Dani Collins - Modern Romance March 2019 5-8

Her smile deepened as she realised she’d just thought of Ivo Greco and sweet in the same sentence.

‘I did a lot of research when I first...’ Her eyes skittered away from the understanding in his. ‘When I became guardian. I knew nothing about babies. I never thought I’d be a parent. I never had a five-year plan or anything. I just sort of fell into things—right place, right time.’

She made it sound as though she had sleepwalked into a great job at an incredible firm of architects and graduated in the top three in her class quite accidentally. G od save me from British self-deprecation!

Scottish self-deprecation, he could almost hear the pride and reproach in her voice as she put him right—as she undoubtedly would do, were he reckless enough to voice his complaint.

He opted for a middle ground.

‘Modesty... I don’t come across that very often.’

She scowled. He made her sound like some sort of old-fashioned freak. ‘And definitely not when you look in the mirror.’ Her eyes flew wide, her hand going to her lips in an attitude of comical dismay. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that as an insult.’

Amusement danced deep in his eyes as he studied her face and then faded like a snuffed-out candle as he found he was able to see all too clearly her checking and double checking on the sleeping baby, her glorious hair swinging loose around her narrow shoulders, tense from the burden that had fallen on them. He could almost see the individual lines of worry etched on her youthful, beautiful face as she searched fearfully for signs and symptoms the doctors had told her to look out for.

Fighting his way free of the uncomfortably empathic moment, he managed a forced smile.

‘God help me when you do mean it, Flora Henderson.’ His glance slid to the baby lying between them just as his head lolled; this time he didn’t jerk himself awake as he had on the last half-dozen times.

‘Why don’t you take a nap while he’s asleep?’

‘I couldn’t,’ she said, meaning it.

Two minutes later he heard her breathing deepen.

‘I SLEPT!’ FLORA YELPED, coming to with a jerk after several moments of pleasant drifting.

One hand meshed in her tangled curls, she clenched the fingers of her right hand as her glance went straight to the sleeping baby. Seemingly satisfied, she relaxed, or at least went down from red to amber alert status...

When had she last relaxed?

Not his business, Ivo reminded himself. She was a consenting adult and if she chose to... Feeling his anger build, Ivo closed the laptop on his knee with a decisive snap. The illusion that he’d actually been working was false. The face of his sleeping travelling companion had been infinitely more appealing than emails or financial breakdowns.

He supposed there was an element of guilty pleasure, though mostly pleasure, in being able to stare at her unobserved. To study the curve of her cheek, the elegant arch of her brow and the pink bow of her mouth. He remembered how she tasted and wanted to taste her again. He imagined himself waking her up with a kiss.

Despite the Sleeping Beauty analogy, in his head there was nothing chaste or fairy-tale-like about the kiss, or her response! It involved warm pale limbs wrapping around him, sinking into...

‘Are we nearly there?’

Wrenched free of the sensual, erotic images, he clamped his lips tight over a strangled laugh, and watched her almost press her nose to the window.

They’d been there for at least ten minutes. The fertile land dotted with fig groves and larger stretches of vineyards belonged to his family.

But he knew what she meant.

‘We’ve just left the village.’ At the foot of the craggy outcrop that the Castello was built on, much of the village still belonged to the Greco estate. ‘Just wait a minute and you’ll see it.’

She followed the direction of his pointing finger and turned her head.

Beside her Ivo said, ‘About—now!’

He heard her breath catch; it was a common response to the first sight of his family home, but the awe on Flora’s face made him think of a child seeing a Christmas tree.

Flora realised a moment too late that the open-mouthed look was not the height of sophistication, or for that matter a good look on anyone except, perhaps, her travelling companion, who would look incredible no matter what.

At least this was an example of life’s unfairness that she could smile at, and she did smile as she shifted in her seat to face him.

‘It looks like something out of a fairy tale. The towers...’ Head shaking, she glanced back at the square stone towers at each of the four corner of the monumental building.

‘They were there a couple of hundred years before the actual Castello. There’s a view over the sea from up there, but it’s not bad from here either.’ He nodded past her and she turned again.

She’d been aware of the steep incline of the winding road but not the village, built on the edge of the water, it revealed or the glittering aquamarine sea scape it was set against.

Wow hardly seemed adequate—when he had spoken of Jamie’s heritage she had never imagined anything like this. On this scale the historic grandeur was intimidating. ‘So this is the Greco ancestral home.’

‘There have been Grecos here for centuries. This place’s fortunes followed ours, land sold, land bought back, disrepair and grandeur, but our family originally didn’t build the place, an ancestor won it in a card game, or so the story goes. A tale probably invented for the tourists.’

‘Have you always lived here?’

‘We lived here as children, but these days I have an apartment in Florence. It’s more convenient for when I’m in Italy, but I travel a great deal. I could give you a history but as an architect you’ll probably know more about it than me.’

‘I am an architect,’ she agreed, wondering absently if this was the wrong tense, or maybe, considering the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, to describe her as a scared architect would have been more appropriate. ‘Not an art historian.’ That said, she did recognise the massive double entrance that had come into view on top of an impressive flight of stone steps as a pretty incredible example of pure Renaissance.

The melding of styles over the years had given this place a unique look, in the same way the melding of genes over the years had given Ivo a unique look.

The thought drew her gaze towards the man whose genetic make-up had produced...well...perfection, and she found he was looking at her. He wasn’t smiling and there was something in his eyes that made her heart beat faster.

She lifted her chin in response to the silent challenge glittering in his eyes. ‘So what now?’

‘Now we get you and Jamie settled. I’m assuming that Salvatore will want to see you both.’

An invitation where non-attendance was not an option.

Her spiky, thick lashes half lowered, her plump lower lip caught between her teeth, her soft mutter of, ‘I can hardly wait,’ was obviously not as under her breath as she intended because he responded drily.

‘In order to avoid any misunderstandings, I should mention that my grandfather is not likely to get irony , or, for that matter, humour.’

‘Any more tips?’

‘Don’t overthink this, and don’t look so guilty.’

She silently tacked on and don’t throw up as she nodded to the uniformed figure holding the door open and slid out of the car.

A moment later Ivo joined her. He was carrying the car seat. She was actually grateful for the light pressure of the guiding hand in the small of her back as they approached the shallow flight of stone steps with the elaborate wrought-iron railings.