The Sicilian's Proposition

Journalist Joanne Smith encounters Sicilian millionaire, Dante Alphonso, when conducting an interview for
Life Today
magazine.   Dante, has been well known to the media for years, where constant scorn has been thrown upon his previous playboy lifestyle. He detests the reputation as he would much prefer to be known for his charity work for
The Children’s Hope and Dream Foundation,
an organization he set up to help terminally ill children achieve their wishes.

Dante has already had his fingers burned by bloodhound journalists, but takes a chance on Joanne, inviting her to his home country to visit his vineyard and meet the Alphonso Family.  Things begin to sizzle under a Sicilian sun between the couple as Joanne embraces the lifestyle.

A thorn in the side for Joanne is Dante’s ex, strong alpha female, Carla, whose family owns a rival vineyard in the area.  Carla has already betrayed Dante and brought him to his knees, so trust is something he finds difficult to achieve with a woman.

However, Joanne has a secret she has kept from Dante, which is stopping her from growing close to him.  The secret is revealed after he invites her on board his luxury yacht on the way to the island of Lipari.

Afterward, Dante then discovers something so shocking he fears yet another betrayal.  The hurt he feels is so powerful, it promises to rock the foundation of his relationship with Joanne, and soon they are left to face an uncertain future.

Will their love for one another be strong enough to withstand the stormy seas that lie ahead?  Or will it get washed up on the shore?

To all at “Merthyr Writes Facebook Group,” especially Thea Phillips, Betty Osment, Claire Jones, and Val Williams.  Thank you ladies for all your support and encouragement.  You’re a constant inspiration to me!

To Salvatore Tambe, the real Sicilian, who helped me with this book, thank you so much, amico mio!

Dante Alphonso stood, one arm propped up against the doorframe, shivering, his breath forming plumes of steam in the cold, night air.

The trouble with London was the freezing temperatures at this time of the year. He’d much rather be back home enjoying the warmth of a Sicilian sun. But needs must and here he was on some strange woman’s doorstep, a bottle of Chianti in hand for a very important meeting. Another vulture journalist for him to contend with, no doubt.

Meeting? Ha, that was a laugh. How many other meetings had he experienced with writers like this in the past? Frenzied journalists who slanted their articles to make him sound like the latest player around town. The charity was very important to him, and it irked him to see the way he was chastised in the press for his previous extracurricular activities. The way it was going, it could be quite damaging for the organization. This article was important to set the record straight. Too many articles had besmirched his good name.

The last one read: “Playboy Makes Mischief in Manhattan!” Playboy indeed! He was anything but these days. Nowadays, he pottered around in the family vineyard rather than off in hot pursuit of young bunnies!

So much for growing old disgracefully. He’d already packed about three lifetimes into his tender thirty years.

He pressed his thumb on the doorbell, holding it there for a few seconds. A light through the frosted glass in the hallway came on, and the wooden door of the smart three-story apartment block swung open.

Dante inhaled a deep breath. The woman who greeted him didn’t look anything like the other journalists he’d met before. This one was track-suited, all purple velour. She’d scraped her chestnut brown hair back into a ponytail, with strands threatening to slip out at each side at any moment.

She furrowed her brow. “Hello?”

He cleared his throat and offered her his free hand. “Dante Alphonso.”

She drew her brows together, making him feel almost as though he were an alien from Mars. Her forehead smoothed over, and then her eyes lit up and her lips curved into a smile, her eyes laughing as realization hit. She shook his hand. For one so petite, she had a very firm handshake.

“Of course…how silly of me. I wasn’t expecting you just yet.”

“Sorry, did I get the date wrong?”

“No.” She smiled. “Right date, wrong time. I wasn’t expecting you for at least another hour. You’ve caught me looking a fine mess.”

He laughed. “I’m so sorry, I must apologize. I’m still on Sicilian time.”

“No need for apologies.” She pushed back a strand of hair that had worked loose. “It was a mistake anyone could have made.”

“It was unfortunate. In this case, the person who made an error happened to be me.
Excusi, signorina
!”

She laughed, not one of those put on laughs to be polite, but a genuine one. It lit up her eyes.

“I can see I am going to have to be careful with you. Where are my manners? Please come inside.”

