The Chocolatier Read online

  “I have two talented sons,” Carmine said, taking Isabella’s hand. “Aren’t I the luckiest man? Someday soon I hope to have beautiful daughters-in-law, and soon, bambini, no?”

  Isabella fluttered her lashes, feigning shyness, but she was anything but shy. She was the most tempting, passionate woman he’d ever met, and he could never get enough of her intoxicating perfume. He longed to wake in the morning next to her and thread his fingers through her silky, golden hair. She fairly vibrated with energy, and even without touching her, she could send pulsing waves over him from across a room. She was like a high-powered radio transmitter, and he was her helpless, willing receiver.

  She’d once complained about her last boyfriend being too studious and quiet for her taste, though he knew she’d been devastated when he left her. Her father had insisted on a marriage for her, but Isabella had rebelled.

  Although Lauro had been a good student, his interests were far different from Nino’s and much broader than what the university could offer. He wanted to work with new machinery and connect with retail shops all over the world—especially in America, where one could make a fortune overnight. Their chocolates would be world-famous. Someday, he would make Isabella and her father proud of his efforts.

  Lauro looked up. Signore Guardino was approaching them. Quickly, Lauro put a respectable distance between Isabella and himself, though he ached for the warmth of her touch again.

  “Don’t step away from me,” Isabella whined in protest, pulling him back toward her and sloshing his champagne.

  “Isabella, your father is coming this way,” he said, lowering his voice and maintaining his torturous distance.

  Making a face, she lifted the champagne from his hand. “Here, I’ll finish that for you.” After a swift swallow, she tucked the glass behind her back.

  Lauro felt his scalp sweating again as it had that day when her father had spoken to him about Lauro’s request of Isabella’s hand in marriage.

  With a quick motion, she slid her hand around the back of him and pinched his buttock.

  “You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered, fighting the overwhelming involuntary physical reaction that threatened to give him away just as her father joined them.

  Signore Guardino greeted Lauro by bestowing kisses on his cheeks. Smelling of garlic and grappa, the older man had been swilling champagne like water.

  “Carmine, Lauro, are you enjoying yourselves?” Success emanated from the precision cut of the stately man’s hair to the gold ring he wore on his smallest finger. The dangerous demeanor he’d long cultivated kept people at a respectable distance.

  Speaking to Lauro’s father, Signore Guardino said, “Your son tells me he is working in your business. He’s your assistant?”

  “He’s learning about the manufacturing process,” Carmine said. Pride was evident in his voice.

  “I hope you’ll give him the opportunity to be his own man, too.”

  “Of course. He’ll soon be in charge of our chocolate operations here and in Torino,” Carmine quickly replied, shooting a look at Lauro.

  Lauro nodded solemnly, although this was the first he’d heard of this plan. His father had always planned for Nino to succeed him at Cioccolata Savoia. He wondered what had changed his mind.

  Isabella’s father drew up to his full height, half a head above Lauro. “When you travel, you will take Isabella with you. She does not like to be left alone.”

  “Papa!” Isabella protested against his command. “You’re assuming we’re going to be married.”

  Signore Guardino trained his eyes on his daughter, and she quickly averted her gaze.

  Lauro took note. “Yes, sir.” To Isabella, he added, “We’ll be doing a lot of traveling, amore mio.” He saw a fleeting look of pride in Signore Guardino’s face. He’d have to do a lot more to earn the man’s respect, but this was a start.

  He would certainly oversee the chocolate factories if that’s what his father wanted. Lauro was excited to expand the distribution of Savoia chocolate. Signore Guardino would understand this. Lauro cleared his throat.

  “I want to expand our distribution around the world,” Lauro said, his voice ringing with boldness. “The United States is an enormous market, and I’m confident that our chocolates are unique—far better than Hershey’s. One day soon, I’ll go to New York, and Macy’s and Gimbels will fight over our chocolates. We’ll make a fortune.”

  Isabella’s father took Lauro’s face between his hands and clapped his cheeks. “You do that,” he said, his words a command rather than encouragement, before moving on to another guest.

