Rosanna Battigelli - Captivated By Her Italian Boss

Davide’s sister, Violetta, had been shaken but more stoic than he was after the deaths of their parents. She had overseen the household responsibilities that their mother had managed while still at school, but when Violetta was eighteen, she fell in love with a tourist from Canada and she married him at twenty and moved to his home in Steveston, about a half an hour from Vancouver. Tristan had worked as a tour guide at a whale-watching company, while Violetta had worked to develop a small home business with her sewing talents. She had been so happy that she could work from home once they had had their baby, which was five years ago. She had studied English and learned it quickly, and when Bianca was born, she had made sure to speak to her in both languages.

Davide’s English was also fairly good. Violetta had encouraged him to study it with the possibility of moving to Vancouver one day, and he had, but destiny had had other plans for him and he had remained in Valdoro.

Valdoro was where he had first spotted Neve. Neve , pronounced Neh-veh , meaning snow in Italian. She had been standing on one of the balconies of Villa Morgana, owned by one of the wealthiest families in town, a family that derived their wealth from the bounty of the bergamot groves on their outlying properties. Their coral-colored villa was on the main street heading into Valdoro, with ornate wrought iron balconies and ceramic planters bursting with flowers. The entire roof of the villa was a terrace with bougainvillea spilling over the railing. Chairs with bright yellow and blue upholstery were scattered around a table protected by an ombrellone , a huge umbrella tilted to one side.

Davide had been returning from his uncle’s small farm, which he tended to from before sunrise till late morning, as the scorching sun was too prohibitive past noon. He had been later than usual that day, having had to chase after a goat that had found an opening in the enclosure and had wandered off. Afterward, Davide had gathered some of the garden vegetables in a huge burlap bag, and as he had passed the Villa Morgana, he had spotted a girl on the balcony. He hadn’t seen her in Valdoro before. Her hair was wet and she was air-drying it.

Davide’s T-shirt had been sweat-soaked, his jeans earth-stained, and he could feel his face prickling with perspiration. As he had passed in front of the villa from the opposite side of the road, the girl had tossed her hair back and caught sight of him. She had cocked her head and Davide could feel his steps slowing. He had wanted to stop completely and just feast on the vision before him.

He had been mesmerized by her light skin, her strawberry-blond hair catching the rays of the sun and shimmering like spun gold, the white halter dress with big red polka dots, her lean legs. His heart had thumped erratically at her gaze, which couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds before she had started to blink, and he had noticed her eyes traveling past his eyes and down his body.

Davide remembered the embarrassment he had felt at his dusty and sweaty appearance, although she hadn’t give him any sign of arrogance, and he had nodded slightly in the respectful way he had been taught when encountering girls or women, and had forced his cement-like shoes to keep walking.

Showering at the house he had shared with his zio, Francesco, his insides had quivered at the thought of the girl. She had looked to be around seventeen or eighteen. He had been twenty-two, home for the summer from university, and although some of the mothers in Valdoro had discreetly made it known that he was welcome to court their daughters, he had been more intent on his studies. He hadn’t said so much to his uncle, but he was hoping to join his sister in Vancouver after university. His parents had left him and his sister with very little; what money they had was tied up in their small farm property, so his uncle had encouraged him to keep working the land, and he would support him with a modest salary.

That had been the plan.

Until Neve Wilder’s arrival in Valdoro.

* * *

Now, looking at her face on the screen, and knowing she couldn’t see him or ever imagine his identity, Davide felt his gut tighten. He wasn’t a love-struck young man anymore, and how and why fate had thrown Neve Wilder back into his life after eight years was a bizarre mystery to him. When he had tried to meet her back then, her message to him had been very clear. She had wanted nothing to do with him. He was below her and should remember his place.

She had crushed him then and Davide had spent the next few years trying to forget her and vowing to never be below anyone again. He would finish his university education and make something of himself. He didn’t need her or anyone like her.

He had discovered that her family was visiting from Vancouver, where he had planned to go after his graduate studies. Overcome with bitterness, he had changed his mind immediately. He wouldn’t move anywhere where there was even the remotest chance of bumping into her. No, he never wanted to see her face again.

This was a cruel twist of fate, watching an interview with the same girl who, eight years later, was applying for a job as a nanny for his niece. Only she wasn’t a girl anymore. Her pretty looks as a teenager had blossomed into what he had to admit could only be called stunning.

Her fair skin was luminescent, with a faint smattering of freckles over her nose and peach-tinted cheeks, and that mane of hair, although restrained in a loose chignon, seemed even more burnished. Her eyes, never close enough for him to determine their exact color, were a dark bluish-green that reminded him of the sea in winter. And that mouth. Her lipstick was a luscious magenta pink, the same color as the delicious inner fruit of the cactus pear.

She could be a sea witch , he thought, a modern Scylla , the whirlpool in the waters off the coast that was personified in Greek mythology as a female monster impeding the way of the hero Odysseus...

Davide watched as Neve’s eyes shifted to the camera. She leaned forward and her face filled the screen. He swallowed, his pulse drumming wildly as a corner of her mouth lifted and she nodded. And then said “Grazie,” her witch eyes never blinking once.

Twelve interviews, and none of the applicants had impressed him. Until the thirteenth. Thirteen was a lucky number for Italians. But the last thing he felt now was lucky. If it had been anybody but Neve, he’d have hired her on the spot. Her qualifications were spot-on; her answers had been genuine. She had seemed so humble, so caring and devoted . How could this be the same Neve who had arrogantly put him down and rejected him?

Bianca needed a competent nanny. She would be starting school in a couple of months, and the trauma of losing her parents had shattered her world. None of her previous nannies had worked out. The first hadn’t been sensitive enough, the second had been caught snooping through his desk papers and the third had shown more interest in wanting to help him through his grief, using her physical allure...

Bianca’s occasional tantrums and crying outbursts had increased. Davide’s gut was telling him to offer Neve the job.

His bruised heart was pounding, No!

Davide watched as Neve shut down her laptop. He stared blindly at the screen and let the voices in his head battle it out. The memories of Neve in Valdoro eight years ago clashed with his fresh memories of the interview. Wearily, he finally stood up from his desk and drummed his fingers along the edge before buzzing for Lucia in the smaller office next to him.

“What did you think of the last applicant?” he said curtly in Italian.