SOPHIE AWOKE MIDAFTERNOON, wrapped in Bastiano’s arms.
If bliss was a place, then she had found it.
She lay there examining her needs and wants, only to find she was entirely content.
Oh, she needed the loo, but apart from that there was nothing, not a single thing she required. Sophie did not want to get up because she did not want to wake him, and because she did not want reality to impinge just yet.
Today, she decided, was her day and she intended to make it last!
She wriggled out of his arms, picked up her uniform and underwear and headed into the bathroom. It was sumptuous indeed, themed like a Roman bath with stone walls and a deep alabaster soaking tub that took centre stage. The windows were designed so that the guests could lie in splendour and gaze out on Rome with their privacy assured.
Only Sophie wasn’t here for that—lazy days spent lying in an alabaster bath were not for the likes of her.
Turning on the tap and with a somewhat mischievous smile she threw her clothes in the sink. Not just to be sure that her uniform would be fresh for tonight but to make certain she would not be leaving any time soon!
Then she looked again at the bath that seemed to beckon and asked herself, Why not?
At her flat there was a small shower, and more often than not a flatmate waiting their turn.
Sophie knew she would never get a chance like this again.
And so, once she had hung her clothes over the towel warmers, rather than clean the bath, as Sophie so often did when she serviced a suite, instead she ran the deepest one and added everything that she possibly could to it—oils, salts, bubbles. All the lovely bottles that she usually replaced each day were now tipped into the steaming, fragrant water and then she climbed in herself.
This, she decided as the warm water engulfed her, was indulgence at its finest. As she lay there feeling utterly pampered, and with a body sated by his touch, Sophie knew that she would never look at this view again and not think of this wonderful day.
And that was how he had made her feel—simply wonderful.
There was no guilt about this morning’s events, though perhaps that would come.
Had she done the right thing by her family’s standard, her first time would have been a year ago and it would have been something to forget rather than remember. This was how it was supposed to feel, she knew that now.
She lay there and smiled, and closed her eyes to picture Bastiano better.
And that was how he found her when he came in, up to her neck in bubbles and half dozing.
‘Why are there clothes hanging everywhere?’ he asked. ‘It looks as if the gypsies have arrived.’
Sophie opened her eyes and smiled, for he stood there gorgeous and naked, frowning at her dripping uniform and underwear.
‘If you must know, I washed them because you are a gentleman and I know that you would not send me out in wet clothes.’
‘I admire your cunning,’ Bastiano said. ‘However, I am not a gentleman and if I wanted you gone then, wet clothes or not, you would be.’
‘Nope.’ She did not believe it of him, for in Sophie’s eyes he was perfect.
She held out her hand for him to join her, but he hesitated because he generally didn’t really care for such tender intimacies. He told himself that it was the fragrant, foaming water that seemed so inviting before climbing in at the opposite end, with his back to the view. Sophie rested her feet on his chest.
Certainly, Bastiano thought, if he did get into the bath with a woman then it was not to lie there half dozing, but that’s exactly what he found himself doing.
For a while, at least.
But then her heels pressed into the wall of his chest.
He ignored her.
‘What?’ he asked, when her heels nudged him again.
‘Rub them.’
He was too relaxed to decline, and so he got right into the soles with his thumbs, enjoying her moans of pleasure.
‘Your posh English girl does not know what she’s missing,’ Sophie said.
She assumed him the kindest, most thoughtful person, Bastiano realised, and he chose not to enlighten her.
‘Are you sore?’ he asked, not meaning her feet.
‘A little bit,’ Sophie admitted, and then her lips twitched provocatively as she met his eyes. ‘Though not sore enough not to do it all again.’
Yes, Sophie decided, Lydia really did not know what she was missing because Bastiano massaged her calves as if he knew how they ached, and he made her feel as if there was nowhere else he wished to be.
‘For skinny legs,’ Bastiano said, ‘you have a lot of muscle.’
‘Because I am on my feet all day, climbing stairs.’
Not today, though.
Sophie accepted that they only had this day, but for the times ahead when she thought about these precious moments and her mind drifted to this intriguing man, there were things she would want to know.