  Lauro rubbed his stinging cheek.

  “That’s a compliment from Papa.” Isabella snaked her hand into Lauro’s again and kissed his reddened face. “I need to talk to Adele before her boyfriend arrives.”

  He was glad that Isabella and Adele had become such good friends. “Adele has a boyfriend?”

  “Werner Graf. His family is from Germany. They bought the old Rosso villa a few years ago for their summer home.” Isabella hurried to Adele.

  Lauro watched her go, aching with love for her.

  His father chuckled. “The way you look, that’s how I felt about your mother when we met,” Carmine said. “And I still do.” He gazed after his wife, who was talking to Isabella’s mother, a brittle-looking society woman. “She looks like she needs a glass of champagne. I’m happy for you, son, but our holidays will never be dull again.”

  “Not that they ever were.”

  Carmine glanced at his watch. “Wonder what’s keeping Nino?”

  “I’ll look for him, Papa.”

  Lauro wedged through the crowd of extended family and close friends and stepped outside.

  Nino’s sleek red convertible, a Lancia Astura Spider, was parked outside. Lauro called out for his brother.

  Nino stepped from the shadow of an olive tree near the edge of the cliff. He seemed deep in thought; his hands were jammed into his pockets, and a sea breeze ruffled his hair away from his serious face.

  They greeted each other with an embrace. Lauro hadn’t seen Nino in months. He’d been so involved with Isabella and going to work every day with his father.

  “Good to see you, Nino.” Lauro could hardly contain his enthusiasm. “Did Papa tell you about Isabella?”

  Nino nodded, his face masked with concern. “Lauro, there’s something we need to talk about.”

  “Later,” he said, punching Nino’s arm. “Papa is looking for you. Come on.” Despite Nino’s protests, he steered his brother into the villa.

  “No, wait,” Nino said, bracing himself against the arched door jamb.

  Lauro peered at his brother. “Looks like you started celebrating early.”

  “It’s not that, it’s...Isabella.”

  “She’s beautiful. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

  Nino winced as if in pain. “Lauro, I—”

  The door burst open, and some of their younger cousins spilled out, laughing and pushing each other. Through the open door, Lauro could see Isabella chatting with Adele. He pulled Nino inside.

  One of their aunts enveloped Nino in a hug, and other family members followed suit.

  Isabella turned to cross the room to him. Lauro held out a hand to her. Behind him, Nino extricated himself from the aunts and uncles.

  “Lauro, I can’t stay—”

  “But you have to meet Isabella—” He caught Nino’s arm.

  “This isn’t the time…”

  When Isabella was two paces away, her gleeful expression froze. Her face morphed into a look Lauro had never seen before—one of confusion, hurt, and anger.

  Clamping a hand over her mouth, she shook her head, as wild-eyed as if she’d seen an apparition.

  In the split second before Lauro caught her hand, a thought raced through his mind. What’s wrong? Still clutching his brother’s arm, he said, “Isabella, I want you to meet my brother, Nino.”

  Her eyes widened with a q
uestion. “Riccardo?”

  “I can explain, cara,” Nino began, lowering his voice and spreading his hands.

  Cara. At that moment, with his brother’s loving utterance of one simple, casual word of endearment, Lauro’s world imploded.

  “I waited.” Isabella’s lovely face contorted with anguish. “You never came.”

  “Isabella?” Lauro croaked her name through paralyzed lips, hoping she would fling herself into his arms again, but she only tugged away. The thought of Isabella with Nino was a gut punch that knocked the air from his lungs.

  The conversation around them ceased, and the air that separated them stilled.

  Isabella and Nino stared at each other with impenetrable intensity.

  Nino swiped a hand across his brow. “You’re better off with Lauro.”

  As if in a trance, Isabella stepped toward Nino and pressed a slender hand against his cheek. “I loved you,” she whispered, cradling her soft belly with her other hand. “We created…together.”

  His sanity splintering, Lauro shoved Nino, desperate to break their bond.

