Chapter Seven

Chase watched Drago exit the hotel with a sigh and a craving. She’d witnessed his magic during her staff meeting and found she was more turned on than if she’d watched a marathon of Chris Pratt movies. Holy crap did Drago own a room. Hell, he owned the city.

She’d loved watching him speak while he’d translated. The way he held his body as if the walls of the room depended on him to hold them up, and the way his lips formed around each syllable he spoke. Her fingers drifted to her lips, the memory of his taste still on the tip of her tongue. What in the hell had she done? She never kissed the people she worked with. Ever.

Except today, apparently.

She clenched her hands behind her back to hide the shaking and made her way to her office. It had been all she could do to keep standing after the kiss, especially under the onslaught of the look in Drago’s eyes. But it was hard to be too mad at herself when that had been the hottest thing she’d ever done. It really hadn’t been intentional, but when the heated flesh of his lower lip registered against hers, everything rational flew from her brain and all she could do was feel—and she couldn’t wait to do it again. Italy, after all, was responsible for 90 percent of all female fantasies. And she’d never been known for turning away from an opportunity.

Sliding into the chair behind her desk, she pulled up her punch lists. Inez and Rita made good progress this morning, but there was still a lot to do. Every room and public space down to the light switch plates must be inspected. She had to check the status on the sheets and set the staffing schedule. And that barely put a dent in her list. Shit.

She pulled in a breath. Losing the director made the whole event a much bigger challenge. He should’ve been here running the hotel side, leaving her to direct all the plans for the opening—but apparently his life was taking him in a very different direction, according to her father. And she had a little over two weeks left to do a job that would take three people four. Perfect.

And it wasn’t only about launching a successful opening, but an unforgettable one. The chairman couldn’t have been clearer about the direction he was leaning. If they hadn’t agreed to give her this opportunity, the other candidate would already be running the show back home. Which meant she couldn’t ask for help with the grand opening here, not even from her father. Her chance would be over before it started if the events of the past couple of days got back to the board. All they needed was a hint that she couldn’t handle her job.

Scanning her list, she tried to resist the urgent need to panic. She’d never failed at anything in her life and couldn’t stomach the thought of anything but absolute success with Huntington House. Her family trusted her, even if the board didn’t, and she didn’t want them to regret it.

With a sigh, she worked through her emails, answering corporate-specific requests for the hotel, sorting through résumés of potential directors for this location, and brainstorming ideas for the program to honor the first overnight guest. Her eyes burned and her back ached. Pushing away from her desk, she ran up to her room to change, then headed for the front lobby. She needed to walk.

It was getting dark, but the air was still warm and a touch humid with the usual blanket of fog. The city was settling into a quiet evening hum. She trailed her fingers along the old stone of the hotel wall as she strolled. How many others had touched the very same stone? What was their story? Had they found home?

Going in the opposite direction she’d taken earlier with Drago, she weaved a path through the cobblestoned streets for a few blocks until she came upon a beautiful old inn edged by equally aged buildings on either side. Three tiers of balconies dripping in ivy were stacked in an offset pattern between the mini stone turrets, but scaffolding partially blocked the view along one side. The feel was cozy like a cottage, but demanded a second look like a castle. Above an arched, double-doored entryway hung an iron sign that read Casa di Nonna.

Chase studied the building more closely. Yes, it had to be Drago’s grandmother’s, but she couldn’t remember him mentioning any major restorations. How did he have the time to assist her with so much going on in his own life? She rubbed her chest.

The owner’s love was evident through all the little things, like the pots that dotted the front patio area, freshly planted with beautiful flowers and herbs. It was the larger things that needed more attention. The beautiful weaved awnings that allowed a bit of cover from the midday sun let barely-there polka dots of fog and diffused moonlight through to the cobblestones below from small tears that scattered the width, and the wrought iron arms from which the sign hung was pulling loose from the stone, leaving it hanging at a forward angle. The building would be gorgeous when they finished the renovations.

“Buona sera.”

The softly spoken greeting startled Chase, and her hand flew to her chest. She turned to find a tall Italian woman with jewels sparkling from every finger approaching her with one of the most beautiful smiles she’d ever seen. “Hello.”

“You’re American?” The older woman’s accent was thick, but her words were clear and strong.

Chase nodded. “Yes, signora. I’m with Huntington House a few blocks over. We’re opening in about two weeks. I hope.”

The woman placed her fingers to her chest. “I’m Nonna.”

“My name is Chase. Chase Huntington. Actually, I believe your grandson has been assisting me. Drago?” she said, returning the smile.

“Drago…is helping you?” The woman’s eyes narrowed.

Chase nodded. “Your inn is beautiful. The architecture is stunning.”

Nonna studied her for a moment longer, then looked over the front of the hotel with a dreamy look on her face. “Yes, it is. Things were made with care once upon a time, with an artistic eye to tradition and hope for the future. But we’ve neglected it a bit too long.”

Chase watched emotion wash over the woman’s face. She must have a fascinating story. “The whole city seems built that way, from the cobblestoned streets to the tops of the palace I can see from my hotel.”

Nonna nodded. “That’s the beauty of our Renaissance city.” She pulled out a chair from a small bistro table, then settled herself in the other. “Please, sit with me and tell me why eyes so young are so strained.”

Chase chuckled as she lowered to the chair. “It’s not really fair to say.”

