Loving Gigi
The Andrades
Ruth Cardello
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Gigi Bassano
Young. Beautiful. Idealistic. Proud. Gigi was raised outside the Andrade clan, but it has left her with an ache she cannot deny. When she’s invited to her brothers’ weddings, she refuses at first, then changes her mind and attends without telling anyone. She won’t let herself love them, but she can’t stay away. It’s a recipe for disappointment and heartbreak.
Especially when she throws herself at her brother’s best friend, Kane.
Kane Sander
Sexy, rich, loyal, protective. He shouldn’t want her. But he will.
He should stay away from her. But he won’t.
Love doesn’t follow anyone’s rules. Deny it. Run from it. Love always finds a way.
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Nook Edition
An original work of Ruth Cardello.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.
Books by Ruth’s Family Members
To all of my readers who came out to see me in London and Edinburgh. Thank you for the warm welcome. I truly enjoyed my time there and will treasure my memories from both.
For now, Loving Gigi is the final book in the Andrade Series, but I have enjoyed being in this world so much that you’ll see these characters again in my next series:
THE BARRINGTON BILLIONAIRES.
(Releasing this Fall.)
‡
“W
here’s your uniform?”
a sharply dressed blonde woman in a black pants suit with a stark white shirt barked.
Gigi Bassano froze in the doorway of the kitchen. She had hoped to slip through, unnoticed, but the impatient woman before her had spotted her instantly. Gigi cursed the simple, blue cotton slacks and plain white blouse she’d worn.
Just my luck. I look like staff.
She would have dressed more formally, but that would have required admitting to herself she wanted to attend the wedding.
From the moment she’d received the first invitation to this ridiculous, quadruple island shindig, she’d told herself she wasn’t interested. She didn’t belong there. She wasn’t an Andrade; she was a Bassano. The bastard child of a man who had died eleven years earlier. Some children heard fairy tales of maidens meeting princes as bedtime stories; Gigi’s father had read his young daughter newspaper articles highlighting the achievements of her brothers. He’d always said he would introduce her to them one day, and they would love her as he did.
Her father had died before keeping that promise. Many of her memories of him had faded as the years passed, but the pain of his departure remained.
Gigi could have forgiven him for having two families. She loved him enough to pardon that weakness. What had been inexcusable, however, had been the ache he’d cultivated inside her for a family who had turned out to be nothing like he had described them.
Gigi had only seen her brother Gio in person one time, but that was more than enough. He had come to collect their father’s body from Venice. Gigi had overheard him speaking to her mother. He’d treated Leora as if she were nothing and had ended the conversation by threatening to take their home if her mother ever spoke of her relationship with Gio Sr.
Witnessing that exchange had shaken Gigi. Not only had her father left her, but he had lied to her as well. There was no family waiting to meet her. And the disgust Gigi had heard in her eldest half-brother’s tone when he had spoken to her mother had filled her with shame. A deep, manifesting fear had taken root in the young woman she’d been.
Her mother was nothing but a rich man’s mistress.
She was the irrelevant child, not even worth a mention.
It even rocked her pride in her Venetian heritage. Born Gigia, Gigi Anglicized her name. She didn’t care that it made her sound more masculine. From that day on, she’d called herself Gigi and sought to distance herself from what she couldn’t understand.
She told her mother she wanted to study in England and made a good argument for the merits of a private boarding school. Back then she’d been innocent to the burden her request would place on her mother. She had no idea the expense her mother already had by trying to maintain the palazzo they lived in. Her young eyes hadn’t noticed the furniture and the paintings slowly disappearing as her mother sold them off to finance Gigi’s education.
Leora Bassano had worked two jobs for as long as Gigi could remember, but it wasn’t until recently that Gigi had begun to understand why. Without complaint, her mother had sacrificed so Gigi could have more.
Part of Gigi wanted to crawl back onto her mother’s lap and beg her to forgive her.
I’ve spent so many years as ashamed of her as I’ve been of myself. Am I wrong to judge her? I know my mother is a good woman. She loves me completely, unconditionally.
Why can’t I love the same way?
