Читать книгу Italian Escape: Summer with the Millionaire / In the Italian's Sights / Flirting with Italian - Liz Fielding, Helen Brooks - Страница 17

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘HUNGRY? WE COULD stop off in Siena for lunch.’

What did that mean? Did he want to stop off or would he rather get back? Minty shot Luca a quick glance. He was looking straight ahead, all his concentration on the road.

He had always been a careful driver, steady and sure, unwilling to take risks. She used to tease him about it but he had never allowed her to provoke him. Minty squirmed in her seat. She knew exactly how his parents had died and yet she had been thoughtless enough to laugh at Luca’s driving. What a self-centred brat she had been.

Not that he had seemed to notice. It had driven her mad how easily he used to ignore her presence. Luca Di Tore, the golden boy, hard-working, courteous, who never put a foot wrong. Completely oblivious to her, to her need for his attention.

Getting him to notice her had been the main focus of most of Minty’s summers. It had started out as a game, a way to annoy him and it had usually taken something fairly outrageous before he’d looked down from his lofty heights and deigned to bestow attention on her. It had been bad enough when she was small. By the time she was fourteen it had been unbearable.

She hadn’t wanted to fancy Luca. But she had walked in that summer and whoosh, bam, wallop, it had hit her hard. He had grown up whilst at university: grown up, grown out, grown hot. She’d barely been able to breathe when he was in the room, let alone say two words to him.

Of course, she would rather have been flayed alive than admit it even to herself, let alone anyone else. It was easier to act out even more, hide behind arrogance, insouciance and plain outrageousness.

It was a facade that had served her well for four years, right until Rose’s funeral. And then she was too broken to hide. She had allowed Luca to see everything: her pain, her misery, her want, her need. And he had turned her away.

It had been utterly humiliating.

But last night she had allowed him in again, babbling on about Barty, about Joe, about rejections and feelings. Would she ever learn?

‘So do you? Want lunch?’ His voice was completely even. What was he thinking? Was he regretting the time they had spent together? Regretting how they’d spent their time?

‘Define lunch.’

‘Okay.’ He sounded puzzled. ‘A meal, in a restaurant, comprising at least two courses.’

‘I didn’t mean...’ She paused. What did she mean? ‘Is this a date? Or just lunch? What are we actually doing here?’

‘Are you asking me what my intentions are?’ Damn, he was laughing at her. Minty felt her teeth grinding together.

‘Of course not!’ Not exactly. ‘I was just wondering what we’re doing here. We spent all weekend together and back in Oschia we, well, we were together. And, if you hadn’t noticed, at the moment we live together, work together... It’s a little awkward.’

He didn’t answer for a long moment as he negotiated the car around a tight bend. ‘Minty, you’re rebounding from an engagement. You’re not ready for anything serious; I know that. Don’t worry, I’m not planning to ask you to bear my four children.’

Obviously and, by the way, thank goodness. But it rankled a little how hilarious he found that idea.

‘I thought we could just explore this thing, see where it takes us. Have some fun.’ His voice sounded concerned. ‘But if you want to stop, if you’re feeling uncomfortable, then please just say.’

‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m fine.’

Fun. It was the answer she’d been hoping for, because of course he was right. She’d been engaged to another man just a few weeks ago—not that that had stopped Joe moving on, but Minty Davenport was not so fickle. At least, she was trying not to be.

So why did she feel disappointed? It was her stupid fourteen-year-old self with a house-sized crush and a romantic streak longer than the Arno. Three engagements should have dried that streak right out.

Luca was right. Why plan? They both knew this would burn out eventually. They were so different, wanted such different things. Why spoil the moment with labels and definitions? That was far more Luca’s style than hers—if he could be relaxed, then of course she could be too!

‘You’re right,’ she said, leaning back, forcing herself to sound unconcerned. ‘Lunch sounds lovely.’

* * *

‘Admit it, the view’s gorgeous.’ Minty waved her soup spoon at him. ‘The soup’s good too.’

‘The soup is four times as expensive as it would have been round the corner.’ Luca shook his head. ‘Hope the view’s worth it.’

They were sat at a table in Siena’s bustling main square. A place fit only for tourists, Luca had told her.

‘I never mind paying for a view,’ Minty said, gesturing around with her spoon. ‘I’d rather sit in St Mark’s Square or enjoy a view of the Pantheon with my coffee than save a couple of euros and sit in an alleyway somewhere, looking at damp brickwork.’