  Murmurs rose among their family and friends, surrounding them. Lauro’s neck blazed with a toxic cocktail of shame and fury that coursed through his veins like grappa, singeing every nerve in his limbs until his flesh felt inflamed. Beyond Isabella, he saw her father’s stern face twisting with barely concealed rage.

  There was no doubt in Lauro’s mind that Signore Guardino would kill Nino. Isabella was his most precious treasure.

  As she was to Lauro.

  Nino reached out to her, imploring her with a gaze that revealed everything between them. “Are you...?

  Isabella shook her head, but her face was once again etched with injuries that Lauro had spent months kissing and smoothing away. Her vulnerability returned with such force that he knew she would never recover this time. Nino was too close.

  Lauro thrust his brother aside, but his action did nothing to sever the transfixed connection between Isabella and Nino.

  “Isabella, I beg of you,” Lauro murmured, reduced to pleading with her. “Let’s leave, right now.” If he could tear her away from this moment, maybe time would reset itself, and the world would regain its balance.

  But he was wrong. As if he, Lauro, her beloved, had ceased to exist, Isabella drew toward Nino like cold hands to a flame on a wintry eve. His heart pumping in desperation, blood roared through his brain, muffling most other sounds in the room—even the melodic strains of Astro Del Ciel—except for the three of them.

  “Riccardo…”

  She had never uttered his name with such passion. It was all Lauro could do to keep from doubling over in pain. He gripped her around the waist, pressing her to his chest, but she felt as cold as a corpse in a December tundra, staring over his shoulder at Nino.

  He had lost her.

  Lauro struggled with the sudden realization that he’d never really had her love, not like Nino had. And he never would. Could he live with that? He had to try…

  “Isabella, I still love you,” he murmured against her delicate earlobe. He didn’t know how he could ever love another.

  “I can’t, Lauro…” With tears spilling onto her cheeks, she pulled away from him. Her face shimmered with the heat of passion beading on her forehead, as if she were awakening from a nightmare. Making an angry gesture toward Nino, she spun around, her scarlet dress swirling behind her, and stormed away from them.

  Chapter 10

  Amalfi, 1953

  The sun was high in the sky, and Celina had shed her light jacket to feel its warmth on her shoulders. She had been riding for a couple of hours, exploring the countryside, trying to get the maddening exchange with Lauro out of her mind. He was easily the most insufferable man she knew. What made him think he had the right to touch her with such intimate implications? She slowed her mare and paused, glancing around the unfamiliar landscape.

  She’d torn out of the orchard with no sense of direction, blinded by fury and consumed with Lauro’s inexplicable action and what he’d charged her with. One grove had led to another, then another. She rubbed her knuckles across her horse’s neck, anger over his action and her reaction tightening her chest. “Where are we, girl?”

  Stopping by the stream she’d been following, she led her horse to the trickling water. She dismounted, and while her horse drank, she took in her surroundings. A smaller villa loomed behind her, shrouded by olive trees and lacy, pink bougainvillea flowers.

  Squatting by the stream, she rinsed her hands in the cool water and ran them over her heated face and lips. How could Lauro have imagined that she would’ve given him permission to kiss her? Even though he stopped himself at the last possible moment. He’s crazy, she thought, resting her haunches on her heels.

  Most of the people she’d observed in Italy were more demonstrative than in the United States. Tony certainly had been. Here, kisses on the cheek were expected among family and friends. Her mother had been affectionate, so she was accustomed to it.

  But a kiss on the lips still meant something else to her.

  Tony. The last man she’d kissed. Occasionally she’d found herself wondering if there would ever be another. But she was in no hurry. Taking her time would be best for her son, too. Right now, she was better off alone. She wrapped her arms around her midsection, shivering from the coolness of the stream.

  It’s lonely, though. Glancing around, the trees seemed to close in on her. Loneliness. Why was she even thinking about this? She splashed cold water on her face again and again, as if the brisk coolness could clear her mind of all that had transpired today and in the past six months.

