The Tuscan's Revenge Wedding (Italian Billionaires #1)(17)
They turned between the gates, nosing onto a drive that wound between masses of sunflowers backed by evergreens. Moments later, they came to open hills topped by dark green spires of cypress trees. Beyond was an endless grove of silvery olives, gray ghosts of trees that marched away toward the burning blue of the sea. Set among the olives, like a jewel nestled in soft gray velvet, was a house of astounding beauty, a fantastic Palladian villa that stared down at its reflection in the lake.
Villa de Frenza.
Good grief. Of course.
Astonishment gripped Amanda as she recognized the famous structure of stone turned mellow-gold with age, with its perfectly proportioned wings on both sides and dark green shutters arched to match the windows they covered, its elaborate front entrance with columned portico featuring a cartouche embossed with a weathered crest.
She had seen the mansion and its perfect reflection a thousand times on supermarket shelves and in her own kitchen cabinet. It was featured on colorful metallic labels attached to millions upon millions of bottles.
“Villa De Frenza Olive Oil,” she murmured.
The brand was august indeed, even historic, a recognized standard of quality the world over. It was no wonder Nicholas de Frenza had far-flung business contacts, a private jet, personal assistants at his beck and call and shining limousines that slid to a stop in front of him the moment he appeared. Also no mystery why the paparazzi were drawn to any hint of scandal or catastrophe attached to one who without doubt mingled with the rich, famous and titled of Europe.
It wasn’t at all surprising that he had the influence to see to it Jonathan was charged with negligence, if not worse, in the accident that injured his sister.
“Si?” Nicholas lifted a brow, his gaze intent and brooding as he studied her.
“I didn’t realize,” she said, her voice defensive yet bemused. “Not until this moment.”
“Evidently.”
“I suppose the name — but it never occurred to me. I must not have been thinking straight. Besides, you can’t be the only de Frenza in Italy.”
“By no means. Nor am I the only one that matters,” he answered, his voice dry. “I’d thought your brother would have made the connection for you.”
“I told you it’s been weeks since I spoke to him. Apparently he was too caught up in getting to know your sister to have the time.”
“As you say,” he agreed before turning his gaze to the window again.
The car approached the house and pulled up on the graveled court that fronted it. The heavy entrance door swung open before the vehicle came to a complete stop. A large woman wearing a pristine white apron over her simple black dress hurried down the stone steps. She burst into speech before the driver could come around to open the door. Amanda feared for an instant that she was delivering bad new, but her eyes were bright and her voice carried nothing but pleasure at the return of Il Signor.
Nicholas answered with composure as he left the car then turned to give Amanda his hand. She would have liked to refuse his offer of help, but had not quite mastered the art of climbing from a limousine with grace. Besides, she was oddly reluctant to embarrass him in front of what must be his housekeeper.
“This is Erminia,” he said. “I called ahead to tell her you would be joining us. She will show you to the room she has made ready for you.” He turned to the housekeeper, continuing in Italian that had the sound of detailed instruction. The woman nodded her understand. Then her face dimmed with concern as she spoke again.
“Erminia offers her condolences on the injury of your brother,” Nicholas translated. “Jonathan was here often while I was away, and seems to have earned a place in her good graces. He was even allowed to call her Minnie Mouse as a play upon her name. She will bring something to drink and a light snack, if it pleases you.”
Minnie Mouse. That was so Jonathan, Amanda thought, even if the teasing name didn’t quite match the Italian housekeeper’s as Nicholas had given it. Scornful of formality when it seemed most required, effortlessly charming, her brother would have taken great pains to earn the approval of those important to the woman he loved.
Amanda’s throat closed, making it impossible to speak, though she smiled at the housekeeper.
“You will have time to rest before lunch is served on the terrace,” Nicholas continued. “Allora, you will go with her now.”
What else was there to do? Amanda thanked him politely and entered Villa de Frenza in Erminia’s wake.
The house was dim and cool inside, smelling faintly of ancient wood and antique carpets, lemon oil furniture polish and the ghosts of a thousand bouquets. Walls of cream plaster were hung with portraits and tapestries, and colorful Olympian figures drifted about overhead inside an egg-shaped dome. More of the same was revealed through a series of doors on either side, while a double staircase of white marble mounted at the rear.
Grand though it undoubtedly was, the villa had a lived-in feeling, a certain genteel lack of perfection that was oddly comforting. With its obvious immunity to change or modern decorating trends, it reminded Amanda of old Southern plantation houses she’d see on home tours.
She smiled with weary pleasure at the room she was shown into for her stay. It was of a piece with the rest, having only a bit more modern influence in its color scheme of golden beige highlighted with various shades of blue. The space was cavernous, as large as her entire apartment, and included in its furnishings a huge antique wardrobe in place of a closet. The en suite bathroom was modern, however, with a walk-in shower and acres of mirrors.