Page 9 of Captive in His Castle (The Martinelli Wedding #1)

“Those were my instructions. Once she learns for herself that escape is impossible, she will accept her fate.” He sighed and laughed at the same time.

“Although most probably not. Callie is an intelligent and quick-witted woman. Without me there to keep her in check, she’s going to run rings around my staff.

” That she’d managed to steal a phone within twenty minutes of leaving her room and with a dozen staff in attendance proved how wily she was and, Dio , just to imagine her observing all around her and then stealthily striking when opportunity presented itself…

The kind of understanding that only came from thirty years of friendship flowed between them until Niccolo’s shoulders slumped and he swore under his breath. “You will be back for the wedding?”

“Yes. I’ll be standing at that altar with you with the wedding rings in my pocket.”

His oldest friend nodded. It didn’t need pointing out that in an ideal world, neither of them would need to be standing at that altar on Saturday, but ideal worlds didn’t exist. Some chain reactions were unavoidable.

They embraced and kissed cheeks, and then Dante headed back inside the hotel to call in on his family to update them. He didn’t need to go into detail or press secrecy. In the Coscarelli world, family was everything and trust was a given.

Settled in the back of his car, he thought of the long days of relaxation, good company, and good food and drink he’d spent months looking forward to.

A smile spread over his face.

The coming days might not be as he’d envisaged, but sharing a roof with his sexy spitfire meant there would certainly be compensations.

Callie rubbed the back of her neck and looked for the thousandth time at the detailed map Dante had drawn for her. The slight chill in the air was starting to penetrate her thin jacket. The sun in Tuscany wasn’t as warm as the sun in Naples had been.

She’d long ago accepted that she was lost. She’d accepted that long after she’d accepted escaping the estate was impossible and that Dante hadn’t made a strategic error in making his map so detailed.

The cypress trees neatly camouflaged a high stone wall that encircled the entire estate bar the manned entry points.

A stone wall that was in perfect condition.

None of the stones were misaligned enough for her to get enough purchase to lift herself.

Even the most determined teenage boy intent on mischief would fail to scale it, but if he did, the shards of sharp rocks and glass running the top of it would have him slicing his hands open, dropping back to the ground and probably breaking his leg in the process.

She should have accepted that lift off the security guard at the first manned entry point she’d come across.

He’d politely refused to open the ten-foot-high iron gate he was guarding.

Still believing escape was hers for the taking, Callie had refused his offer of a lift back to the castle and taken herself back off, thinking she would try the next entry point.

And she would have done, if she’d ever found it.

Each quadrant of the map contained fields of alternating grapes and olives.

Each quadrant had its own pathways crossing through them, numerous pathways.

Each quadrant was its own maze. Having stupidly detoured off the pathway she’d been walking, she was now stuck in one of the fields and fully surrounded by olive trees a good deal taller than the perimeter wall.

Not that her detour mattered in the grand scheme of things, seeing as she’d long lost track of whatever path she’d thought she’d been following.

And this, she told herself grimly, was why she’d failed her Scouts orienteering badge.

Callie had an excellent sense of direction, but only if she had landmarks or features to focus on.

When all the landmarks and features consisted of olive trees and grapevines, she was screwed.

At this moment, she really was screwed. Her throat was parched, her skin and eyes gritty, and her feet were killing her.

She must have done more steps since setting off than she usually did in a month.

A tear rolled down her cheek, and she sniffed and swallowed hard to stop more from following. Crying wasn’t going to get her out of this mess.

The blast of a car horn rang out in the distance.

The last time she’d heard that sound had been what felt like days ago, while the sun was still high in the sky and before the blisters on her heels had formed. Before she’d admitted defeat.

The horn blasted again.

Blinking back more tears, she hobbled towards the sound. Tried to hobble. The pain had become excruciating.

A tall figure appeared in the distance.

Her heart slammed.

It couldn’t be…

The figure lifted a hand in greeting.

Her throat closed, a swell of emotion rising.

Sinking to the hard, cold ground, Callie rested against an olive tree, trying her hardest to compose herself, trying her hardest to breathe away the rush of her pulses. With each step he took closer to her, the fuller her chest became.

He reached her and stopped.

