The sound of hammers, saws and occasional drills echoed down the hall and into the suite of rooms that Leonardo Romano had taken over as his temporary office within the Romano del Mare. Structural repairs on the 870 year-old monastery-turned-resort were nearing completion. Now, it was Leonardo’s turn to apply his personal mastery to prepare the old place to once more accept vacationers. They would walk through its halls and find luxurious sanctuary within private suites, and everything that they ate, touched, smelled and much of what they saw would be due to Leonardo’s vision of what an amazing resort experience should be. At least that’s how Leonardo had intended it, but matters were being pulled out of his control.

“Just sign right here,” Mr. Panucchi said, sparking a depth of annoyance within Leonardo that he rarely felt about anyone. Leonardo knew that the situation that he’d found himself in wasn’t Mr. Panucchi’s fault. Regardless, having to allow a design firm other than his own to oversee the sculpting of the resort’s very personality didn’t sit well with Leonardo, and he rankled when Mr. Panucchi’s voice invaded his ears once more. “I know that you are going to love the design plan that we’ve come up with.”

Leonardo fought down his contempt for the man, but the truth was it didn’t matter who was standing in front of him with pen in hand and a host of ideas in his or her head. They weren’t Leonardo’s ideas, and he didn’t like not being in control. Ever. “All major decisions will continue to go through me for final approval?” Leonardo asked unnecessarily. The stipulation had already been stressed repeatedly.

“Yes sir, of course,” Mr. Panucchi quickly assured, smiling.

“Show me where it says it in the contract.” Leonardo had already read the contract and knew what it said. His lawyers had read the contract and knew what it said. Regardless, he needed to see that he had final approval in black and white within the document he was about to sign before he put ink to paper.

Mr. Panucchi’s smile fell as his gaze dropped to the fifteen page contract sitting on the heavy, ornate antique table that Leonardo was using as a desk. He stuttered on the words as he said, “Y-yes, sir,” yet he went to work searching for the section, bending low over the desk as he flipped through the document’s pages.

A familiar tension crept into Leonardo’s muscles, and he took a deep, calming breath as he shifted his attention out the six foot tall window that provided natural light to the room. It overlooked an area of the resort’s property that sloped upward toward cliffs that overlooked the Ionian Sea. There was a path of in-ground stepping stones leading up toward the cliff’s edge, and near the top was a newly constructed pool to provide the resort’s someday patrons the opportunity to swim in a controlled environment rather than the sea. His brother Gianpierre had fought him on the addition of a modern pool amid the trappings of the ancient monastery, saying that the pool’s build was too out of sync with the rest of the architecture, but Leonardo had moved forward with it anyway. The architectural authenticity of the resort came second to the potential enjoyment of the resort’s guests.

Leonardo swiveled his chair away from the desk and squinted as he leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Walking along the farthest edge of the pool was a woman wearing a light colored, wispy dress that covered her entire frame from her neck to her ankles. The wind had the dress contoured to her slender frame, yet despite the quick breeze only a few loose strands of her hair moved. The rest was woven into a braid that travelled down the side of her head to end in a messy bun at the nape of her neck. Draped around her neck and stretching behind her, a sheer scarf fluttered in the wind.

She was beyond beautiful. She was haunting, and Leonardo did his best to emblazon the image of her on his mind.

As he watched, the woman went to the banister that separated the pool area from the cliff’s edge and hoisted herself up on it with straight arms, leaving the tips of her toes dangling several inches above the ground. There, she craned her neck and leaned forward slightly as if trying to get a better view past the cliff’s edge. Leonardo’s palms itched to reach out to her, to pull her back from the teetering edge, but another part of him wanted to join her, to embrace the same sense of freedom she appeared to feel. As it was, he felt trapped under a million decisions, and no matter where he was, there was no escaping them.

“It’s right here, sir,” Mr. Panucchi said, taking the document from the table to put it beneath Leonardo’s nose.

“So it is,” Leonardo said with more than a little bit of resignation as he studied the part that the design firm’s liaison pointed out. Glancing back up, Leonardo searched for the woman he’d been watching, but she was gone. It was just as well. The Romano del Mare was still under renovation, and visitors wandering around the property wouldn’t do. The woman had no business being where she’d been, and he would have had to send someone to tell her to leave if she hadn’t left on her own.

Swiveling his chair to face the table again, Leonardo pushed away the unease he felt in his stomach. It was an indistinct worry that he hadn’t been able to put a name to, but it didn’t matter now. There was a plan. Everything between Romano International and Gallant Industries, the design firm Mr. Panucchi represented, had been worked out. All that was left was for him to sign the contract.

Picking up his Bentley fountain pen, Leonardo pushed aside his growing unease and scratched his name on the contract’s last page with a decisive flourish that was more show than an indicator of how he was feeling. He was signing away too much of his control over the design directions that would be taken with the Romano del Mare as she was readied to receive the first customers she’d seen in decades. He’d personally overseen the launch and relaunch of hundreds of spas and resorts and had built a chain of Romano hotels that spanned the globe. All of the Romano hotels were decorated with four and five star rankings, and it did not sit well with him that the design launch of the Romano del Mare—the iconic flagship resort of the Romano fortune—was being put into someone else’s hands. But Leonardo didn’t have a choice. He was contractually obligated to work with Gallant Industries on this project because of an ongoing business agreement that he’d been pressured into when overseeing the launch of another international hotel chain.

The truth was, though, that going with Gallant Industry’s design and PR firm would provide for the most lucrative launch in this situation, and that was what mattered most. Just because the Romano del Mare was the most unique, oldest and longest owned property of the Romano family didn’t mean that it shouldn’t be handled with the same eye toward operation costs versus potential earnings. At the end of the day, it was no different than any other Romano property, and if it couldn’t pay for itself then it had no business being among the Romano family holdings.

“Mr. Romano!” Mr. Panucchi gushed as Leonardo put down the pen and slowly stood. “This is an exciting day for both your company and Gallant Industries.” The man grabbed Leonardo’s hand with both of his and pumped it in a vigorous handshake.

“It is,” Leonardo responded graciously, extracting his hand from Mr. Panucchi’s grip and patting him on the shoulder. It was a lie, of course. It wasn’t an exciting day. It was an uncomfortable day within which he’d given someone more power over an outcome that actually mattered to him. It was in fact a terrible day that made him want to seek out something to take for the acid that ate at his stomach.

Movement near the door caught his attention from the corner of his eye and he turned away from Mr. Panucchi’s over-eager smile to find the woman who had been standing near the cliffs. She now stood in the doorway of his office, and she was no less a vision up close than she had been on the windswept cliff tops.

She smiled, and Leonardo’s heart all but stopped. Mr. Panucchi’s voice faded away, and Leonardo released his hold on the man’s shoulder to walk halfway across the room. A part of him thought she might disappear again like an ethereal being whose time on earth was only momentary, and another part of him knew she was only a woman who was someplace she wasn’t supposed to be.

Pulling in a breath, Leonardo prepared to tell her that she had to go, but his words were forgotten when she spoke instead.

“Mr. Romano… I’m Stella Brown. I’ve been sent by the International Preservation Society to enforce preservation laws and to direct you on how to rewrite your renovation plans.”