And she was curious enough to ask.
‘What happened to your cheek?’
It was rare that he was relaxed enough with anyone to answer.
‘I got into a fight.’
‘How old were you?’
‘Seventeen.’
‘Was the fight with your uncle?’ she asked, because he had told her it was at that age he had been kicked out.
‘No.’
‘Seventeen was a busy year for you, then!’
‘I guess.’
‘Who was the fight with?’ Sophie asked, and she ignored the warning in his eyes to leave it because she was too immersed in the sensual feel of his hands, though they stopped working her calves as he answered her.
‘A man I hate to this day.’
Sophie looked over at the change to his tone. It did not unnerve her in the least; she just waited for him to go on, yet Bastiano revealed no more.
Always that type of conversation was marked out of bounds, yet he had opened up a touch and he found himself curious about her.
‘What were you doing at seventeen?’ he asked.
‘I told you, I was working at the bakery…’ And then she thought back to that time and she let out a small laugh. ‘I was in love. Or at least I thought I was.’
‘With whom?’
‘A man who used to stop in on his way to work.’
‘Did he stop by to see you?’ Bastiano asked, assuming that to be the obvious case. ‘I’d have been stopping by morning and night and again for cake at lunchtime.’
‘Ah, but then you’d have become as fat as the baker.’
‘I’d have worked it off,’ Bastiano said, taking her legs and pulling her closer so that they both sat up and her legs wrapped around him. Together, they made an alternative reality where it had been Bastiano who’d stopped by in the mornings, and between teasing kisses she told him how it had been.
‘It was nothing like that. He was married! I just had a crush and he very politely ignored it.’
And Bastiano wondered what her reaction would be if he told her his sins. Not that he had any intention of doing so.
She lay back down and closed her eyes, looking utterly at ease, as if she had not a care in the world.
Sophie didn’t.
Not a single care.
‘Usually I am cleaning this bath,’ she sighed. ‘Once I had to bring into this very bathroom a bucket of ice and its stand along with a bottle of champagne. That in itself is not uncommon, but on this occasion the couple were sitting in the bath.’
‘Well, it wasn’t me,’ Bastiano said, his response dry.
‘Of course not, you are too polite for that.’
He was about to correct her and say he really didn’t give a lot of thought to sparing the maids’ blushes—more that he tended not to indulge in romantic baths.
Yet here he was.
‘What else have you seen?’ he asked.
‘So much.’ Sophie smiled and leant back on the headrest, closing her eyes as she recounted. ‘There are lots of weddings here and I enjoy them the most. There is always something wonderful going on. I don’t often deliver the breakfasts, but some mornings I do, and some couples have champagne at seven a.m….’ She had questioned it the first time, but now she smiled at the romance of it. ‘I’ve seen so many different sides to life, working here. I’ve never even tried champagne, let alone first thing in the morning.’
‘Would you like me to call for some?’ he offered.
‘No,’ Sophie said with her eyes still closed but then, as she had done when waking in his arms, she examined her wants. There were no needs—they had been more than taken care of—but there was a tiny want. ‘I thought I wasn’t hungry,’ she said.
‘And are you?’
‘Not really,’ Sophie admitted, but she was determined to make use of the good life while she had it. ‘But I could just manage a gelato with a shot of hot espresso…’
He groaned as another of life’s simple pleasures now became a necessity and Bastiano reached out for the bath-side phone. He gave his order, telling them they could override the Do Not Disturb sign on this occasion and leave the dish in the entrance to the suite.
Ten minutes later, Sophie lay in the bath with her hand clapped over her mouth, trying not to laugh as Inga wheeled their treats through to the lounge.
Bastiano was in a towelling robe and he didn’t even close the doors so his conversation with Inga drifted through from the lounge and Sophie could hear every word that was said.
‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Signor Conti?’ Inga asked, and Sophie knew that she was not speaking out of turn because the suite looked as if they had visiting rock stars in situ and was in serious need of a full service.
‘That is all,’ Bastiano responded.