‘It can be a lot more than a couple of euros.’ Luca shook his head. She had no idea how privileged she was. Even Luca, who had grown up in comfortable surroundings, ran a very profitable business, travelled first class and wore tailor-made suits balked at the mark-up in these places. ‘Not everyone can afford to spend ten euros on a coffee.’

Minty didn’t respond for a few moments, concentrating on her soup. When she spoke, her voice was low. ‘Joe always said I was spoilt.’ She tried to laugh if off but there was no humour in it and Luca was aware of a most uncharacteristic urge to search out Joe and force him to apologise.

With his fists, if need be.

No man should have the power to make those bright eyes so dim, to make a confident, laughing girl so full of self-doubt.

The man was undoubtedly a fool. He said so, but Minty shook her head.

‘Funny, isn’t it, how the things some people like in you are the things somebody else despises? Spike loved all that—the trust fund and ancestors who fought for Charles I and advised Henry VIII. Barty took it for granted because that was his world too. Joe, on the other hand...’ She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t just my ancestry, it was the money too—especially as I didn’t earn it. We always had to travel budget airlines and stay in youth hostels. It was fun at first.’

She looked up and smiled at Luca. ‘It’s always fun to try something new. But I wanted to treat him for his birthday so I took him to New York. First class, a lovely hotel and the latest must-go-to restaurant. It was outrageously expensive, to be honest, even I thought so, but he sulked for the whole of the holiday. I wasn’t behaving the way he expected me to behave. Apparently I was the one who was meant to compromise all the time. We split up a week later.’

She went back to her soup. Luca sat back in his chair and watched her for a moment. Her face, what he could see of it under those ridiculously large sunglasses, was unconcerned but he was beginning to understand her. He chose his words carefully. ‘Compromise is important, but on both sides, Minty. If someone can’t accept you for who you are, love everything about you, even the bits that are harder to take, then they’re not right for you.’

She pushed her soup bowl away and looked up, a bright smile plastered onto her face. ‘That’s the fairy tale, isn’t it? The dream we’re sold: someone will fall for you flaws and all.’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘I don’t think so. I think everyone has to pretend a little, suppress themselves a little, if they want it to last.’

Minty reached out for the bread and tore a piece off it. ‘Or be alone. Look at my Great-great-aunt Prudence. No man of the time wanted an Amazon explorer for a wife; she chose adventure over settling down and never regretted it.’

Luca visualised a turn-of-the-century Minty, hair streaming behind her, one hand on a large straw hat as the paddle boat pulled out into piranha-infested waters. ‘I don’t agree,’ he said carefully. ‘I think it’s possible to find someone who complements you, a true partner. Someone who supports whatever you want to do, even if you want to sail down the Amazon!’

Minty shook her head. She was toying with her bread, tearing off small bits of the chewy inside and rolling it around in her hands. Luca watched her long fingers so busily at work, so unsettled. ‘Love is fun for a little while, but I don’t think it forms a good basis for “for ever”. There’s too much pretence, too much compromising to make it work. Mutual respect, that’s the key; a sensible arrangement so you know what you’re getting up front. And then no need to change—or to keep moving on.’

Like the marriage Luca was hoping for. Suddenly it didn’t sound so appealing. It sounded cold, clinical. What did he plan? A dating agency? An advert? Arrogantly he had just sort of assumed that he would just need to look around. After all, he was successful; he had a nice house, a business.

All his own hair.

A flush of mortification spread through him. Did he really think a list of desirable attributes was all that was needed? Was he really so conceited he thought he’d just have to click his fingers and a queue of suitable wives would form?

And what made him think that finding someone who fulfilled a checklist would make him happy anyway? After all, his sophisticated, city-bred, society mother had been happy with her countrified husband.

‘Don’t give up,’ he said. ‘Someone out there would give up everything to travel along the Amazon with you.’

‘For a while, maybe.’ Her voice trailed off, the heap of small balls of bread on her plate growing larger. Luca opened his mouth to reassure her, to press the point home. But he didn’t know what to say.

At that moment the waiter brought out large plates heaped with steaming pasta, covered with a delicious-smelling tomato and vegetable sauce garnished with anchovies.

