Kate Hardy - The Italians - Rico, Antonio and Giovanni - The Hidden Heart of Rico Rossi / The Moretti Seduction / The Boselli Bride

‘What did you find?’ Rico asked softly.

‘Thirty-six envelopes. Each one contained a photograph of me on my birthday or at Christmas, for every single year since I was born. And every one was marked “return to sender”.’ Ella tried not to grind her teeth. ‘Her letters never asked him for a thing. She was only writing to let him know how I was getting on. She told him about me, and she really tried to build some kind of connection between us—but he threw it back in her face every single time. She even sent the letters to his office rather than to his home, so it wouldn’t be like rubbing his wife’s face in it. But he just didn’t want to know.’

‘Thirty-six envelopes. And you’re twenty-eight?’

‘Yes.’

‘So he must’ve kept some?’

Ella shook her head. ‘Mum gave up sending them when I turned eighteen. So now you know why I don’t have a family. I probably have half-siblings somewhere out there—who knows how many other women fell for the same lies that my mum did?—but they’ve never tried to find me, and I don’t need them. I have good friends, and that makes me luckier than a lot of people.’

‘Did your grandparents soften once they met you?’

‘No. Mum tried to stay in touch with them, but they refused to see us. And it’s too late for any reconciliation now—they both passed away, some years back.’

‘It was their loss, not yours.’ Rico pulled her onto his lap and held her close.

For a moment Ella thought that she saw something in his expression—something that told her he understood how she felt because he’d been badly let down himself—but he masked it so quickly that she couldn’t be sure.

Sitting so close with him like this made her feel so warm, so secure. And the question slipped out before she realised what she was going to say. ‘So do I get to see you tomorrow?’

‘Maybe. What time do you finish?’

‘I’m not sure. Late afternoon, I guess.’ She thought about it. ‘I have two celebration cakes to make and flat-ice, and then I need to do some of the sugar work for them, as well as make the cupcakes for the two local cafés who’ve agreed to stock my cakes. And there’s the business admin stuff. If I keep on top of it, then it won’t take long. If I leave it to pile up, it’ll be a chore.’

‘So the cupcakes have to be ready before the cafés open. Does this mean a really early start?’

She smiled. ‘That rather depends on whether you call six a.m. early.’

‘I’d better get you home, then. It’s not fair to make you burn the candle at both ends. If you want to get dressed in my bedroom, I’ll call a taxi.’

‘Thank you.’

The phone rang as she walked back into the living room. Rico answered it. ‘That’s great. Thank you very much.’ He turned to Ella. ‘That was Reception. They’re very efficient—the taxi’s here already.’

‘Thank you. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’

‘I’ll see you home. I would’ve driven you myself, but I haven’t sorted out a car yet.’

Outside her flat, he kissed her lingeringly in her doorway.

‘What time do you finish tomorrow?’ she asked.

‘That depends on how my meetings go.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Plus I have a pile of paperwork to get through and a few phone calls to make to Rome.’

‘Call me when you’re free,’ she said.

‘I’ll do that.’ He kissed her again. ‘Goodnight, Ella bellezza . Sweet dreams.’

WHEN Ella’s alarm clock went off at five-thirty the next morning, she woke with a smile on her face. This was everything she’d wanted: being her own boss, organising her own work and being responsible for everything. And she didn’t mind the early starts, because she loved what she was doing.

And she loved the way her schedule was coming together. The way she was able to work at a pace to suit her, to music she enjoyed listening to, and she didn’t have to change things to suit other people. Perfect.

She baked the cupcake orders for the two local cafés; while the cakes were cooling, she made the fruit cakes and put them in the oven. Once she’d iced the cupcakes, she dropped off the boxes to her clients, then came back to check on the fruit cakes and start making the sugar roses. The Madeira cake was next; finally, when all the large cakes had cooled, she flat-iced them, ready for decorating.

She’d just washed up and put the icing bowls away when her mobile phone rang.

‘Hi. You asked me to call you when I was done,’ Rico said.

And how crazy it was that hearing his voice made her heart beat faster. This wasn’t good. ‘Uh-huh.’ If she had any sense left, she’d tell him she was too busy to see him. But her mouth had other ideas. ‘Are you coming over now?’

‘It’s a good time?’

Tell him no, her common sense urged.

‘It’s fine. See you when you get here.’

‘I’m on my way. Ciao, bellezza .’

Ella had just about finished tidying her kitchen when he arrived.

‘Wow, you made these?’ he said, looking at the sugar roses. ‘They’re incredibly delicate. And very realistic.’

‘They’re for a wedding cake—though it’s one that was booked in weeks ago. Normally people book cakes like this at least six weeks in advance.’

‘How fast can you do a celebration cake?’

‘If it’s just a normal-sized cake and I don’t have to do carving or armature or lots of intricate sugar-paste work, I can do one in a day—baking it, flat-icing it and basic decoration.’

‘Carving and armature?’ Rico asked, looking puzzled.

‘Shaped cakes. Some of them need support so they don’t collapse—that’s the armature bit.’ She took her display book from the shelf and flicked through it until she found the page she wanted. ‘Like my dinosaur.’

‘This is a million miles away from what I do in my job,’ Rico said. ‘I wouldn’t even know where to start, making something like that. And how do you get the colours on the icing?’

‘I hand-paint it. It’s pretty labour-intensive, but I love doing it. Creating someone’s dream out of sugar, butter, eggs and flour.’ She smiled at him, ‘So what do you want to do this evening?’

‘Are we talking acquaintances or benefits?’

To her annoyance, she actually blushed. ‘Acquaintances. Rico, I hope you realise I don’t sleep around.’

‘Neither do I. Don’t believe everything you read in the press.’

She stared at him, shocked. ‘The press follow you about?’

‘In Italy, sometimes. It depends who I’m seeing.’

‘I’m a nobody, so you should be safe,’ she said dryly.

‘That wasn’t what I meant. But the press blow things up out of proportion and twist a story to suit themselves. If everything they said about me was true, there’d be so many notches I wouldn’t actually have a bedpost left. Dating someone doesn’t necessarily mean sleeping with them.’ He leaned forward and stole a kiss. ‘Let’s start again. What do you want to do this evening?’

Her mouth was tingling—and that kiss had been the lightest and sweetest of touches. He tempted her so badly that she could barely resist him. ‘Do you want to come upstairs for a mug of coffee while we think about it?’

‘Sure.’ He followed her up to her flat. ‘What sort of thing do you normally do in the evenings?’

‘It depends what kind of day I’ve had.’ She switched on the kettle and shook grounds into a cafetière. ‘I might go to the cinema or out for a drink with friends; I might just go for a walk by the river; or I might collapse on the sofa in front of the telly.’ She gave him a wary look. ‘I should perhaps warn you I’m really not into clubbing.’