He came back into the bathroom and Sophie screwed up her nose. ‘I cannot stand her,’ she admitted.
‘Why?’
‘Just…’ Sophie shrugged, suddenly a little awkward, for after all, wasn’t she doing the same as Inga?
No, she decided, for this had nothing to do with money or designer bags. Instead, it was a promise that she had made to herself long ago—that her first time would be because she wanted it and was ready for it—and that promise to herself had been fulfilled. Still, Inga and thoughts of home were soon forgotten when she realised that he had come into the bathroom empty handed. ‘Where’s my gelato?’
He didn’t answer. Instead, Bastiano came over and lifted her out of the bath, carrying her dripping wet back to the bed. She laughed and protested and he found himself smiling as he dropped her onto the bed.
‘Here.’ He propped her up on the pillows and poured a shot of hot coffee over the gelato and then handed her the dish. Sophie had a taste and gave a purr of pleasure. It was deliciously cold after the warm bath and the flavour, both sweet and bitter, was perfection.
She looked over as Bastiano took off his robe and then picked up his own dish but he did not add the espresso.
‘Where’s your coffee?’ she asked.
‘I don’t think you’d like it,’ Bastiano said, and then took a large scoop of ice cream and held it in his mouth, so that his tongue and lips were almost blue with cold.
‘What are you doing?’ Sophie asked as he knelt on the bed and parted her legs.
‘Kissing it better.’
Yes, she had found bliss.
* * *
It was a day in bed spent hidden from the world.
A day spent making love, dozing, laughing and talking, and Sophie never wanted it to end, though of course she knew that it must.
Wrapped in his arms, Sophie woke and did not want to look at the bedside clock.
The drapes and shutters were heavy enough to block out every chink of light, but there was a certain stillness to the air and she knew that it was night.
Sure enough, when she lifted her head from Bastiano’s chest and read the time, she saw that in less than an hour her shift would commence.
And they would end.
She slid out of his arms and went back to the gorgeous bathroom. This time she had a shower and then did up her hair and dressed in her dry clothes.
She walked back into the master bedroom and there lay Bastiano, asleep.
No, she would never regret it.
She had heard her friends speak of their first time and some of them had sounded dismal, some had been described as good at best.
This had been perfection. He had taken such care of her, both in and out of bed.
For the first time in her life she had been spoiled and adored but she knew that the world they had built this day had not been one designed to last.
Sophie ached to wake him, but she did not know how to say goodbye without tears and that certainly wasn’t a part of the deal they had made.
And so, instead of waking him, instead of fumbling through a goodbye that she did not want, Sophie went to the bureau in the lounge, took out a piece of paper and wrote him a little note.
Mai ti dimentichero’ mai.
I will never forget you.
And if it was too sentimental for Bastiano, she didn’t care, for she never would forget, Sophie thought as she quietly let herself out of the suite. Though sad to leave, as she headed to the elevator and awaited its arrival, there was the complete absence of guilt.
Her mother, if she knew, would never forgive her and that was no idle thought—it was fact. And neither would Benita, the head of housekeeping, if she were ever to find out.
Yes, to others it might seem wrong, but to Sophie everything felt right with the world and she hugged the memory of them close to her chest.
It had been the best day of her life without a doubt, and if it were possible to float in an elevator, then that was just what Sophie would have done as she made her way down to the foyer.
She actually didn’t start work for another ten minutes but knew that her friend Gabi was working on the plans for a wedding being held tomorrow.
No, she wouldn’t tell even Gabi about what had happened—some things were too precious to share. But she couldn’t find her friend; Sophie put her head around the ballroom doors and saw that she wasn’t there.
In fact, there was no sign of her.
It felt as if Gabi might be avoiding her because usually they caught up all the time, but for the past couple of months Gabi had always been too busy or tired.
Sophie headed through the foyer and to Reception, where Anya was on duty.
‘Have you seen Gabi?’ she asked.
‘Gabi!’ Anya said, and gave a dramatic eye-roll. ‘I have more than seen her! I had to call an ambulance earlier on. She went into labour.’