‘Good, they haven’t stinted on the anchovies,’ Minty said enthusiastically, picking up her fork. ‘I love them.’

And the moment was gone. But he wanted to hold on to it, hold on to her. Spend more time in her world, her impulsive, irresponsible, fun world, away from the everyday cares and stresses he had been shouldering for as long as he could remember.

Be someone else, someone she wanted, for just a little bit longer.

* * *

‘We don’t have to go straight back to Oschia.’

Minty looked up from the car’s state-of-the-art and ridiculously complicated stereo. ‘I thought we were getting to the stage where all we would have to do was think of a tune and it would miraculously play,’ she grumbled. ‘I don’t understand what it wants me to do.’

Luca reached down without looking and one second later the strains of classical music filled the car. It was a violin solo and Minty was immediately transported back to the night before. To that moment of sheer perfection and happiness.

‘Too solemn,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I want something poppy.’ Something that wasn’t going to evoke any embarrassing memories of weakness. Of neediness.

Luca obligingly changed the music until he reached a well-known female singer-songwriter and Minty nodded approvingly. ‘Perfect,’ she said, leaning back and putting her bare feet back on the dashboard, throwing a provocative glance at Luca as she did so. She knew how much it annoyed him.

She wiggled her toes.

‘So?’ he prompted.

‘So?’

‘What do you think about not heading back?’

‘We already stopped off for lunch,’ Minty pointed out, regarding her toenails critically. She had painted them silver for the party but they were already chipping. Maybe something bright and cheerful next; she had bought a vivid orange in Florence which might do. She slid a glance over at Luca. He probably wouldn’t really appreciate her painting her nails in his car.

He was a smooth driver, though.

And at that thought a mental image of the two of them the day before, entwined, filled her head. She squirmed in her seat. Driving wasn’t the only thing he did smoothly.

‘I didn’t mean for an hour or two. I meant for a few days. After all...’ His head jerked meaningfully to the three large suitcases in the boot. ‘You have enough there to last an apocalyptic catastrophe.’

She hadn’t brought that much with her. Minty glanced into the back. Oh, the man had a point.

‘Won’t people talk?’

He shrugged. ‘Who? The tabloids don’t even know who I am.’

‘Not people—people,’ she said. ‘Your family. Our—your—colleagues.’

He looked over at her, disbelief written clearly on his face. ‘We have been living together since you got here and have just spent a weekend together—with my uptight, old-fashioned grandfather—being photographed at a very public charity event. They are already talking. Let’s clear off and let the fuss die down. If we’re lucky, Andreo in accounts will finally ask Maria on reception out and we will be forgotten. Yesterday’s news.’

Doubt gnawed at Minty’s stomach. On one hand, they were having a good time. He was funny, easy to talk to, good in bed. On the other, she risked exposing him to the crazy media circus that was her life. He might shrug off a few gossip websites but would he be so sanguine when an ex sold her story to a newspaper? When it was his front door the photographers surrounded?

‘What about work?’ she said instead, watching him carefully. He gave nothing away, his expression bland.

‘I’m quite happy to authorise your leave. Come on, Minty, I’m talking about a road trip—just a few days.’

‘Hmm...’ It wasn’t going away with Luca that worried her, it was coming back. The longer she spent with him, the more under a spell she was, like Sleeping Beauty in a dream world of warm sun, olive trees and a handsome ice-cream tycoon. The difference was that Sleeping Beauty had woken up to her happy-ever-after; Minty would wake up to the dullness of everyday life. There would be no one to hack through the forest of thorns and rescue her; she would have to do it herself.

Again.

The longer she stayed with Luca, the harder it would be to fight her way back into the real world.

Last time she’d rebounded into a disastrous series of relationships after just one night. A night that had left her aching with unconsummated desire, feeling all alone. What was she thinking, spending all this time with him, letting him get so close?

But maybe this would work the other way. She fancied him; that was pretty undeniable. But he wasn’t irresistibly perfect. Sure, now he was suddenly all about the impulsive days off work, the long walks, the sudden holidays, but at heart he was still the disapproving, sensible, solid Luca. He couldn’t keep that side of himself locked away for too long. And when that side resurrected itself he’d blame her for leading him astray. Just like he always had.

Maybe she needed this finally to move on. To let the crush play itself out until the scales fell irrevocably from her eyes. They would. They always did.

And she’d be free.

