Read Taming Her Italian Boss for Free Online Page B

wonderful when she’d been happy—warm, loving, such fun—but the tail end of his parents’ marriage had been anything but happy. Those good times were now superimposed with her loud and expressive fits of rage, the kind only an Italian woman knew how to give, and his father’s silent and stoic sternness, as he refused to be baited, to be drawn into the game. Sometimes the one-sided fights had gone on for days.
    He took another slug of wine and tried to unclench his shoulder muscles.
    His relationship with his mother had never been good, not since the day she’d left the family home in a taxi and a cloud of her own perfume. He hadn’t spoken to her in at least a year, and hadn’t seen her for more than three.
    He looked down at his glass and noticed he’d polished it off without realising. There was still another left in the bottle....
    No. He put his glass down on the desk and switched off his laptop. No more for tonight. Because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he’d need a clear head to deal with his mother come morning.

CHAPTER FOUR
    M AX WALKED OUT of his bedroom then stopped, completely arrested by the sight in front of him. What the heck?
    And it wasn’t the spray of cereal hoops all over the coffee table or the splash of milk threatening to drip off the edge. Nor was it the sight of his niece, sitting cross-legged on the carpet and eating a pastry, no sign of a tantrum in sight. No, it was the fact that the nanny he’d hired yesterday bore no resemblance to the one who was busily trying to erase the evidence of what had obviously been a rather messy breakfast session.
    She froze when she heard him walk in, then turned around. Her gaze drifted to the mess in the middle of the room. ‘Sofia doesn’t like cereal, apparently,’ she explained calmly. ‘And she felt the need to demonstrate that with considerable gusto.’
    He blinked and looked again.
    The voice was right. And the attitude. But this looked like a different girl.... No—woman. This one was definitely a woman.
    Gone was the slightly hippy-looking patchwork scarecrow from the day before, to be replaced by someone in a bright red fifties dress covered in big cartoon strawberries. With the full skirt and the little black shoes and the short hair swept from her face, she looked like a psychedelic version of Audrey Hepburn.
    Hair! That was it!
    He looked again. The purple streaks were still there, just not as apparent in this neater style. Good. For a moment there, he’d thought he’d been having a particularly vivid dream.
    ‘Good morning,’ he finally managed to mutter.
    She raised her eyebrows.
    Max covered up the fact that the sight of all those strawberries had made him momentarily forget her name by launching in with something she’d like—details. ‘After breakfast we’re going to visit Sofia’s grandmother.’ He paused and looked at the slightly milk-drenched, pastry-flake-covered child in front of him. ‘Would you be able to get her looking presentable by ten?’
    The nanny nodded. ‘I think so.’
    ‘Good.’ Max felt his stomach unclench. ‘My mother is not someone who tolerates an untidy appearance.’ And then he turned to go and fire up his laptop, but he could have sworn he heard her mutter, ‘What a shocker...’ under her breath.
    * * *
    The water taxi slowed outside a large palazzo with its own landing stage leading up to a heavy front door. They’d travelled for maybe fifteen minutes, leaving the Grand Canal behind and heading into the Castello district of the city.
    The building was almost as large at the hotel they’d just left, but where its plaster had been pristine and smooth, this palace was looking a little more tired round the edges. Green slime coated the walls at the waterline, indicating the height of the high tide. Some of the pink plasterwork had peeled off at the bottom of the structure leaving an undulating wave of bare bricks showing.
    There were grilles over the ground-floor