  Suddenly, the vines behind her rustled, startling her. Had Lauro followed her? With every nerve in her body on high alert, she jerked around ready to fight.

  “Celina?” Adele stepped toward her with a curious look on her face. “What are you doing here?”

  Relieved to see Tony’s cousin, she let out a small laugh. “Guess I got a little lost.”

  “You poor thing.” Adele embraced her and pressed her cheeks to hers. “Come inside. I just made limonata. You look like you need to rest. We’ll eat, too.”

  Relief coursed through her, and Celina realized how hungry she was. Guiding her horse, she walked alongside Adele.

  “You can leave your horse here,” Adele said, taking the reins and looping them over a wooden post. “At least Lauro gave you the gentle one.” She ran her hand along the horse’s neck, and the horse whinnied in greeting.

  Inside, Adele led her to the kitchen, which was decorated with a cozy riot of cookware, flowers, and books. From a rack above a hulking stove hung copper pots rubbed until they shone. A tomato sauce simmered on the stove—a gravy, she corrected herself, as Tony had always done. The aroma brought back a memory of the first time he had ever cooked for her.

  “Have a seat,” Adele said, motioning toward a table in the center of the kitchen. “Werner has gone into town. It’s too quiet when he’s away. I’m glad you’re here.”

  Gingerly, Celina eased onto the worn wooden chair. She rubbed a sore muscle in her hip and asked, “How far am I from the Villa Savoia?”

  Adele laughed as she poured lemonade into tall frosted glasses she’d taken from the icebox. “Not too far by car, but you had a good ride.” She garnished the glasses with sprigs of fresh basil and brought them to the table. She cocked her head and added, “I’m surprised you went off on your own.”

  Celina felt her face flush. If she confided Lauro’s wretched behavior to Adele, would she believe her? She was beginning to think the Savoia family may indeed be more complicated than she’d imagined, and the last thing she wanted was to compromise her son’s relationship with his grandparents. But maybe Adele knew about the rift between Tony and his family. “I started off with Lauro.”

  “And what happened? Did he leave you?” Adele asked, her voice registering dismay.

  “No, I was so eager to explore that I took off, and we became separated.” Part of
that was true, anyway. She wanted to get to know Adele better before denigrating her cousin—though he deserved it. Adele and Lauro seemed as close as siblings. Their mothers were sisters, and all the children had grown up together.

  “I can’t imagine he let you get away.”

  “I hardly gave him a chance.” Celina sipped her lemonade, thankful for the cool, icy drink. “But then, I don’t think he cares much for me.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “He’s always challenging me.”

  Adele stirred her limonata thoughtfully. “Lauro has been under a lot of pressure to help Carmine and Sara rebuild and expand the chocolate enterprise. They feel the responsibility to provide jobs in our community, but they lost nearly everything during the war, too. Except for their land and their spirit.” She brightened. “Sara tells me you might stay. I hope so. Is that true?”

  “Sara and Carmine have been so generous, but if I stay, I need to find work, too.”

  “You could work at the chocolate factory. I’m sure Lauro could use your help.”

  Anything but that. Celina shook her head. “Actually, I’ve always wanted to have my own chocolaterie. I have some savings I can use to get started.” She still had the money she’d made on the house. It wasn’t a lot, certainly not enough to start a shop in San Francisco, but right now, due to the exchange rate, her money might go farther here in Italy.

  She’d promised herself she wouldn’t touch her little nest egg except for something that would help secure their future. From working at the chocolaterie in San Francisco she’d learned a lot about how to run a business, and she certainly knew her craft. Celina was as ready as she ever would be to start a business. She glanced out the window, taking in the stunning view of nature’s bounty against a mountainous backdrop.

  Why not here? She could dream, anyway. Clasping her hands, Celina leaned toward Adele. “Do you know of a good area for a chocolaterie?”

  “Then you’d stay?” Adele brushed her dark hair from her face, excitement glittering in her eyes.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s so pretty here.” The idea began to take root in her mind.