional from the region. I could make something, but maybe not so traditionally Italian, if you think they’d like that?
It can still be about business, but with a more personal touch.
You’ve been showing them Leonardo Zanetti, the empire builder.
Maybe you need to let them get a peek of Leo Zanetti, the man behind it all. ’
Leo cocked his head. He was thinking about it. Simone was pretty sure that it would work. ‘What would you cook?’
She thought back to her training in hospitality as a young woman and what made a good wife for a wealthy man. Whilst her parents had had a chef too, and her mother was renowned for her parties, she’d always said to Simone…
A woman should know how to mix one good cocktail, make one great hors d’oeuvre and have a signature dessert.
So Simone had learned to make a martini and smoked salmon canapes. As for dessert…
‘I make a mean caramel apple pie,’ she said. ‘I think I’d cook one of those. That’s my favourite.’
‘I enjoy sweet things.’
The way Leo looked at her in this moment, with such intensity. The vivid blue of his eyes, which should seem so cold, piercing through her like a hot poker. The man could inflame with a single glance.
‘So, what do you think?’
He downed the last of his coffee and stood, as if charged with a kind of fresh energy. The consummate businessman, hard, driven. Leonardo Zanetti at his best.
‘Nothing I’ve tried has made any real headway. I’ll get in touch with them. Arrange something and we’ll see.’ Then he looked down at her and smiled, something rare, precious and real. The type of smile Leo granted to only a privileged few. She finally felt like one of them.
‘You’re inspired, Simone. And I believe it might just work.’