The Villa Read Online Free PDF

with their cool, damp air, that pocketed the hills were used for storage and the aging of the wine. The fields that had built Villa Giambelli and its facilities stretched for more than a hundred acres, and during harvest the very air smelled of the promise of wine.
    The central courtyard of the villa was tiled in Chianti red and boasted a fountain where a grinning Bacchus forever hoisted his goblet. When the winter cold had passed, dozens and dozens of pots would be set out so that the space was alive with flower and scent.
    It boasted twelve bedrooms and fifteen baths, a solarium, a ballroom and a formal dining room that could accommodate sixty. There were rooms dedicated to music, and rooms celebrating books. Rooms for work and for contemplation. Within its walls was a collection of Italian and American art and antiques that was second to none.
    There were both indoor and outdoor pools, and a twenty-car garage. Its gardens were a fantasy.
    Balconies and terraces laced the stone, and a series of steps afforded both family and guests private entrances and exits.
    Despite its size, its scope and its priceless treasures, it was very much a home.
    The first time Tyler had seen it, he'd thought of it as a castle, full of enormous rooms and complicated passages. At the moment, he thought of it as a prison, where he was sentenced to spend entirely too much time with entirely too many people.
    He wanted to be outside in the raw air tending his vines and drinking strong coffee out of a thermos. Instead he was trapped in the family parlor sipping an excellent Chardonnay. A fire was snapping gaily in the hearth, and elegant little hors d'oeuvres were set around the room on platters of colorful Italian pottery.
    He couldn't understand why people wasted the time and effort on bits of finger food when slapping a sandwich together was so much quicker and easier.
    Why was it food had to be such a damn event? And he imagined if he uttered such heresy in a household of Italians, he'd be lynched on the spot.
    He'd been forced to change out of his work clothes into slacks and a sweater—his idea of formal wear. At least he hadn't strapped himself into a suit like… what was the guy's name? Don. Don from Venice with the wife who wore too much makeup, too much jewelry and always seemed to have a shrieking baby attached to some part of her body.
    She talked too much, and no one, particularly her husband, appeared to pay any attention.
    Francesca Giambelli Russo said little to nothing. Such a contrast to La Signora, Ty mused. You'd never make them as sisters. She was thin and drifty, an insubstantial little woman who stayed glued in her chair and looked as though she'd jump out of her skin if anyone addressed her directly.
    Ty was always careful not to do so.
    The little boy, if you could call a demon from hell a boy, was sprawled on the rug smashing two trucks together. Eli's Border collie, Sally, was hiding under Sophia's legs.
    Great legs, Ty noted absently.
    She was looking as sleek and polished as ever, like something lifted off a movie screen and dropped down in three dimensions. She appeared to be fascinated by whatever Don was saying to her, and kept those big, dark chocolate eyes of hers on his face. But Ty watched as she discreetly slipped Sally hors d'oeuvres. The move was too slick and calculated for her to have had her full attention on the conversation.
    "Here. The stuffed olives are excellent." Pilar stepped up beside him with a small plate.
    "Thanks." Tyler shifted. Of all the Giambellis, Tyler was most comfortable with Pilar. She never expected him to make endless, empty conversation just for the sake of hearing her own voice. "Any idea when we're going to get this business rolling?"
    "When Mama's ready, and not before. My sources tell me lunch is set for fourteen, but I can't pin down who we're waiting for. Whoever it is, and whatever this is about, Eli seems content. That's a good sign."
    He started to grunt, remembered his