The Billionaire's Prize

His son put down his champagne glass. “Papà? As you well know, Signorina Caracciolo has most of the Italian male population at her feet.”

His father nodded with satisfaction. “That is true.”

To his parents’ ears, Guido’s comment must have sounded like a supreme compliment. But the choice of the word most let Dea know he didn’t include himself in that particular population.

“Signor Rossano, the other models and I were amazed you would allow your yacht to be used for a fashion show backdrop. It was a great thrill for them and they’re hoping you’ll offer it again.”

“I wouldn’t count on it for another year,” Guido murmured out of his father’s hearing, sounding turned off by her comment. She hadn’t meant that she included herself in those who hoped to wangle another invitation. But no doubt Guido had assumed as much. She shouldn’t have said anything at all.

Feeling more and more uncomfortable, she almost gasped with relief when her aunt Fulvia came over to the table and asked her if she’d like to say goodbye to the Archbishop of Taranto, who’d married her sister and Rini. It was a great honor and Dea excused herself with as much grace as she could muster before clinging to her aunt’s arm. Her mother’s only sister had saved her from further embarrassment and she would always be grateful.

CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_5bd67db4-e411-52aa-a128-7144302a16a4)

One year later

“SIGNORA PARMA IS expecting you. Walk back through the doors to her workshop.”

Dea Caracciolo thanked the receptionist and headed for the inner sanctum of the world-renowned Italian opera-costume designer. The only reason Dea had been given this privilege was because her aunt Fulvia and Juliana Parma were such close friends.

Though Dea had met Juliana and her husband on many occasions at her aunt’s southern Italian castello in Taranto, this particular meeting wasn’t social and the outcome—good or bad—would rest entirely on Dea’s shoulders.

The sought-after redheaded designer in her late sixties stood surrounded by her staff, giving orders to one and all in her flamboyant style. When she saw Dea, she motioned her to come closer and clapped her hands.

“Everyone?” Their eyes fastened on Dea. “You’ve all known Dea Loti as Italy’s leading fashion model. She’s actually Princess Dea of the Houses of Caracciolo and Taranto and the niece of my dear friend Princess Fulvia Taranto. But while she’s here working with me during her spring-semester designer course at the Accademia Roma, you will call her Dea and accord her every courtesy.”

Dea was so surprised she blurted, “You mean you’re willing to take me on without talking to me about it first?”

“Of course. Fulvia has told me everything I need to know, so I called the head of your department and asked them to send you to me.”

Dear Fulvia. Dea loved her so much. “I can hardly believe this is happening.”

“Believe it! You’re even more beautiful than the last time we were together. Imagine if you were a soprano in the opera too—you would have every tenor in the world dying of love for you.”

Heat filled Dea’s cheeks. “How awful.” Once upon a time Dea would have liked to hear a compliment like that, but not since she’d been in therapy to help her get on the road to real happiness.

Juliana chuckled. “Come in my private office.”

The others smiled as she followed the older woman into a small cluttered room that still managed to be tidy. Dea handed her a small bouquet of roses.

“What’s this?”

“A token of my gratitude that you even agreed to meet with me.”

“Grazie, Dea.” She inhaled the perfume from the flowers. “Heavenly. Fulvia must have told you how much I love pink roses.”

“I remember your husband giving you some after the opera a year ago.”

“You’re a very sweet and observant young woman. You’re going to go far in this business. I feel it in my bones.”

Sweet? That wasn’t a word one would apply to the Dea of the past. The old Dea was too self-absorbed. She’d learned a lot about herself in therapy. The new Dea was working on thinking about others.

Juliana put the flowers in a bowl and sank into the chair behind her desk. “Sit down, my dear.” Dea did her bidding. “What’s this news that you’ve given up modeling?”

“It’s true. I did one show at the end of last semester, but my goal is to become a period costume designer for the opera, like you. As you know, I’ve loved costume design from the time I was a child. You have no idea how excited I am to work with an expert like you and learn all I can. It’s a great privilege.”

Juliana’s brown eyes sparkled. “You’re going to love the project I’m winding up now. It’s the costuming for Don Giovanni, which will go into production the third week of May. I’d like to hear your comments on this new sketch for Donna Elvira.” She thrust a rendering into Dea’s hands.

Don Giovanni was one of Dea’s favorite operas. But the second she saw the drawing, she shot Juliana a glance. “Don’t you mean Donna Anna?”

A smile broke the corner of Juliana’s mouth. “Bravo, Dea. Nothing gets past you. This costume is indeed meant for a younger woman. I’ve always known you to have a discerning eye. In fact I remember the fashion shows you used to put on at the castello with your sister when you were little. They were delightful and, in some instances, brilliant!”

Brilliance was a quality one attributed to Alessandra, not Dea. The unexpected compliment sent a curl of warmth through her body. Juliana handed her another drawing from a pile on her desk. “Here is a first draft of the costume for Donna Elvira that she’ll wear in the dark courtyard scene. One of the staff worked it up.”

Dea studied it for a few minutes. Her brows formed a frown.

Juliana chuckled. “Don’t be afraid to tell me exactly what you think. I’ve always admired your honesty.”

Coming from Juliana, that kind of praise meant a great deal.

“In my mind this gown is too frivolous and doesn’t reveal her true character. I see Donna Elvira as a mature woman who’s ahead of her time. She’s hurt and outraged with Don Giovanni for his abandoning her. I’d like to see her gown toned down to convey that she’s anything but a fool. She’s been on a mission to find him.”

“I agree completely. Bring me your version by tomorrow at 11:00 a.m.” She took back the drawing and rose to her feet. “That’s all the time I can give you for now.”

“Mille ringraziamenti, signora.”

“Juliana, per favore.”

Dea rushed around the desk to give her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m more grateful than you know for this opportunity.”

After saying those words, she left the building and took a taxi back to her apartment. Located in the heart of Rome, the elegant complex she lived in was in walking distance of the Pantheon and the Piazza Navona. It had been home to her for quite a while. She loved the ancient street, which was over five hundred years old, with its dozens of wonderful shops. On this particular Monday, the lovely April weather matched her lightened mood.

Once she’d eaten lunch she would get to work designing a gown already forming in her mind. But first she needed to make an important phone call to her aunt, who’d made this unexpected meeting with Juliana possible.

When the older woman answered, Dea said, “Zia Fulvia?”

“Dea, how wonderful to hear from you! Your mother is here with me. I’ll put the phone on speaker so we can both talk to you.”

“Mamma?”

“Darling. I’ve been anxious to hear from you.”

Her heart pounded with excitement. “Guess what? Juliana called my department at the Accademia and has taken me on. I’ve been given my first assignment. And it’s all thanks to you, Fulvia.”

“Juliana wouldn’t have offered to help you if she didn’t already think you could do the job. When you break out on your own one day, your résumé will be worth its weight in gold because you’ll have worked under her tutelage.”

“I know that and I’m so thrilled! It’s all because of you that I’m finally going to fulfill my dream! Now I’ve got to prove myself.”

“I have no doubt of it.”