same sensation, leaving him feeling devastated.
He quickened his pace and hurried inside the restaurant where the staff was setting up for dinner. They called out greetings he acknowledged, but he was in too big a hurry to get engaged in conversation. Without hesitation he headed toward the kitchen where his recently engaged sister was probably doing ten tasks at once to keep things running smoothly.
After taking possession of the villa where he planned to live for the next few months, he’d come here with every intention of eating his evening meal, but, after the strange experience with Clara in the piazza, he was now put off the thought of food.
Rosa, named after his grandmother, delivered traditional, home-cooked Italian food in surroundings of frescoed walls and terracotta floors. The rustic restaurant represented his father’s dream of owning his own place. He’d wanted it to be evocative of his mother’s warm, family-oriented spirit.
In that regard, he hadn’t failed. Aside from Clara, who’d made up the best part of the background fabric of his life, Valentino’s few good memories included the experience of walking in here to encounter the distinctive aroma of the tomato sauce, Rosa’s house specialty, wafting past his nostrils.
William Valentine, his English grandfather, had passed his secret sauce recipe to his sweetheart Rosa who had later passed it on to her son Luca, Valentino’s father. Luca had then improved on the recipe, which was the reason for the restaurant’s popularity, even if at this point in time he was heavily in debt.
Valentino had the finances to help him out. At Isabella’s repeated urgings, he’d come back home for a while to do just that, but the latest revelation about his father made it damn near impossible to want to approach him.
Being back home brought all the painful memories of the past flooding to the surface, one of them still unbearable if he allowed himself to think about it too much. To make matters worse, he had to maneuver carefully because of his father’s declining health and fierce pride.
For two cents he’d leave for Monaco tonight and make arrangements to race in the next Grand Prix. But he couldn’t do that and disappoint Isabella again. He’d made her a promise to spend time at the restaurant. Tonight he’d talk to her about some ideas he had to promote the business. With a quick fix he could be out of here a lot sooner!
His sister saw him enter the kitchen. A glance from her expressive blue eyes told him she wanted to talk to him. She took her leave of the chef and signaled with her head that Valentino should follow her out the back door to the nearby stream that ran through the town. In recent years it had been cemented into a channel with bridges where they could lean against the railings and talk in private.
“I was hoping you’d get back in time for dinner,” she began without preamble. “Are you going to take the villa? It’s been empty for ages. Max hoped you might be interested in it.”
Valentino nodded. “I told Max I would rent it on a month-to-month basis. It’s roomy and the view is great. It’s an ideal solution for my temporary situation.”
She looked chagrined. “I thought you said the whole summer.”
He’d thought so too until his own pride had suffered a debilitating blow from Clara, the one person he would never have imagined could inflict hurt of any kind, not even unconsciously. It surprised him how much he cared. He was a fool to let it bother him, yet it was eating at him like a corrosive acid and he didn’t like the feeling.
“You know me. I have an aversion to being pinned down.” Isabella didn’t like hearing those words, but she had played mother to him and Cristiano for so many years, she couldn’t help but try to manage everything, even now.
Once he’d committed to coming home for a while, she’d insisted he stay at the vacant Casali home on Lake Clarissa now used for vacations. It was only a half-hour’s drive from town. When she’d first mentioned it, he’d told her it was too far away to be convenient. In truth, he didn’t know if he could ever step inside that building again. What had happened there so many years ago would haunt him to the grave.
“I’m sorry you didn’t choose to stay in the apartment with Papa. He was hoping you might move in with him.”
Isabella was out of her mind to say something like that. He swore his sister lived in denial. Her constant desire to make everything right between everybody and get along drove him around the bend. He was still furious with her for insisting they get to know their two older half-brothers, Alessandro and Angelo. Until little more than a month ago, no one in the family had known of their existence. Unbelievable!
Yet thanks to his trouble-making aunt, Luca’s guilty secret had been exposed and now Isabella was determined to make them a part of their dysfunctional lives. No, thank you.
“I’m afraid I’ve been on my own too many years, Izzy. Besides, let’s be honest. You’re always looking in on Papa and don’t need a second person being underfoot, even if I am your brother. Please don’t take that the wrong way.”
She kissed his cheek. “I didn’t.”
“I admire you for taking care of him.” That part was the truth. In her own right she was a terrific person. With her long, wavy black hair and olive skin, he considered her the quintessential Italian woman. “Papa couldn’t have made it this long without you.” She’d been the glue holding the family together.
“Thank you,” she said in a quiet voice.
“I should have said something long before now.” When he saw the work she did without complaint day after day, it made him feel all the more uncomfortable that already today he’d been entertaining thoughts of bolting before morning.
Her eyes searched his. “You’re in a strange mood. You burst into the kitchen like you were being pursued, and now you’re being uncharacteristically reflective. What happened to you after you talked to Max about the villa?”
Like a mother with eyes in the back of her head, his sister saw more than he wanted her to see. He’d run into Clara Rossetti on the way here, but their unexpected encounter hadn’t turned out as he’d anticipated, leaving him strangely unsettled.
“I’ve had an idea on how to expand the business. Unfortunately Papa is such a traditionalist, I don’t know if he’ll hear me out. I’m the last person he wants advice from.”
“How can you say that?” she cried. “You’re an international success in business. You could double your fortune showing others how to make it big.”
“That doesn’t impress a bona fide restaurateur like Papa.”
“Of course it does!”
He shook his head. “Let’s not play games, Izzy. You know why.” They stared at each other. “I’m not his biological son. I’m a reminder that I was Mamma’s love child from another man.”
“Papa raised you as his own with me and Cristiano.”
“Yes, and every time he sees me on television or hears about me on the news, he has to wonder about the stranger who was half responsible for my existence. I gave up caring a long time ago when I realized my birth father didn’t want anything to do with me either.”
Her soulful eyes looked up at him helplessly.
“If he had, he would have made arrangements