“Why is it not fair?”

With a small wave of her fingers, Chase gestured toward the hotel. “You’re obviously in the middle of your own issues.”

“Yes. So what, cara?”

Smiling at the term of endearment, Chase cleared her throat. “I’m worried about the opening of Huntington House.”

Nonna sighed with a knowing nod. “Si, si. I understand. This inn has been my home my whole life, and the home of my mother before me, and her mother before her, but every day I feel it slipping from my fingers.” Her eyes glistened in the moonlight with unshed tears. “I don’t know what I should do if we can’t get it open and be profitable once again. But I imagine it is stressful for you if you haven’t yet held your Huntington House in your grasp? Si?”

Chase studied the beautiful woman, the strength of her straight spine as she sat on the edge of her chair and the kindness shining from her gaze. Was that kind of grace a gift at birth or learned through experience and intent? “Yes. I haven’t yet gotten a hold of it, and it may already be lost to me.” She was a fool to share her worries with the owner of another inn, an inn that Huntington House could put in jeopardy, but there she was.

She sighed and went on. “I was sent to oversee a successful opening, but the director has quit and the staff is less than happy about the interloping American. It’s my chance to prove myself and earn the position I want back in California. But I don’t know if I can get everything done in time, and they already have a very experienced candidate.”

“Those are big worries.”

Chase looked down the darkening street revealed by the lifting fog, then back at Nonna. “Drago’s been a huge help. I know he has a lot of his own work, but he’s carved time out to translate for me when I’ve needed it.”

Nonna’s eyes widened briefly, then she slowly nodded. She studied Chase. “Si, he’s very good at making things happen. But—”

“Buona sera, Nonna,” A friendly voice called out: a young mother and her child out for an evening stroll.

They looked so sweet, but something kept a tight pinch at the base of Chase’s neck as they approached. Nonna’s surprise at Drago’s offer to help. Chase couldn’t let go of the idea that Nonna had more to say.

The little boy ran up to Nonna and threw his arms about her waist. “Nonna. Nonna!”

“Sera, caro.” She kissed the top of his head and waved as they continued on their way.

Chase couldn’t help the sigh that passed through her lips. “I want that someday.”

Interest flared, and the older woman leaned toward her. “A child?”

A flush warmed her cheeks. “Oh, no. Well, yes, someday. But the sense of belonging. Knowing a home, walking down the street and feeling as if I’m part of a big village-wide family.” She looked in the direction the young child had gone with his mother. “Like the little boy. He knows he’s home.”

“You seek to make a home for yourself? Here?”

The question set off a curious feeling in Chase’s chest. There was something about Ferrara that called to her. It was more than a place with a million must-sees, it was a place where people sought to simply be. To feel. To exist as a thread in a tapestry rich in history, filled with both heartache and victory. The names of lives lost on the synagogue wall rose in her mind. But no. Ferrara wasn’t her goal.

“Malibu,” she answered Nonna. “If I’m successful here, I’ll be promoted to director of operations at Huntington Place there. It’s one of our high-end luxury hotels and my best friend’s there, my mother and father. At least when they aren’t running around in Europe. I’ve always traveled, but Malibu’s the first place I’ve ever felt as if I was putting down roots.” She sighed. “It’s a place I could imagine raising a family and being a part of a community. But that won’t happen if I can’t make Huntington House happen.” She glanced over to find Nonna listening intently. A wave of guilt washed over her, but Nonna was nodding.

“Then you must succeed. Win over the people, cara. If the people are on your side, you can’t lose. Listen to me. I know. The people of Ferrara have held me up practically my whole life.”

“I’m trying, but I’m not sure they’re too keen on an outsider moving in.”

“Show them you care about our traditions, our history, our feelings. If you do, they won’t be able to resist, no matter where you come from. And as for making a home, it isn’t the where that is important, it is the joining of a place to the beating of your heart. When you feel the pulse of your city in your veins, that’s when you know you are home.” Nonna leaned forward and placed her hand over Chase’s. “Breathe, child. Learn to be still, then you’ll feel it.”

Chase did as she was told, surprised to find she’d been holding her breath. She gave a small chuckle and stood. “It was a pleasure. Your inn is from every fairy tale I’ve ever read.”

Nonna dipped her chin with a gentle smile. “Come back sometime. I’ll show you my home. We’ll have caffè. Si?” She placed her hands on Chase’s shoulders and air-kissed each cheek. “Go before it gets too dark. Even in Ferrara the shadows tempt people to do things they may not be so inclined to do under the supervision of the sun.”

With a wave, Chase looked over the front of the hotel one more time and then left, convincing herself along the way that Casa di Nonna would survive Huntington House. Of course it would. The inn was steeped in tradition. It was Ferrara. There would be plenty of visitors who sought that exact experience even over the white-glove luxury she was determined would come from a night at her hotel.

Once she was ready for bed, she reached to turn out the bedside lamp, a white cylinder lampshade from a movable arm attached to the wall, but the screws were loose. It hung at a slightly forward angle like the sign at the inn.

She’d have to ask Drago about Nonna. There was something going on there, but she’d been too preoccupied with her own issues to question Nonna further. The woman’s insight had been both comforting and uncomfortable. The idea of settling in Ferrara had never been a blip on her radar before, and it shouldn’t be now. She was Malibu-bound.

Two more weeks, and she’d be home.