Claire Baxter - Pregnant - Father Wanted

‘Unless you’d prefer to order from the menu, Roberto would like to surprise us.’

‘Ooh, yes. Let him surprise us. As long as it’s food and plenty of it, I’ll be happy.’

Ric laughed. ‘You can rest assured on that score.’

‘The owners are friends of yours?’

‘Not exactly. I’ll order a bottle of frascati, shall I?’

‘Not for me, thanks.’ She pointed at the thick green jug on the table. ‘I’ll stick to water.’

‘Are you sure? Would you prefer something else? Lambrusco, or Prosecco?’

‘No, thanks. I don’t drink at all, but don’t let that stop you ordering whatever you want.’

He shook his head at the hovering waiter and poured them both water from the frosty jug.

Surprised, she asked him about Salerno while they ate antipasto and was soon astonished by the level of detail he was able to provide about any period of history—from the Goth to the Norman occupations of the town—and yet she was far from bored.

He paused while she got excited over the arrival of ravioli filled with crabmeat in a buttery sauce. She sniffed at the bowl before taking a forkful of the creamy pasta. She closed her eyes for just a moment, then opened them to see Ric watching her with that sparkle of amusement in his eyes again.

He smiled. ‘The plan was to see some more of the town this afternoon, then stay overnight and set out from here on the Amalfi Coast drive tomorrow. But, since you like history, perhaps you’d prefer to head south this afternoon, to visit Paestum?’

‘I’ve never heard of Paestum.’

‘It was an ancient Greek city which was abandoned in the ninth century AD, mainly because of malaria, since it was surrounded by marshes. It gradually became buried by swamps and it was forgotten about for nine hundred years until the construction of a new road, when it was rediscovered and excavated. They found three well-preserved temples as well as other buildings.’

‘Oh, wow, that sounds great. I’d love to visit if we can fit it in.’

‘No problem. I’ll make a call and arrange a hotel down there for tonight.’

Lyssa grinned at the waiter as he placed grilled sea bream with a salsa verde and fried artichokes in front of her. ‘This looks wonderful.’

Then, as she was about to start eating, a man with the deepest wrinkles she’d ever seen approached their table.

‘ Scusi, mi scusi .’

He smiled at Ric and spoke in a stream of Italian that Lyssa had no hope of following. He didn’t seem to care, he had eyes only for Ric, so she settled back to enjoy the meal.

Moments later the man pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, borrowed a pen from a passing waiter and thrust them both at Ric, who, she thought, was very patient with the old man as he scribbled on the paper and smiled at the man’s profuse thanks.

Puzzled, she watched the man walk away then asked, ‘Did you just give him your autograph?’

He nodded and picked up his cutlery. ‘How’s your food?’

‘Brilliant. Look, I know I’m being nosy, but I’m intrigued to know what that was all about.’

‘How much did you understand?’

‘Hardly anything. I wasn’t listening, actually. I was eating.’

‘Good choice. Roberto’s chef is one of the best in my opinion.’

‘So…?’

For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to explain, but then he looked up and his dark eyes locked with hers.

‘I should explain. I play football. For one of Italy’s major clubs. In Milano.’

‘Oh.’ She nodded. ‘That explains the car.’

He smiled. ‘Yes. I refused to use the minibus.’

She tilted her head. ‘My brothers are sport mad. They watch the Italian soccer—that’s what we call football back home—on the sports channel.’

‘Do they?’

‘Yes. They might even have heard of you.’

She didn’t like football herself. She didn’t think much of the players either. From what she knew of sportsmen—at least, those who made the news—most of them seemed to be insensitive, looks-obsessed jerks. She didn’t like their hedonistic lifestyles, nor the way they treated their wives and girlfriends.

Knowing Ric was part of that world put things into perspective for her. He might be extraordinarily good-looking, but he was not her type at all. And she clearly wasn’t his type either, since she wasn’t a blonde bimbo.

The thought of bringing up her baby in that world repulsed her, which was fine, as there was not the remotest chance of that happening.

‘I don’t get it myself.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t understand why people become so passionate about it. It’s just a game.’

‘We’ll have to agree to disagree, then.’

‘Yes.’ She narrowed her eyes and looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Another thing I don’t understand is why you’re working as a tour guide. You can’t possibly need the money.’

After a short burst of laughter, he said, ‘No, I don’t. You’re very direct, aren’t you?’

‘Direct is a nice way of putting it. I speak without thinking most of the time. It’s a bad habit. I really should try to fix it.’

‘No, I like it.’

Her eyes met his and she felt a jolt as her insides reacted to his words. Pathetic , she told herself. She wasn’t so starved of affection that she could be affected by a statement that wasn’t even a real compliment.

Or was she?

She cleared her throat. ‘So, the tour guide thing?’

‘It is my uncle’s business. I’ve been staying with my uncle and aunt. Their regular driver, Gino, had an accident. It wasn’t his fault but he has a broken leg and he was supposed to drive you, so they asked me to help out.’

‘I see.’

She smiled and nodded at Roberto when he appeared at their table to check they were enjoying their meal, then returned her gaze to Ric, curious to know more.

‘Shouldn’t you be in Milan now?’

‘No.’ Something flashed in his eyes but it had gone before she’d had time to work out what it was. ‘I’m on rehabilitation leave. I’ve had a knee reconstruction.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. That must be so frustrating.’

‘It is.’ He took a drink of water, then sighed. ‘And it’s not my first operation on the same knee. I’ve been through the whole recovery period before.’

She clicked her tongue in sympathy. ‘Aren’t you worried about being recognised?’

Ric flicked a dismissive wave. ‘I might be recognised, but it shouldn’t be a problem. Not here. In Milan, yes, it can be a nuisance. In other cities, Rome for instance, possibly. But generally I find the paparazzi limit themselves to covering high-profile events or the celebrity nightspots. My day-to-day activities aren’t normally interesting enough for the media, and down here I don’t think we’ll see any photographers.’

‘What about fans?’

‘They’re rarely a problem. Like the man who came to the table today, they’re usually polite. They deserve to be treated politely in return. These people spend their hard-earned money to go to games. The least they deserve is respect. I hope you don’t object if we have the occasional interruption?’

‘No, not at all.’

After thanking Roberto for the delicious food and refusing a gelato to follow—even she had finally eaten enough—they got up from the table. As they headed for the door she wondered whether Ric had a girlfriend and, if he did, whether she matched the image Lyssa had of footballers’ women. Supermodel-slim. Perfectly groomed. Tall. All the things she wasn’t.

She didn’t have body issues, but she was just an average woman and fully aware of her shortcomings. These sports people lived like rock stars and they had the women to match. She’d thought of them as bimbos , but that might be unfair. She shouldn’t judge them for choosing to obsess about their looks.