‘What do you mean?’ Sophie asked, unable to take in what she was being told. ‘Gabi’s not pregnant…’ But even as Sophie said it, Gabi’s avoidance of her in the last few months and the new distance between them was starting to make sense.
‘She’s more than six months gone,’ Anya said. ‘I had no idea either until her waters broke. I think the baby will come tonight.’
‘Is there anyone with her?’ Sophie asked, while knowing that there was nothing she could really do.
‘I think she was going to call her mother once she got to the hospital.’
It was a rather distracted Sophie that went in for the evening briefing. Here she would be told where she would be working tonight, though it didn’t really matter to Sophie. She just wanted to know what was going on with her friend.
‘Are you listening, Sophie?’ Benita checked.
‘Of course,’ Sophie said, and forced herself to at least look as if she was paying attention.
‘Could you help with the set-up of the ballroom for the wedding tomorrow? Things have fallen rather behind.’
Sophie nodded and wrote the instructions down in her notebook as Benita spoke on to the rest of the gathered staff.
‘Sultan Alim has had to fly home unexpectedly,’ Benita continued, ‘which makes things a little easier on this busy night. Laura, you and I shall service his floor when there is a moment to breathe. Now, in Presidential Suite B we have Signor Conti…’
Sophie felt her heart soar and her cheeks warm at the sound of his name.
‘He’s an important guest at the Grande Lucia,’ Benita carried on. ‘Today he has declined to have the suite serviced. However, should he change his mind, Inga and Laura, could you see to it promptly, please?’ Benita’s voice was sharp and sometimes Sophie was rather sure that Benita knew what Inga got up to. ‘Please remember that Signor Conti is a serious contender to purchase this hotel. He may well be your boss in the future, so please be on your best behaviour. Remember that he is here to observe the staff and glean as much information as he can about the running of the hotel.’
Sophie felt as if the floor had shifted beneath her. The handover continued but Sophie heard not a word. She wanted to call out, to ask Benita to explain further about Bastiano. Still drenched in horror, she could not quite take in what had just been said, but Benita was wrapping things up and gave her team a smile. ‘Let’s get to work, then.’
It was a shaken and tearful Sophie who did her best to work through the night.
Gabi’s boss, Bernadetta, had been called in to accomplish overnight all the work to be done. She was a poisonous woman at the best of times, and on this night she worked the fragile Sophie hard.
The ribbons she had her tie over and over, the chairs she had her lug and move, and she screeched at Sophie to concentrate as for the umpteenth time she had to lay the place cards according to the table plan.
Finally, finally, around two in the morning, Benita popped her head in the ballroom and told Sophie it was time for her break.
‘Is everything okay?’ Ronaldo, the doorman, asked as Sophie stepped outside the kitchens for a breath of air. Ronaldo was also on his break and having a cigarette.
‘I’ll be glad when it is morning,’ Sophie admitted. ‘It is awful working with Bernadetta and there is all this talk of the hotel being taken over.’
‘I know! Let’s hope it’s Di Savo,’ Ronaldo said. ‘He has a hotel here in Rome.’
‘What about the other one?’ Sophie fished.
‘Conti?’ Ronaldo said, and raised his eyebrows. ‘He’s a risk taker, a loose cannon.’
‘In what way?’
‘In every way. He and Di Savo are sworn enemies. Security was told to be on high alert, what with the two of them staying here at the same time.’
‘Really?’
Ronaldo nodded. ‘Especially because last night Di Savo was entertaining Conti’s guest.’ He gave a knowing eye raise. ‘We just have to hope that Di Savo wins the bid as well as the girl. Bastiano Conti’s a cold-hearted bastard—that much I know.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I’m the doorman,’ Ronaldo said. ‘He often stays here as he and the sultan are friends. Believe me when I say I see all that goes on. I wouldn’t let my sister within a mile radius of him.’
‘They’re friends?’ Sophie checked, recalling Bastiano’s skilled questioning—he had acted as if he was surprised that Alim was a sultan.
‘Good friends.’ Ronaldo nodded. ‘Though I thought the sultan had better taste.’
