MEANWHILE…
Two minutes after settling at La Zagara, a waitress appeared with a silver tray and set it on the low table before Nicoletta.
Monsieur Julien De La Roche smiled his thanks, filled their cups with practiced elegance, and handed one to her. Nicoletta added a dash of cream, declined the handmade chocolate he offered, then sat back—waiting for the inevitable questions.
Instead, he studied her in silence, his gaze moving feature by feature, so direct it unsettled her.
"So, Monsieur De La Roche," she began briskly, forcing lightness into her tone. "What would you like to know about the Castello dei Fiori property?"
He leaned forward, spooned sugar into his cup. Almost absently, she noted the details: slim, capable hands, the discreet gold signet ring, the gleam of his cufflink echoing the same design, the faint dark hair at his wrist beneath immaculate white linen.
"First of all," he said, "why do the owners wish to sell? Is there some hidden drawback to the house?"
"No." Her voice was firm. "Commission any survey you wish, but you'll find it sound. The roof renewed, wiring and plumbing modern. Unless it's a question of taste, there's no need for repair or redecoration."
"Then why part with a house they cared enough to restore?"
Nicoletta's smile was touched with rue. "The oldest reason in the book. Divorce."
"Ah." He nodded slowly. "Une tragédie domestique. (A domestic tragedy.) The Castello feels made for a family."
"Is that why you're interested?"
"No. I am not married." He gave a Gallic shrug. "At least—not yet. And since you are Miss Blanchi, I presume you are not married either."
"No." She changed the subject neatly. "What else would you like to know?"
"Your first name," he said.
The request surprised her. After a pause: "Nicoletta."
He glanced down into his cup, lashes lowering, before looking up again. "Un nom magnifique. (A magnificent name.) From the Greek Nikolaos—victory, triumph. Your parents chose well." His eyes lingered on hers. "And do you live up to it, Mademoiselle Nicoletta?"
She willed her pulse to steadiness. "Nonostante il significato, io vivo guidata dalla resilienza e dal fascino finché non raggiungo i miei obiettivi. (Regardless of meaning, I live guided by resilience and charm until I reach my goals.) For example—persuading you to buy this property."
His frown was thoughtful. "Un esprit décidé. (A determined spirit.)"
"I would not have it otherwise."
He laughed softly, the sound husky, delighted. "Oui… le nom vous va à merveille. (Yes… the name suits you perfectly.)"
"In what way?"
"Elegance, strength, charm. It fits you. May I use it?"
If he bought the Castello, he could call her what he pleased. "Of course."
He inclined his head formally. "Then allow me to introduce myself properly. Julien Marc Antoine De La Roche."
Her brows rose. "Quite a collection."
"I am known as Julien."
"It's not my habit to be on first-name terms with clients."
"Mais si j'achète, nous serons liés d'affaires, et peut-être plus. (But if I buy, we will be bound by business, and perhaps more.)" His tone was light, but his eyes were not.
She pounced. "Then are you going to buy it?"
"I might. Tomorrow I shall bring my partner. If his impression matches mine—and if we can negotiate the price—then yes, there is a strong possibility we will do business, Nicoletta."
She kept her composure, though excitement flickered beneath. "That sounds very encouraging."
"But there is… another condition," he said.
Nicoletta stiffened. "Condition?"
"You must tell me the truth. Does the house possess a revenant? A ghost, Nicoletta?"
His eyes held hers steadily. In their darkness, the green was so deep it nearly fused with the pupils.
"Non che io sappia. (Not to my knowledge.) The house isn't nearly as old as you think."
"Yet," he pressed, "in the tower today—you nearly fainted. Do not tell me you were breathless. Your tension was palpable."
She looked away, suppressing the vague dread that even the word tower provoked. Be professional, Nicoletta. She turned back, steady. "Monsieur De La Roche—"
"Julien," he corrected.
"Va bene. (Very well.) Julien. I can assure you: should you buy, neither you nor anyone else will be troubled by ghosts. The Castello is not haunted."
His brows drew together. He tapped a finger against his lip—an oddly sensuous mouth above a jaw set in firm lines.
"Alors… si j'achète, me direz-vous ce qui vous a troublée? (So… if I buy, will you tell me what troubled you?)"
"Is that a condition of sale?"
"No. Merely… curiosity. Votre détresse m'a troublé. (Your distress disturbed me.)"
Her gaze wavered, shaken by the sincerity beneath his words. "All right. If you buy, I'll tell you."
Julien extended his hand. "Un marché, Mademoiselle Nicoletta. (A deal, Miss Nicoletta.)"
She placed hers in his. "Un affare. (A deal.)"
His fingers lingered, brushing the pulse that betrayed her. Then he lifted her hand and pressed it lightly to his lips.
She rose quickly, flustered. "If that's all, I should be heading home."
He walked with her through the now-crowded bar. "Conduisez prudemment. (Drive safely.)"
"I shall. The day is too beautiful not to." She paused at the door, meeting his eyes. "Grazie per il pranzo. Non era necessario, ma l'ho apprezzato molto. (Thank you for lunch. It wasn't necessary, but I appreciated it very much.)"
His frown was slight, almost hurt. "Naturellement, si vous restez à l'hôtel que j'ai réservé, je fournirai dîner et petit-déjeuner aussi. (Naturally, if you are staying in the hotel I reserved, I shall provide dinner and breakfast as well.)"
"If I were eager to close the deal, shouldn't I be the one buying you dinner?" she teased as they reached her car.
He smiled. "Peut-être, quand je reviendrai finaliser tout… (Perhaps, when I return to finalize everything…) you will."
Her heart leapt. "Of course—the firm will be happy to entertain you."
"I meant you, Nicoletta." His smile faded, eyes intent. "Ou bien… est-ce le prix pour avoir plus de votre compagnie? (Or… is the deal the price I must pay for more of your company?)"
She softened her words with a smile. "In the circumstances, any reply risks offense. And I try not to offend clients. So—goodbye, for now."
He returned the smile, bowed slightly.
Nicoletta slid into her car, her pulse still echoing the ghost of his touch, and drove away.