Their eyes locked. Callie’s heart slammed again, and then she looked away to vigorously blink back more threatening tears. “You came back.”

“I heard my house guest got herself lost.” He crouched down. “Ready to go back?”

She rubbed her nose with the sleeve of her jacket and nodded, which turned into a shake of her head. “I can’t walk,” she whispered. “I think my blisters have burst.”

He winced. “Do you want me to carry you?”

She couldn’t bear the thrill and longing this offer provoked. “No.”

“A wheelbarrow to transport you in then?”

For some reason, this made her laugh, but it was a fragile laugh that in a breath allowed the tears to spring free.

Dante didn’t know what he found the most touching – the furious way Callie swiped at the tears, as if their release had personally offended her, or the clean patches of skin the tears left on her grubby face.

“I’ll go and bring the car to you, okay?”

She swallowed again and nodded. “Thank you.”

He straightened. “I won’t be long.”

Fortunately, he’d set out on his search in one of the estate’s four-by-fours and easily navigated it through the towering olive trees. Parking as close as he could get to her, he saw pain lance her face when she got to her feet.

He jumped out and crossed the few meters over to her. “Hold onto me for support.”

“I can manage.” She sniffed back more tears.

“I don’t bite.”

“I can manage.”

“Suit yourself.”

By the time they reached the car, her face was etched with pain, and individual tears were still forcing their way out of her stubborn eyes, but she didn’t give in and ask for the help she’d already refused and nor did she take the hand Dante extended to help her onto the passenger seat.

“I’ve called ahead to Bernard,” he told her as they set off. “The last family he worked for had small children, so he knows how to deal with burst blisters and will instruct Geppa what to do. ”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Callie’s damp stare land on him. “Are you comparing me to a child?”

There was a wryness in her husky, musical voice that made him smile. “You have the bloody-mindedness of a toddler.”

“Charming.” She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her sleeve and, after a brief pause, said, “Do you have children?”

Well, this was something. Callie making conversation. Probably just to distract her from the pain of her burst blisters, but even so.

“No,” he answered. He wanted them, though.

The problem was the woman he wanted to have children with didn’t seem to exist in his world.

When Dante settled down, he wanted a marriage like his parents had and wanted it to be with a woman who loved him for him, not for his money.

Since he’d hit the financial big time, he’d been very much aware that his wealth was the main attraction.

Not that he was complaining – if beautiful women wanted to throw themselves at him, then providing there were no expectations, he was delighted to oblige.

His life was busy: restoring the castle to its former glory and running his business left little time for romance, but in recent years, he’d found himself occasionally wondering if it was time to get off the conveyor belt of casual sex and settle down and enjoy the fruits of all his hard work.

To settle down, though, he needed to find a woman he loved, trusted, lusted for, and could see himself growing old with.

So far, that woman didn’t exist. “My sister does. Three boys, all under the age of six.”

“I don’t know if that sounds like fun or like hell.”

“The answer to that always depends on the kind of day she’s had with them.”

After a longer pause of silence, she said, “Do you have any other siblings?”

“No, just Tullia.” He steered them off the field and onto the single track. “She’s a year older than me. Who’s the oldest out of you and Georgia?”

“I am. By seven whole minutes.”

“You’re twins?”

“I thought you knew that.”

“No.” That was one pertinent fact Niccolo had failed to tell him. Not that it was relevant to the situation, he supposed. “You are identical?”

“No, our parents had us through IVF, but we do look very similar. When we were younger, people often got us mixed up.”

“Do you have that telepathy twins are famed for? Or is that just identical twins?”

“Just identical twins, but we do have our own version of it. We call it our twin-sense.” Her voice quietened. “Or used to call it that.”

“Used to?”

“We haven’t been getting on so well recently.”

He turned the car onto the smooth main driveway. “Why’s that?”

But the conversation they’d struck had come to a halt, Callie lapsing into a silence that lasted until he pulled up outside the East Wing entrance.

When he faced her, her large eyes were already fixed on him, a wary thoughtfulness in them as if she were weighing up whether to confide something in him,

His instincts about her expression proved correct a moment later when, with heaviness in her voice, she said, “Georgia’s pregnant with Niccolo’s child.”