It was bad enough that she had slept with the potential new boss, but it was utterly humiliating the way she had been taken in by him. Bastiano had had her opening up and speaking to him as if they were lovers.
That was what she had thought they were.
What had taken place had for Sophie been so wonderful, but now it was tainted.
She had thought he’d been asking all those questions to find out about her, but instead he had been playing her all along.
Thank goodness she hadn’t told him that she thought Inga was up to tricks. Sophie did not like her, but neither did she want to get her into trouble—it was a dismissible offence.
And one that she herself had committed.
Oh, whatever way she looked at it, she was in trouble.
Her job was the biggest and proudest achievement of her life. Sophie loved coming to work each day, she loved her colleagues and the friends she had made.
And at any moment now it might all be taken away.
By morning, the ballroom was somehow ready for the upcoming wedding but Sophie was no less frantic. When Benita asked if someone could go and help out with the breakfast service, Sophie did not put up her hand.
She simply did not know how to face him.
* * *
Bastiano was more than ready to face Sophie, though.
He had woken at around midnight having had the best sleep he had known in a very long time.
It had taken a moment to register that she had gone. Bastiano had even gone to the bathroom, half hoping to find her lying up to her neck in bubbles as he had earlier in the day.
Recalling what Sophie had said about liking order, he had called the butler and asked that he send someone to service the room.
To his disappointment it was Inga, the woman who had brought the gelato, who’d arrived, along with another chambermaid.
‘You were working this afternoon,’ Bastiano commented.
‘They asked me to do a split shift.’ Inga smiled.
He placed his breakfast order.
Shakshuka for Sophie and Sicilian pastries for him, only this time he asked for summer berries and a bottle of champagne to be served with the juice.
Finally morning arrived and there was a knock at the door; he heard the trolley being wheeled in and then another soft knock on his bedroom door.
‘Entra,’ Bastiano said.
He had been in the industry long enough to know Sophie would have no say where she was assigned, yet as he sat up to a soft ‘Buongiorno…’ he lay back down when he realised that it was not Sophie.
The curtains were opened and the shutters too, but Bastiano deliberately closed his eyes.
‘Can I serve you breakfast?’ Inga asked, when protocol dictated she should leave rather than speak.
‘No.’
‘Is there anything else I can do for you, Signor Conti?’
He opened his eyes and though imperceptible to many, Bastiano knew the ropes well and could both hear and see the veiled offer; yes, Inga would love to be in bed with the boss.
‘You can leave.’ His voice was curt and with a flick of his wrist he dismissed her.
Inga left and the minutes dragged by ever more slowly as Sophie failed to appear.
It edged close to seven and still Sophie did not arrive. Bastiano knew only too well how bad it would look if he were to call down to the front desk and ask after her.
There was nothing he could do except wait.
And, when the morning was already misbehaving, Bastiano got up and poured his own coffee, but by then it was far too cool. He flicked open the newspaper and suddenly his day got a whole lot worse.
There was an image of Raul Di Savo, his nemesis, sitting in a café, one Bastiano recognised as being opposite the hotel. And he was holding hands with Lydia Hayward.
So she hadn’t been catching up with friends after all.
Bastiano and Raul both had colourful reputations and both knew how the other worked.
Raul must have found out that Lydia was a guest of his, Bastiano surmised. Hostilities had just increased tenfold, and he screwed up the paper and tossed it to the floor.
His phone rang. It was Maurice, spluttering his apologies that Lydia remained unavailable and asking when they might meet to speak about the castle.
But Bastiano had no interest in Maurice’s draughty old building now.
‘We shan’t be meeting, Maurice. And when you see your stepdaughter, tell her that the reason for Raul Di Savo’s interest in her is simply to get back at me. There is no more to it than that.’
He was in no doubt that Maurice would indeed pass the message on and, he hoped, at the very least, that it would cause Raul and Lydia to have a major row.
Next he called down to the front desk and asked that his bags be packed and his transport arranged.
Forget Rome! Forget fragrant baths and spiced Sicilian pastries! And most of all, forget Sophie!
Bastiano was back to being a bastard.