His tone was so quiet, so controlled.

The phone. Again.

‘If you’d rather chat on the phone, be my guest.’

He was mocking her now. She dipped her hand into her bag, faced him grimly and grabbed her phone.

‘I’m taking this,’ she said, then turned her head slightly. ‘Mum, I’m fine. Yes, everything is fine. I can’t talk now because I’m being interviewed. Hydros—the island is Hydros. There’s no need to panic. You’ll only get yourself upset. I’ll call you right back. I won’t be long. I promise.’

He watched, one eyebrow raised, as she switched the phone off and then put it back in her bag. Her face was flushed, but the burn she felt on her cheeks was nothing to what she felt in her chest.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but it’s my mother. I had to tell her where I was. She gets worried about me and she can be quite ill with nerves. I know this was all supposed to be kept hush-hush, with your non-disclosure forms, but I’ve never gone to the end of the road without letting her know before. Maybe that’s not how your “legends” would behave, but that’s how we are.’

He looked utterly impassive and she felt the tension inside her bubble higher.

‘You know, you’re not the only one who cares about their family,’ she said, filling the hideously blooming silence as he continued to watch her. ‘My family is every bit as important to me as yours is to you. So my clothes are from a charity shop and not couture? So what? That woman on the phone is my mother. And, since this interview doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, I’ll head back to England to see her right now.’

She stood up.

‘Sit down,’ he said.

Despite the glare she fixed him with her legs buckled and she sank back down, bracing herself for his verdict. Her eyes flicked away, over his shoulder, to the other end of the cove, where the majestic old Villa Di Visconti sat against a hillside of olive groves.

The team would be getting it ready for the shoot. She desperately wanted to stay with them and complete her first big job, but she wouldn’t be bullied into ignoring her mother when she needed her. Not by anyone.

‘First of all, I make the decisions about who comes and goes from this island. The only way on and off is by my boat or my plane. So forget any plans you have for dramatic exits. Unless you’d like to take your chances swimming to the mainland?’

Coral’s mouth tightened. No way was he going to threaten her.

‘Secondly, respect is non-negotiable if we are to have any kind of relationship. You will never speak to me like that again.’

‘Relationship?’ she spluttered.

‘Relationship,’ he repeated, his tone now rich and velvety. ‘As in client and creative.’

‘I don’t get it...’

He sighed, almost imperceptibly, and sat down opposite her.

‘Let’s just say you’ve passed the first test.’

‘I have?’ Coral’s bag slid from her lap and her shoulders slumped. She felt her mouth hang open. ‘How come? What did I say? The seventies thing?’

Suddenly his face relaxed, and for a second a tiny smile curved the corner of his mouth.

‘Definitely not the seventies thing. No. Your loyalty. Family values. Very strong. And for me that is a pretty good indication of a person. I know you can take pictures, so we can work with the rest.’ He waved his hand dismissively.

‘I don’t understand,’ she whispered, staring. ‘You’re hiring me but you don’t like my ideas?’

‘Let’s just say that I’m confident you won’t let me down. What you feel for your mother mirrors what I feel for la famiglia Di Visconti. As long as you are sensitive to that, I think we will be able to work together.’

‘I don’t know what to say. This is all very—’

‘Say nothing. Just convince me now that you can work the magic you say you’re capable of.’

‘OK,’ she said, sinking back into the seat a little. ‘It shouldn’t be difficult. All the ingredients are there already. They’re a lovely couple.’

He regarded her silently. ‘There are some quite important differences. The Di Viscontis do not court the media. But Kyla is...shrewd. She wants to create an empire—for the world to witness every moment of her life. It is my job to control what the world sees.’

He sat forward, leaned his elbows on his hands and stared with such intensity that she had to fight the urge to slide back in the seat.

‘Giancarlo spent the last twenty years of his life making sure that his family were undisturbed by the world. He adopted me when I was eight, so I think I’m in a good place to judge. There’s no way I’m going to let the family’s privacy unravel because of someone’s vanity.’

Coral sat up and blinked. His emotion was completely under control, but she could feel the passion and the warning in the words that he spoke.

She nodded. ‘I didn’t realise. I thought you were his son...’ Her voice trailed off. ‘Not that it’s any of my business.’

‘Correct. It’s not your business, but it is public knowledge. I was at school with Salvatore, in Switzerland. We were waiting for our parents to collect us for the Christmas vacation but mine never came. I was eight. They were late because my mother had to fulfil other commitments—an interview. She was an actress and had a new film to promote. And then bad weather came down. She and my father were killed in an avalanche on the way.’

‘Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. Really.’

‘Don’t apologise. I was scooped up by Giancarlo the day it happened and he looked after me ever since. I’ve been blessed beyond words to be part of this family, so you understand now why I don’t want the Di Visconti name to be tainted by this—

‘Fairytale?’

‘Charade,’ he said, watching her closely. ‘I want it stage-managed down to the last dusting of powder on Kyla’s cheeks.’

‘So you’re not really bothered about the art? This is all about making sure no one will kiss and tell or show your family in a bad light.’

‘I know that no one will kiss and tell because I would slap an injunction on them and on any publication stupid enough to print it. Have no doubt about that, signorina.’

‘I hope you’re not implying that I would do something like that? I’m here because I want a proper career as a photographer. I’m not in it for the fame.’

He stared at her, and for the first time some emotion flickered in his eyes. It was so intense she couldn’t hold his gaze. She looked down at her lap, at her crushed and crumpled dress, the scuffed peep-toe sandals, her shabby bag.

‘I’m only saying that I’ve got my principles too,’ she said quietly.

After a long moment he stood up, his hands on his hips.

He watched her, then nodded. ‘I think we understand each other. I suggest we get some lunch and then I’ll show you around. You can tell me a bit more about yourself and your ideas about fairytales. Let’s call it part two of the “interrogation”.’

She let out the long, slow breath she’d been holding in. Maybe things would turn out heavenly for her after all.

‘Sounds good,’ she said, swallowing the smile that was spreading from her chest. ‘Though maybe we could leave out the interrogation part? I respond better to the carrot than the stick.’

‘We’ll see,’ he said, and it was as if some kind of mask had suddenly slipped from his face.

He walked to the doors that opened onto the terrace and turned, fixing her with the most devastating smile.

‘If that’s what gets results, why not?’

She beamed back at him—a completely involuntary reaction, but the only one imaginable in the full glow of that smile.

He was so handsome it almost hurt to look at him. She could totally see why the team were falling over themselves to impress him. A date with ‘Raffa’ would be like dining on ambrosia. Everything else would taste like dust afterwards. Thank goodness theirs was definitely going to be a strictly professional relationship.

They walked across the terrace and took a short flight of steps side by side down to a beautiful dining area. Under an arbour planted with climbers, popping with bursts of pink and white, stood a long table draped in white linen, heaving under the weight of baskets and bowls of the most delicious-looking food.