One Night with you

By Cécile Rischmann

Hailing from a little village in Tuscany, 18-year-old Carina Maraschi hasn't a clue as to how to court a man, so she sings to him like how she'd sing to her cows as she milked them.

CEO of Ricolli Enterprises, Angelo di Ricolli, is in Florence on business. He is intrigued by her voice and somewhat amused that he is flirting with his eyes. When he decides to leave his business card for her, he knows that he is hooked.

One innocent night turns into one swarming with doom, danger and disaster.

Nation-wide romance winning author who has captivated audiences with Jilted, The French Encounter and Somewhere over the Rainbow, strikes again with a romantic thriller, One Night with You, that keeps you on the edge of your seat as her characters love, battle, and betray.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cécile Rischmann
• Release date: Jan 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781688199057

Book preview

Chapter 1

Stranger, I long to be with you,

Stranger, I ache for you,

Stranger, I offer you

My love…

He was there… same place, same time, for the past one week. He’d watch me sing. He’d not wait to talk to me though. He’d leave before I finished the last song.

But today, he stayed.

My head fell back as I opened my mouth wide and let the words flow out of my heart. I told him of my loneliness, of my infinite search for love. His direct dark glance said that there was no time for love. He meant business. Do you want me? he asked. Come out with it.

I had no idea who he was, nor did I care. Why should I? I was here in Grand Palazzo Royale in Florence on a two-year contract. I’d been singing every evening for the last six months, and drew crowds of diners. I didn’t need to know them by name, just entertain them—with my voice!

My eyes fell on mystery man. He was drawing out his wallet from the inner pocket of his vest, leaving a few bills on the table. He shoved the documents he’d been perusing, when I’d distracted him, into a slim leather case. The maître d’hôtel scooted to his side as he rose. Even from my elevated position on stage, mystery man seemed rather tall.

My voice deepened, the tenor of its call seeming to bring him to a halt. He cast me a discreet glance.

Stay with me…just one night…stranger

Stay with me…and make my life complete

His dark gaze burned with regret. I can’t stay, he seemed to say. But this doesn’t have to be the end. He drew business card along with a tip and gave it to the maître d’hôtel, nodding in my direction. Then he strode out without a backward glance.

My smile grew bolder. He wanted to see me again.

The hall resonated with applause, the emotional appeal to my stranger seeming to have moved my audience. One of the diners cried encore but I was drained and had to decline. I bowed and made a slow exit.

My steps faltered as I saw Simon, my manager, blocking my passage, his rapier glance telling me that he’d witnessed the whole drama and he wanted none of it in his hotel.

‘Just because you’re recommended…’ he began, his annoyance that my recruitment hadn’t happened through him not seeming to have diluted over the months, ‘I’m still the deciding authority here.’

From where I came, a little village in the province of Lucca on the Serchio River in Italy’s Tuscany region, girls like me, with no money, no contacts or influence, got opportunities like mine. I guess my papà was working for me from the other side.

My papà left mamma and me when I was born. No, they were not divorced. This was something more permanent. Papà died. Mamma never spoke about him except to say that on the night of his accident he was heading to the hospital to visit his baby girl. He never saw me. He left the world before that.

I dashed a hand against my cheek as my tired feet dragged along the rich burnished gold carpet that ran the stretch of the corridor of the hotel. The creamy walls embellished with Swarovski crystal lights did nothing to uplift my mood. The heel of my shoe was dangerously close to separating from the sole, and I was more worried that I was going to lose it before I reached my tiny studio apartment, which I shared with a flat mate.

I thought of mamma’s call. ‘Piccolo, have you credited this month’s check?’ I grimaced. I’d have to fix that heel. Maybe a little glue would do the trick.

We had a large family to feed. Not ours. Mamma’s sister’s family lived in the neighboring farm. Matteo, my zia’s husband, had been in car with papà when the accident had occurred. He’d lost his legs. Mamma felt that we must help his family of six members.

I’d ask Debbie to lend me one of the dozens of black pairs she owned. A smile grew on my face as I thought of my flat mate. She