Traveling always made her slightly uneasy. She usually stayed in Jamie’s hotels. On some level, it made her feel safe, as if Jamie were there, keeping an eye on her. Silly, maybe, but comforting. Even if the one in Lake Lugano hadn’t exactly worked out. Now she was about to stay in some strange place, with a man she barely knew.
Enzo steered through a narrow archway and into a courtyard. The car’s tires crackled over old cobblestones as the space opened up around them. Kathleen looked around, blinking at the sudden hush. The street noise faded, replaced by the muted drip of a fountain in the center. Jasmine climbed trellises affixed to old-world stucco walls, its scent heavy in the late afternoon air. Iron balconies wrapped the upper floors, dark shutters thrown wide to let in the fading sun.
“What hotel is this? I don’t recognize it.”
“It isn’t a hotel,” he said. “This is my place. Well…one of them.”
She glanced up at the building ahead. It was obviously old, its bones still regal despite the modern glass door gleaming at its base. Someone had poured money into this place, enough to polish its history without erasing it.
She whipped her head around to face him. “What the hell do you do for a living?”
He grinned. “I own several wineries.”
“Of course you do,” she murmured as she studied her surroundings. It was, in a word, stunning. Exactly the type of place she’d always wanted.
“We’re staying here?” Her voice pitched upward.
“Unless you’d really rather stay somewhere else.”
“No, I guess it’s fine,” she said, though her stomach flipped and her palms dampened with sweat. She wasn’t sure why, but suddenly the fear was back, and she couldn’t identify what she was afraid of. Hadn’t she dreamed of not staying at Jamie’s hotels when she traveled? This should be a dream come true. And yet…she glanced at Enzo. It was him. That’s what she was afraid of. More specifically…of how he made her feel. Safe and secure. As if he could handle anything that might happen. The sheer sexiness of his confidence triggered a physical thrum deep in her belly.
Enzo parked, killed the engine, and stepped out. Kathleen slid from her side, her heels clicking on the uneven stones. The air inside the courtyard carried the faint aroma of espresso, like someone had brewed a pot not long ago. A cat, tail high, darted across the stones before vanishing through a cracked wooden gate.
Enzo led her toward the main entrance. He unlocked the door with a code and pushed it open, revealing a foyer that stole her breath. The air inside was cool, touched with the faint scent of aged wood and lemon polish. Black-and-white marble tiles stretched across the floor in a geometric pattern, leading toward a sweeping staircase with an iron banister.
On one side, an arched doorway opened into a sitting room where sleek modern furniture contrasted with frescoed ceilings, the faded artwork a reminder of the building’s age. On the other side, a long corridor disappeared into shadow, lit by sconces that gave off a soft golden glow.
“This is your house?” she questioned again, her voice echoing slightly against the stone.
“One of them,” he said, like it was nothing, as he shrugged out of his jacket. “This is the one I keep for…privacy.”
Privacy. The word landed in her chest like a stone.
Enzo started up the stairs. Kathleen trailed after him, her eyes darting everywhere. The place felt like a contradiction, old bones wrapped in sleek, modern skin. A crystal chandelier dripped light over the staircase, its glow catching on the gilded edges of a fresco that must have been centuries old. Beneath the mural sat a minimalist black console table, a set of keys, and sunglasses tossed carelessly on top.
“Do you live here full-time?” she asked, her voice hushed.
“No,” Enzo said without looking back. “This is a place I use when I need to stay out of the fray.”
Stay out of the fray… He meant disappear. The word made her chest tighten. She knew all about disappearing. What wine maker needed hideouts like this? And how many did he have?
He led her past the sitting room. The faint scent of cigar smoke lingered in the air, though no ashtray or smoke trail betrayed when it had last been used. She caught a glimpse of shelves lined with books, some old and cracked, others glossy and new. A glass case stood in the corner, displaying what looked like antique daggers. She quickened her steps, unsettled by how easily danger seemed woven into his decor.
Enzo pushed open a set of tall double doors, revealing a wide room with floor-to-ceiling windows. Heavy velvet curtains had been drawn halfway, letting shafts of fading sunlight spill across polished wood floors. A fireplace dominated one wall, its mantel bare except for a single clock, ticking faintly.
“This will be your room,” he said, gesturing toward the space.
Kathleen blinked. The bed was enormous, covered in white linens that looked impossibly soft. At the foot sat a tufted bench,and a thick rug, in muted jewel tones, spread across the floor. A silver tray rested on the dresser, holding two crystal glasses and a cut-glass decanter of amber liquid. Everything in the room screamed understated wealth, controlled, curated.
She hovered near the door, her bag clutched in both hands. “This is a lot.”
Enzo tilted his head. “Would you rather something smaller? Plainer?” His tone was mild, but his green eyes searched her face, too perceptive.
“No,” she said quickly, though her stomach flipped again. “It’s just…different.”
His lips curved faintly, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “Different is useful.” He stepped closer, his presence filling the space until she had to glance away. “Get settled. We’ll eat downstairs after you’ve had a moment to breathe.”
With that, he left her, the door clicking softly shut behind him.
