Falling For The Venetian Billionaire

She didn’t believe in miracles like that. But something shocking had happened for this stranger to take over her thoughts like this. It made no sense that for once she wasn’t thinking about Bruce.

Ginger’s legs felt insubstantial as SignorDella Scalla walked her inside the foyer of the hotel.

“Buona notte, signora,”he whispered.

“Buona notte, signor.”She sensed his eyes still on her until she rounded a corner to take the elevator to her room.

To her dismay when she finally got in bed, Ginger’s thoughts were still haunted by one incredibly handsome Italian male and the way she’d felt when his gaze swept over her at the dinner table. It was as if every cell in her body had been ignited by a bolt of electricity. She’d never lay eyes on him again, but that didn’t mean his image would go away. Not ever.

* * *

At nine o’clock the next morning, a showered and shaved Vittorio, wearing a black suit, left the centuries-old Della Scalla palazzoon the Grand Canal. Last night he’d flown back to Venice in the helicopter with a plan in mind to meet up with SignoraLawrence the next day at the monastery.

But this morning, after his flight home from Ravenna last evening, he’d awakened to the gut-wrenching news that his father had passed away early in the morning.

Overnight Vittorio’s world had changed forever. After leaving his grieving family with the doctor, he drove his speedboat out to the lagoon toward the nearby island of San Lazzaro two kilometers away.

Many boats crowded the canal. He passed by the boat ferrying passengers who intended to visit the Armenian monastery, the sole feature of the island. After pulling up to the jetty, Vittorio alighted and hurried past the welcoming signs printed in several languages to the main building. A plaque had been placed there commemorating the famous English writer and poet Lord Byron, who was known as a “Faithful friend of Armenia.”

Since it was always open in invitation, Vittorio entered the doors to the cloister that enclosed a garden. Beyond it lay the incense-filled chapel covered in mosaics. He hoped to find his brother, Gaspare, who was known among the brothers as Father Giovanni, but only a few monks were present in here. That meant he was probably in the famous museum, which had many treasures, including a mummy and a bust of Napoleon’s son.

But further exploration didn’t lead Vittorio to his thirty-four-year-old brother. If he wasn’t in the private enclosure for the monks, then he had to be in the room designated as Lord Byron’s studio.

Vittorio’s brother, who’d studied in England before joining the priesthood, had a passion for Byron. Vittorio entered the studio with a reproduction of a painting of Lord Byron above the door.

In the early 1800s the poet had studied the Armenian language here over a two-year period while he’d been in Venice. Prized books and manuscripts in this library drew crowds of tourists as well as serious scholars at all seasons of the year.

Vittorio scanned the room and saw his brother in his brown habit at the other end, talking to some visitors. Their backs were toward him while they were discussing a manuscript under glass.

Vittorio moved closer with a heavy heart, knowing their father’s death would come as a great blow.

“Gaspare?”

His brother looked around, having been taken by surprise. “Vittorio—”

After a pause, he turned back to the visitor. “I must ask to be excused,” he said in English. “I’ll send Father Luca to assist you.” On that note, he joined Vittorio and they moved out of earshot.

Since Gaspare had become a monk, the only consolation for Vittorio had been the ability to visit his brother here on occasion and confide in him. Just three years separated them. They loved each other and had been close growing up.

“Something tragic has happened. I see it in your countenance.”

Vittorio stared into the same blue eyes of his sibling. The two bore a superficial resemblance to each other in height and their black hair. Both were taller than their father. His throat tightened in fresh pain.

“Papàdied early this morning,” he spoke quietly. Vittorio could still visualize the scene at the palazzoa little while ago.

Dr. Farini, the longtime physician of the family, had examined their father before sliding the sheet over his face. Count Mario Goretti Della Scalla, beloved husband, father, brother, friend and CEO of the Della Scalla Shipping and Passenger Line Company, was officially dead.

The doctor had stared into Vittorio’s eyes. “You are now Count Della Scalla. Your father has been blessed to have a son like you ready and able to step into his shoes.”

There was another son Vittorio felt should be taking his place, but that wasn’t possible. Soon the news would be out. The bells would toll throughout Venice for the loss.

“How did he die, Vittorio?”

“Dr. Farini said it was a heart attack. It happened quickly, the only blessing I can see.”

Gaspare’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “He was too young.”

“No one expected it.”

A deep sigh of pain escaped. “How are Mamma and Maria?”

“I’m sure you can imagine.”

He bowed his head. “They worshipped him.”

“We all did,” Vittorio whispered. “I left a message with Uncle Bertoldo’s maid. He and Aunt Miah are due back from Rome before the day is out. The doctor is with the family and will stay until you and I arrive. Being with you will help all of us get through this.”

His brother stood stock-still, but Vittorio saw the mask of sorrow that had already settled. “Wait here for me. I have to talk to the abbot and gather a few things. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

While Vittorio waited, Gaspare walked back to the visitors and said something to them before he left through a side door. The action reminded him that SignoraLawrence would be coming to the monastery before long seeking out his brother. The image of her had been constantly in his thoughts.

Vittorio had determined that the woman who’d caught his interest last night had been maybe twenty-four, twenty-five, dressed in a summery blue and white print suit. As he’d moved closer to the dinner table, he’d been stunned by her beauty. She’d possessed such exquisite features, he hadn’t been able to look anywhere else.

Her glossy short black hair of soft natural curls made his breath catch. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen an hourglass figure like hers. Luminous gray eyes fused with his.

Vittorio had felt her appraise him with unexpected candor before she got up from the table with the others. In his opinion the gorgeous creature looked too young to be a professor, yet she’d been with a team of experts on Lord Byron. It was for this group he’d arranged the dinner on board one of the Della Scalla passenger liners.

Vittorio had instructed the captain of the Sirena to make a special stop in Ravenna. He’d done it as a special favor for Gaspare, whose birthday would be celebrated in a few days, an early present. His brother had been longtime friends with Dr. Manukyan, who was from Yerevan State University in Armenia and had been visiting Ravenna.

But when Vittorio had made the arrangements, little did he know there’d be a woman like Signora Lawrence attached to this group. Had he realized, he could have flown there earlier to eat dinner with them and get to know her better.

He was still thinking about her when he heard Gaspare’s voice. “I’m ready.”

His head swung around. “I didn’t see you come back in.”

Gaspare stood there carrying a suitcase. “I’m not surprised. None of us could imagine this day arriving this soon in our lives.”

Shocked to have been caught distracted while their father’s death was on their minds, he headed for the doorway to the museum. Gaspare caught up to him, and they left the monastery for the boat.

There were many things to discuss, not the least of which was the planning of the funeral. No one had expected their father to die for at least twenty more years.

But even with so many weighty matters to consider, including the running of the company, Vittorio had a difficult time putting the enticing American woman out of his mind. How incredible was it that she’d planned to come to the monastery today and he would miss her by only a few hours!

The fact that he might never see her again shouldn’t matter to him, but it did... He couldn’t understand it.

Vittorio had enjoyed several intimate relationships with women in his adult life. They’d been important to him, but he hadn’t fallen in love with one of them to the point that he wanted to be married.

Maybe it was the burden of the family name and title, plus all the expectations that came with it, that had prevented him from wanting to settle down yet. Growing his side business had taken up any free time Vittorio had away from the company.