She led him into a hallway and up a flight of stairs through a door to a brightly illuminated room where classical black and white prints adorned white walls. She offered him a seat and he handed her the bottle of wine.

“Thank you, you shouldn’t have…”

“Oh, but I did.” He sat himself down on the sofa.

“If you think this is going to make me write a better feature article about you, you are mistaken. Is this a bribe of sorts, Mr. Alphonso?” She peered at the label. “I can see that was a very good year for wine!”

He smiled at her quip. Then let out a breath releasing his tension. It was apparent she had a sense of humor.

“I never thought that for a moment…”

“Cup of coffee?”

“I’d much rather open that.” He pointed to the bottle of Chianti she was still holding in her hands.

“Okay, let me fetch a couple of glasses and a notepad.”

He settled himself on the well-cushioned sofa and drank in the surroundings. You could tell a lot about someone by their taste and decor. This room told him she was an animal lover with impeccable taste. He spotted some interesting cat ornaments on the shelf. She loved cats, maybe dogs too. That was a good start.

“You like them?” she asked, placing a large glass of Chianti in his hand.

“Yes. Not something I’d buy myself, but they have a certain charm about them. You like cats. So do I. They like me too.”

“Yes, all sorts of animals really.” Then, changing the subject, “Now, let’s get down to business…”

He blushed at showing his sensitive side about how he felt about animals and hoped she hadn’t noticed.

She took a long sip of wine, and then putting down her glass, picked up the notepad and pen.

“So, Mr. Alphonso, how do you respond to the ‘playboy tag’?”

“What?” he almost spluttered on his wine and then placed the glass on the coffee table in front of him. Trust her to have picked up on that. But then again…she could hardly have failed to. Any journalist worth her salt would have researched him.
They were hardly facts though, were they?
He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Miss, er?” To his embarrassment, he’d forgotten her name.

“Joanne Smith.”

“Miss Smith…a lot of the facts about me have been…how can I say….misconstrued.”

She sat a little farther forward on her armchair.

“Misconstrued?” Are you saying, Mr. Alphonso, other journalists have made up lies about you? You aren’t the Dante Alphonso who parties until the early hours of the morning with a bevy of beauties?”

He threw his hands up in despair.
Mamma Mia
, why couldn’t someone see he was more than all of that? So much more. Sure, he’d partied hard in the old days. Yes, there were a succession of beautiful women, but none of them meant that much to him. Blondes, brunettes, redheads. Not one of them, except for Carla, but she was headstrong, willful, untamable. She played men at their own game. She was a party girl with a hedonistic approach to life. He cleared his throat and heard himself answering. “It is true. I mean was true. But not any longer.”

The journalist was now perched on the edge of her chair, twirling a pen in her mouth as if in thought. “Would you care to explain?”

He hadn’t noticed the small tape recorder she must have switched on at the beginning of the interview, until now. Explain? Why should he need to?

“Leopards have been known to change their spots, you know.” He glanced at her face as she narrowed her gaze, no doubt skeptical about his intentions. Why should she believe him?

She settled back into her armchair. “Well, if that’s the case, Mr. Alphonso, what brought about such a drastic change?”

He rubbed his chin. He wasn’t certain when and why the change occurred but guessed it was around the time Carla left him. Yes, it definitely had to do with her departure, but it was something much deeper than that. He had done a very noble thing with his money, people told him so, yet his past still threatened to catch up with him. It was so unfair.

He realized he hadn’t answered her.

Clearing his throat, he said, “There are times in someone’s life when we realize we want more. I had, still have the money, but I no longer have the old lifestyle, Miss Smith.”

“Joanne, please.”

She paused, one of those silent pauses interviewers used to get more out of their subject. It was beginning to unnerve him a bit. She smelled blood. This was going to end up a massacre if he wasn’t careful. He had been savaged by journalists before.

“Like I said, I am a changed man these days. I had…how do you say it? An epiphany!” He hoped she was going to change the subject, but she was having none of it.

“So, you say you’ve changed, but what, when, or who brought that change about?”

He was getting hot and his heart thudded like a bass drum. “Look, I don’t want my personal life splattered all over a magazine of trash.”

“Don’t you mean some trashy magazine? I can assure you
Life Today
magazine is a top quality, intelligent publication.”