Part of her wanted to shake her mother for never demanding more from her father or from her daughter. Why hadn’t Leora fought for the man she loved? Why had she accepted the choices a young and angry Gigi had made?
And why did she continue to keep their palazzo on the Grand Canal? Why not sell it or at least wipe all memory of him from it?
When asked, her mother always said she’d loved Gio, and she would always love the home he’d given her. Photos of Gio’s American sons were still scattered throughout every room as if they were part of her own family. The sight of those photos sickened Gigi.
Her brothers didn’t care for either of them any more than her father had.
Trying to explain that to her mother, though, was an act of futility. A few years ago, Gigi had threatened to stop visiting the palazzo until her mother disposed of the photos, but Leora had refused. She’d merely said, “This is your home, but it is mine as well. You are free to come and go. Home is not a cage; home is a place you leave when you must . . . and return to as often as your heart draws you back.”
Which was her mother’s way of saying, “Do whatever you want, and I will do the same.”
“Do you speak English?” the woman before her asked, calling Gigi back to the present.
“Yes,” Gigi answered automatically.
“And Italian?”
“Yes.”
“Clara said she’d hired bilingual staff for today, but half of them clearly aren’t. How can I be expected to have everyone where they need to be if they can’t understand what I’m saying?” The woman spoke at breakneck speed that would have been difficult for Gigi to understand had she not gone to a private school in England. “You do understand me, don’t you?”
“Perfectly.”
“Thank God. You’re the only one.”
“Perhaps if you spoke more slowly?” Gigi suggested, while looking for a way to extricate herself from the conversation.
“I don’t have time to repeat myself a hundred times. What position were you hired for? Server? Cleaning staff?”
Gigi started to answer, but stopped when the truth would have exposed her. “No, I—I . . .”
With an impatient wave of her hand, the woman said, “Whatever it was, you’ve been promoted. The next hour is the pre-ceremony reception. Drinks are supposed to be circulating. I don’t know why I couldn’t have used my all-English-speaking staff. Does anyone really need to be handed a drink by someone who speaks their native language? Champagne is a universal concept.” She handed Gigi a paper and pointed toward a side kitchen door. “If you can get the cluster of servers who are bumbling around in the next room to pick up their trays and disperse into the crowd on the lawn, I will pay you double whatever you were promised.”
Gigi considered telling the woman who she was, but knew it would stop her plan to covertly observe her brothers. “What’s your name?” the woman asked brusquely.
“Luisella Romero,” Gigi answered, giving the name of her childhood best friend.
“Nini Spark. Well, Luisella, don’t just stand there. Come back here in an hour. By then I’ll know if you earned your pay. Now get out there, and get those people circulating.”
With a schedule in hand, Gigi exited the kitchen through a side door and entered a busy hallway. Just as Nini had said, the room was full of servers who were arguing in Italian because some had thought they’d been hired for different positions. None could understand a word Nini had said, but they were upset with her tone when speaking to them. Gigi considered dropping the list and walking past. This wasn’t her problem.
Still, she felt badly for the staff, floundering without instruction. It would take so little to fix the situation before her. Her first attempt to gain the attention of the twenty or so people in the room went unnoticed, unheard over their loud commiserating. She raised her voice and spoke with authority in Italian. Without giving any of them time to question who she was, Gigi read off the list of where the servers were assigned. She fielded a couple questions that arose and made decisions based on what she thought would be best for all involved.
A sense of relief washed through the room, and they began to work with the bartender to fill their trays. In just a few short minutes the room was empty, and Gigi turned to head back into the hall.
“Impressive,” a deep male voice said.
Gigi swung around to meet the appreciative eyes of a tall, broad-shouldered man whose tuxedo complemented his handsome looks. The conservative cut of his dark hair and the perfection of his tailored clothing were at odds with the notch on his nose that looked as if it had once been broken. He was polished, obviously wealthy, but tanned with strong hands like a man who made his living from manual labor.
He was gorgeous, but Gigi dismissed him after a quick once-over. Men like him were prowling for one thing, and one thing only. By twenty-two, Gigi had come across several like him—attractive men who thought women should drop to their knees before them in gratitude merely for being noticed.
Call me ungrateful, but I’m willing to wait for something real, not settle for what my mother had.
