Liz Fielding - Italian Escape - Summer with the Millionaire / In the Italian's Sights / Flirting with Italian

Her every sense was on fire, the bitter of the lemon contrasting with the sweetness of the berries; the feel of Luca nestled protectively by her side strong, comforting. The exquisite sound of the violin was high and almost unbearably poignant as it sang a yearning melody. Other people were walking by, and a few others had sat near them, but to Minty it felt as if the violinist was playing a serenade for Luca and her alone. She leant further into Luca, letting the whole weight of her body relax into him, shut her eyes and listened to the music. Whatever happened in the future, right here, right now, she was having a perfect moment.

And she wasn’t alone.

* * *

‘See, this is why I love Florence,’ Minty said as the violinist made his final bow and, scooping in the coins and notes, prepared to pack up. ‘You don’t know what’s round the corner.’

‘A church?’ suggested Luca solemnly. ‘A museum?’

She nudged him. ‘No! I was eighteen when I arrived here. I felt so free. You know I was dumped in school at seven, finishing school at sixteen. This is the first place where there were no expectations. Even the summers I came to you, there was a certain pressure to live up to my reputation.’

‘And you haven’t been back since?’

Minty shrugged. ‘I don’t know why I’ve stayed away, never shared it with anyone. I haven’t had the chance to, I suppose. The Minty I am here didn’t fit with the Minty I am elsewhere. The person people expect me to be.’

‘What do you mean?’ Luca’s voice was soft, caressing, non-judgemental, and for once Minty resisted the temptation to turn her past into a comedy routine.

‘Well, I got engaged, of course, pretty much straight away after going back to London.’ She caught his eye and blushed. The memory of that time was inextricably bound up with the night she’d spent with him. ‘I was grieving for Rose. I was so scared and alone. Then Barty proposed to me on his twenty-first birthday and, fool that I was, I said yes. I wasn’t even nineteen. Honestly, a baby! Of course, he’s a viscount, so it stirred up all kinds of silly society nonsense and publicity, even more so when I called it off.’ She shivered as the memories engulfed her despite the warm breeze.

‘Not only was I far too young, but that house...you can’t imagine. It was like a museum and a mausoleum all rolled into one, with hundreds of aunts and grandparents all staring disapprovingly. Hideous. Barty wanted us to live there with the whole family. Very twinset and pearls and hunting; not at all me. About as far from here culturally as one can get.’

‘So you ended it and got engaged again?’ Again a complete lack of judgement in his voice, as if the night they had shared had never happened. As if the girl she was remembering had been a stranger. She moved in closer, enjoying his solid warmth. He put his arm around her and pulled her in tight. Minty rested her head on his shoulder, thankful for the tacit support.

‘Well, yes,’ she admitted, the familiar flush of guilt washing over her. Barty had been her first love; she’d just got in too deep. Remembering Spike made her feel like a fool. ‘I was simply star-struck, I’m afraid. Spike was so famous and I loved his music; I couldn’t believe he was interested in me. Of course, he was as old as Daddy. The two of them got on famously, all golf talk and “do you remember?” One day they both fell asleep after lunch and I couldn’t tell which was which. It gave me quite a shock, and of course I realised it would never do. But then the papers decided I was just like my mother and that was that. I only have to smile at a man to be engaged to him, and there are all kinds of editorials warning him off me, and so-called psychologists analysing my past.’

‘But you were hoping, third time lucky?’

The third. An ache squeezed her chest. ‘Poor Joe,’ she said. ‘I’m such a disappointment.’ A prickle of heat started behind her eyes, unfamiliar wetness. How glad she was of the darkness. ‘I can put Bart and Spike down to immaturity, but I was old enough to know better with Joe. I should have known he wasn’t for me the day he proposed on a ten-mile hike up a mountain.’

Luca gave a snort of amusement. ‘I hope you were wearing sensible shoes.’

Minty elbowed him indignantly. ‘Walking boots and a fleece, I’ll have you know.’

Luca seemed to be shaking and when she turned to him she saw, with some surprise, that he was laughing. She had made people laugh at ‘the tale of Minty’s three fiancés’ before, many times. But not like this.

‘You wore a fleece?’ he asked with some difficulty. ‘Did it have an attached waterproof?’

‘It was practical,’ she said, then bit her lip, a bubble of amusement rising up inside her, dispersing the ache.

‘You got engaged to a man who proposed to you in a fleece?’

‘We were up a mountain!’ But it was no use; the laughter that erupted from her wasn’t self-deprecating, sarcastic, a disguise. It was real, all-consuming. He was right; it had been ridiculous.

‘I think, cara, you had a lucky escape.’ Minty’s heart clenched at the endearment.

‘From Joe? It wasn’t all mountain-trekking; he liked pub quizzes as well.’

Luca laughed again, deep and sensual. ‘From all of them. None of them were right for you.’

‘Most people think they had a lucky escape from me.’ Minty tried not to sound wistful.

‘Most people,’ he said, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head, ‘are fools.’

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?