“I’m sorry, but it has happened to me before. I have confided in journalists who have done the dirty on me and painted a picture of me that doesn’t fit with The Children’s Hope and Dream Foundation.”

“Yes, but the children aren’t going to read it, are they?”

“True…but what about their families, and friends of their families? My reputation is tarnished enough as it is.” He lifted his wine glass and took a long swig.

He glanced up. She was smiling at him now, a warm, glowing curve of her lips, almost as though she held some secret only she knew.

He straightened. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

She narrowed her gaze and straightened her pose. “Because…I don’t believe what you say for a moment.”

He stood and set his glass down on the small coffee next to him. “
Signorina
Smith, if you do not believe what I am saying, how can I put my trust into you? That you’ll write a feature article you promise will serve both my cause and myself?”

This woman had somehow seeped beneath his skin with her natural beauty and her upfront manner of questioning, and it didn’t sit right with him. He wasn’t used to a journalist breaking down the barrier he’d put in place to protect himself. He had travelled all this way, taken valuable time out of his schedule for this? His idea had been to promote the Foundation, an organization he’d set up to fulfill the wishes of very sick children, some of whom may not have long left to live. This woman, this Joanna Smith, was going to do a hatchet job on him, chopping him into little pieces. He stood, ready to make his departure.

“Please, Mr. Alphonso, sit back down. What I said wasn’t what you are thinking at all…”

“I am sorry. I no longer wish to stay. I have things to do. I am going to book an early flight home.” What he found himself saying was untrue. He didn’t intend to leave yet. Carla was in London, and he intended seeing her tomorrow.

***

Joanne bit her lip.
Well that hadn’t gone as planned, had it?
She was prepared for the magazine scoop of the year. It would have made a great story. The millionaire playboy made good by giving it all up for the sake of making children’s wishes come true. Now that wasn’t to be. Dante Alphonso had left with a flea in his ear thanks to her.

He had taken it all the wrong way and hadn’t bothered staying to find out what she meant by it. Her intention was to draw the best out of him. It would serve his foundation well if she wrote a great feature article. She could also have a word with the magazine’s photographer to arrange a photo shoot. It was a pity he’d chosen to leave.

When she opened the door to him, she had drawn in a breath. He was as handsome as a movie star. Dark, almost black, tousled hair, a swarthy olive complexion, eyes of ebony, and a rugged, chiseled jaw. If ever there was an Adonis…It was no wonder she had problems concentrating and asking the right questions!

Now she had alienated him. Possibly forever.
What was she going to do now?

Inspiration came in the form of a piece of paper tucked into the back of her address book. She had intended transferring his mobile number to her phone later. Picking up the phone, she punched in the number. Drat. It went straight through to voice mail.

“Hello. You have dialed the phone of Dante Alphonso. I am not available at the moment, but if you leave your name and number, I will try to get back to you as soon as my schedule allows.”

Almost melting, she sat on a chair. The timbre of his voice… That Italian accent made her tingle from head to toe.

She exhaled. “Hello, Dante, it’s Joanne Smith here. I am sorry about how the interview went. I’m afraid you took my questions the wrong way. Please contact me so we can schedule another interview before you leave the country. I promise, hand on heart, I am not a cutthroat shark. I don’t bite. Well, only if you ask nicely…” She could have cheerfully kicked herself for that last comment. What on earth possessed her to say something like that?

She took a long hot shower. She hadn’t even had time to wash off the debris of the day after her run when he had turned up early. What must he have thought of her? As the pulsating jets hit her body, images of him standing there wet beside her danced in her mind. Quickly, she pushed them away. There was a magnetism to his presence, and he had well and truly drawn her to him.

She toweled herself down, changed into her pajamas, and relaxed, ready for her bed.

The phone ringing at the bedside woke her. Switching on the bedside lamp, she lifted the receiver.

“Joanna…” It was him, but what a time to call. The bedside clock read one fifteen a.m. Had he been drinking or something to call her at this time of the morning?

“Dante?” She was about to complain about the lateness of the hour, but thought better of it.

“I’m sorry to ring you so late, but I decided I will give you that interview you want after all.”

“Thank you,” she said coolly.

“I have thought long and hard about it. In fact, I have thought of little else, and that’s why I decided to let you know as soon as possible in case you get into trouble with your editor tomorrow.”