Christina Hollis - Claimed by the Italian

‘How often do you see him? Hear from him?’

Her chin lifted at his suddenly grim tone. ‘Never. OK? Though, to be fair to him, my parents married young. Too young. They were still in their teens when I was born. I guess he couldn’t cope with the demands of a baby. I must have been a mistake. I expect he thought he and Mum would have years of married life together before they had to settle down to be parents. He would have seen letting Great-Aunt Edith adopt me as the best thing for me.’

Dio! Paolo’s eyes widened in perplexity. How could a man hand over a tiny scrap of his own flesh and blood and walk away? Yet she was making excuses for the inexcusable! Did she always turn the other cheek? Look for the good where others could see only bad? If so, she was unique in his experience!

He was looking at her as if she were from another planet, Lily registered, confused. She moistened her dry lips, parted them to stress that her lack of parents had nothing to do with the knotty problem they were facing, then promptly forgot what she’d been about to tell him when he leaned forward, sliding his arms around her as he kissed her.

Tender this time. Achingly tender. Amazingly beautiful. And her head was spinning, her heart hurting, when he broke the kiss, held her head into his shoulder and murmured softly, ‘I’ve given you a hard time. It is my turn to apologize, cara . It won’t happen again.’

Where had that come from? Never apologise, never explain—what had happened to the code he lived by?

Shaken with the depth of what he was feeling—compassion, admiration, disgust with his earlier unfeeling treatment of her, whatever—he turned his head to touch his lips to the so-vulnerable spot below her ear.

‘Trust me. I got us into this mess, just as you said, and I’ll get us out of it.’ He could feel her heart beating beneath her perfect breasts. Nameless emotion claimed him and his voice was dark and husky as he told her, ‘In the meantime relax, enjoy being here.’

He almost added with me , but stopped himself in time.

SHE was becoming addicted to him, Lily admitted with agitation. Really addicted to him. When he was with her, by her side, in the same room, meeting up with his mother for lunch or dinner, she couldn’t take her eyes off him, and when he turned his beautifully shaped head, caught her moony eyes on him and gave her that lazy, sexy smile of his, she just about went to pieces.

Did he know that? Know that he only had to smile at her, casually touch her hand in passing, rest his hand lightly on her shoulder, to make her breathing quicken, her heart leap, her body sting and burn with sexual tension?

She had the terrifying feeling that she was falling in love with him, and she so didn’t want to! Why, in full knowledge of what she was looking at, would she want to buy a one-way ticket to a place called Misery?

She could tell herself with cold, stark truth that this new display of tender togetherness he’d displayed during the couple of days they’d been here was just an act, but it didn’t make the slightest bit of difference.

And as for kissing her—well, she’d worked that out too. Without any trouble whatsoever. Both times he kissed her had been when she’d displayed serious misgivings or signs of mutiny. In that first instance, her deep reluctance to meet his mother, and in the second her hysterics over his mother’s insistence on making plans for a wedding that wasn’t going to happen.

He was manipulating her, but knowing that didn’t make a scrap of difference either. And that made her the worst kind of fool—her own worst enemy.

Her cheeks pink with annoyance—at herself, mostly—she swiftly tucked her shirt into the waistband of the classic cream-coloured linen skirt she’d selected from the abundance of fabulous garments Donatella had unpacked for her, ran a comb through her gleaming jaw-length fall of hair, and added just a touch of gloss to her lips. Looking in the mirror, she smiled wryly at the understated high-maintenance reflection she saw there, and set off to obey Carla’s summons, issued from the house phone near her bedside five minutes earlier.

Signora Venini was taking her morning airing on the terrace and would be pleased if Signorina Lily would join her.

It would be the first time she’d been alone with Paolo’s mother, and the prospect made her feel even more nervous. Without his presence as a buffer who knew what she might let slip by unguarded word or look? Especially if the older woman brought up the scream-inducing subject of wedding arrangements. She just wasn’t used to pretending to be what she wasn’t. Living a lie.

Paolo, as he’d informed her last night, would be spending most of the day in Florence on business. He’d invited her to go with him—to hit the shops, do the tourist thing until he was ready to return. She’d refused flatly, wanting time alone to get her head straight, talk herself out of what she was beginning to feel for him, put in some hard work on her sense of self-preservation.

Now she wished she’d accepted his invitation, if only to avoid the coming tête-à-tête and the pitfalls it was sure to present.

Reaching the doors to the terrace, Lily allowed herself a moment to let the soft light and gentle warmth of the Tuscan spring wash over her, and hopefully begin to relax her, starting slightly when a cheerful, ‘ Buongiorno , Lily!’ hit her ears.

‘Signora,’ Lily responded feebly, her feet carrying her with a reluctance she hoped didn’t show towards the table beneath the vine-covered loggia, where the old lady sat in the dappled shade.

‘Sit with me. And do you think you could manage to call me Fiora? Less formal, si ?’ Her smile was pure charm. Lily now knew where Paolo had got it from. When it suited him! ‘“Mamma” we will save until the happy day when you are my daughter-in-law.’

Knowing that day would never dawn, Lily felt slightly sick as she forced herself forward and sank into a chair on the opposite side of the table.

How she hated deceiving this nice old lady! Part of her was strongly urging her to come clean, confess all, put her conscience to rest and weather the storm that would erupt from Paolo’s direction. But then Fiora said, ‘How pretty you look—my cynical son has followed his heart and at last chosen well. A lovely young thing in possession of a loving and gentle heart, instead of a glossy model with a calculating machine where her heart should be! You are going to make him very happy!’

All Lily could manage was a painted on smile that covered the sinking conviction that there was no way she could tell Paolo’s mother the truth—because not only would it shatter the old lady’s obvious happiness, it would cause a deep rift between mother and son, and she couldn’t bring herself to be responsible for that.

Thankfully, Agata arrived with a tray of coffee, and while Fiora was pouring from the elegant silver pot she confided, ‘The nurse my son hired has departed—such a bossy creature! I told Paolo that as I felt so much better she was not needed.’

‘And he agreed?’ He was so protective of his mother, so anxious for her well-being, that Lily couldn’t keep the note of sheer astonishment out of her voice.

‘Not without argument!’ The hazel eyes lit with laughter, and Lily reflected that Paolo’s mother did look better. There was colour in her cheeks and strength in her voice now, and the faint bruising around her eyes had disappeared. ‘He had to agree that the news of his wedding has given me a new lease of life!’ She reached out a hand to cover Lily’s, where it lay on the sun-warmed wood of the tabletop, and confided soberly, ‘My husband’s death ten years ago was a terrible blow. Sergio and I were very dear to each other. But I had my two handsome sons to live for. The hope of grandchildren.’