‘Minty.’ His voice was caramel and cream, a hint of something darker, more intoxicating threaded through it. ‘Don’t overthink this.’

‘Normally people tell me to think before I act,’ she pointed out. ‘Here I am, trying for a new responsible me, and you’re holding up a perfect-looking apple and telling me how how juicy it is!’ The problem was, she wasn’t very good at resisting temptation, and they didn’t come much more tempting than the tall Italian beside her. She sighed. Would a short trip really hurt? She could be careful; careful not to get pulled into his world, careful to be herself, to stay flighty and silly and impulsive.

‘I am supposed to be doing the consumer focus groups this week.’ But she allowed her voice to lack conviction. She slid a provocative glance at him through her eyelashes and she saw him smile.

‘Alessandro can do that.’ The smile was in his voice and a rush of heat flooded through her. It wasn’t fair; how could someone’s voice have this effect on her? This man’s voice...

‘You may get tired of me without the office to escape to. I can be very demanding.’

‘That,’ he said, looking directly at her, the heat in his eyes making her gasp, ‘I am counting on.’

‘Where do you want to go?’ Her voice wasn’t quite steady. His proximity, the way his eyes seemed to strip and caress her, were making it hard for her to remain cool. In control.

‘Roma?’ He didn’t sound so certain. Minty knew with utter certainty it was the last place he wanted to go, but that he knew she’d enjoy it. The squeeze in her chest was almost suffocating. It wasn’t often that anyone put her interests before their own.

‘What if I wanted to have a beer overlooking the Pantheon?’

‘Then you would pay.’ His mouth lifted with a triumphant smirk. ‘I’ll warn you, mine will be a large one. Plus some kind of bar snack or two.’

‘Shop?’

A small pause; she peeped at him through her lashes. He looked amused. ‘Please just wear sensible shoes and don’t expect me to carry all your bags.’

‘Sensible and pretty,’ Minty assured him. ‘But I don’t want to go to Rome.’

An eyebrow quirked. ‘No? Then where shall I head to? North to the lakes or the mountains? Or I could drive us to Venice or Verona?’

Verona was new territory; the lakes were always lovely. Venice? Suddenly the thought of a jostling, crowded city didn’t seem that appealing, even one as quirkily beautiful as Venice.

Besides, Luca would hate it.

Minty looked out at the sunshine and thought about the light and very spring-like clothing she had just purchased. It was still early in the season. ‘I think we should go south,’ she decided.

Luca’s eyes flickered to her bare legs and feet, and he grinned but didn’t say anything.

‘Are you sure?’ Minty wasn’t sure what she was asking. Was he sure about taking the time off, about taking a trip with her? About being with her?

‘Completely. I haven’t taken any time off in well over a year. A break will probably do me good.’

‘Okay.’ She bit down on her bottom lip. These doubts were ridiculous. Luca was a grown man, a responsible, sensible CEO. If he said he wanted to take some time off, then it wasn’t her job to question him or dissuade him.

It was just that impulsive road trips were more her style than his. She wasn’t used to people adapting to her ways.

Minty slouched down further into her seat, deliberately, provocatively, assuming an almost horizontal, ultra-relaxed position. ‘South it is. How far are we going to go? All the way?’ She allowed a touch of innuendo to enter her voice and was gratified to see him swallow, his jaw clench. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.

‘There probably isn’t time to get to Sicily and to enjoy it properly. Not if we’re going to drive—unless you want to fly?’

‘Oh, we are definitely driving. A road trip is much more fun if it actually involves a road,’ she insisted. ‘Flying makes it a mini-break; not the same thing at all.’

‘I went on holiday to Sorrento with my parents the year before they died,’ Luca offered. His face was blank, expressionless, but for all the studied nonchalance there was a dark undercurrent in his voice. ‘I never wanted to go back before—too many memories, I suppose—but maybe it’s time to make some new ones. Of course, you’ve probably been there far too many times.’

Minty shook her head. ‘Not even once,’ she said promptly. ‘Sorrento it is. Capri, Amalfi, Positano—sounds like a socialite’s dream. I bet I can find us a café where the price of coffee will make you cry.’

‘I can’t wait,’ Luca murmured drily, but he reached over with one hand and touched her, just a fleeting caress of her knee, yet it was as if a flame had scorched her, the heat travelling across her body. Minty resisted the urge to grab his hand, to move it back.