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

‘Define lunch.’

‘Okay.’ He sounded puzzled. ‘A meal, in a restaurant, comprising at least two courses.’

‘I didn’t mean...’ She paused. What did she mean? ‘Is this a date? Or just lunch? What are we actually doing here?’

‘Are you asking me what my intentions are?’ Damn, he was laughing at her. Minty felt her teeth grinding together.

‘Of course not!’ Not exactly. ‘I was just wondering what we’re doing here. We spent all weekend together and back in Oschia we, well, we were together. And, if you hadn’t noticed, at the moment we live together, work together... It’s a little awkward.’

He didn’t answer for a long moment as he negotiated the car around a tight bend. ‘Minty, you’re rebounding from an engagement. You’re not ready for anything serious; I know that. Don’t worry, I’m not planning to ask you to bear my four children.’

Obviously and, by the way, thank goodness. But it rankled a little how hilarious he found that idea.

‘I thought we could just explore this thing, see where it takes us. Have some fun.’ His voice sounded concerned. ‘But if you want to stop, if you’re feeling uncomfortable, then please just say.’

‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m fine.’

Fun. It was the answer she’d been hoping for, because of course he was right. She’d been engaged to another man just a few weeks ago—not that that had stopped Joe moving on, but Minty Davenport was not so fickle. At least, she was trying not to be.

So why did she feel disappointed? It was her stupid fourteen-year-old self with a house-sized crush and a romantic streak longer than the Arno. Three engagements should have dried that streak right out.

Luca was right. Why plan? They both knew this would burn out eventually. They were so different, wanted such different things. Why spoil the moment with labels and definitions? That was far more Luca’s style than hers—if he could be relaxed, then of course she could be too!

‘You’re right,’ she said, leaning back, forcing herself to sound unconcerned. ‘Lunch sounds lovely.’

* * *

‘Admit it, the view’s gorgeous.’ Minty waved her soup spoon at him. ‘The soup’s good too.’

‘The soup is four times as expensive as it would have been round the corner.’ Luca shook his head. ‘Hope the view’s worth it.’

They were sat at a table in Siena’s bustling main square. A place fit only for tourists, Luca had told her.

‘I never mind paying for a view,’ Minty said, gesturing around with her spoon. ‘I’d rather sit in St Mark’s Square or enjoy a view of the Pantheon with my coffee than save a couple of euros and sit in an alleyway somewhere, looking at damp brickwork.’

‘It can be a lot more than a couple of euros.’ Luca shook his head. She had no idea how privileged she was. Even Luca, who had grown up in comfortable surroundings, ran a very profitable business, travelled first class and wore tailor-made suits balked at the mark-up in these places. ‘Not everyone can afford to spend ten euros on a coffee.’

Minty didn’t respond for a few moments, concentrating on her soup. When she spoke, her voice was low. ‘Joe always said I was spoilt.’ She tried to laugh if off but there was no humour in it and Luca was aware of a most uncharacteristic urge to search out Joe and force him to apologise.

With his fists, if need be.

No man should have the power to make those bright eyes so dim, to make a confident, laughing girl so full of self-doubt.

The man was undoubtedly a fool. He said so, but Minty shook her head.

‘Funny, isn’t it, how the things some people like in you are the things somebody else despises? Spike loved all that—the trust fund and ancestors who fought for Charles I and advised Henry VIII. Barty took it for granted because that was his world too. Joe, on the other hand...’ She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t just my ancestry, it was the money too—especially as I didn’t earn it. We always had to travel budget airlines and stay in youth hostels. It was fun at first.’

She looked up and smiled at Luca. ‘It’s always fun to try something new. But I wanted to treat him for his birthday so I took him to New York. First class, a lovely hotel and the latest must-go-to restaurant. It was outrageously expensive, to be honest, even I thought so, but he sulked for the whole of the holiday. I wasn’t behaving the way he expected me to behave. Apparently I was the one who was meant to compromise all the time. We split up a week later.’

She went back to her soup. Luca sat back in his chair and watched her for a moment. Her face, what he could see of it under those ridiculously large sunglasses, was unconcerned but he was beginning to understand her. He chose his words carefully. ‘Compromise is important, but on both sides, Minty. If someone can’t accept you for who you are, love everything about you, even the bits that are harder to take, then they’re not right for you.’

She pushed her soup bowl away and looked up, a bright smile plastered onto her face. ‘That’s the fairy tale, isn’t it? The dream we’re sold: someone will fall for you flaws and all.’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘I don’t think so. I think everyone has to pretend a little, suppress themselves a little, if they want it to last.’

Minty reached out for the bread and tore a piece off it. ‘Or be alone. Look at my Great-great-aunt Prudence. No man of the time wanted an Amazon explorer for a wife; she chose adventure over settling down and never regretted it.’

Luca visualised a turn-of-the-century Minty, hair streaming behind her, one hand on a large straw hat as the paddle boat pulled out into piranha-infested waters. ‘I don’t agree,’ he said carefully. ‘I think it’s possible to find someone who complements you, a true partner. Someone who supports whatever you want to do, even if you want to sail down the Amazon!’

Minty shook her head. She was toying with her bread, tearing off small bits of the chewy inside and rolling it around in her hands. Luca watched her long fingers so busily at work, so unsettled. ‘Love is fun for a little while, but I don’t think it forms a good basis for “for ever”. There’s too much pretence, too much compromising to make it work. Mutual respect, that’s the key; a sensible arrangement so you know what you’re getting up front. And then no need to change—or to keep moving on.’

Like the marriage Luca was hoping for. Suddenly it didn’t sound so appealing. It sounded cold, clinical. What did he plan? A dating agency? An advert? Arrogantly he had just sort of assumed that he would just need to look around. After all, he was successful; he had a nice house, a business.

All his own hair.

A flush of mortification spread through him. Did he really think a list of desirable attributes was all that was needed? Was he really so conceited he thought he’d just have to click his fingers and a queue of suitable wives would form?

And what made him think that finding someone who fulfilled a checklist would make him happy anyway? After all, his sophisticated, city-bred, society mother had been happy with her countrified husband.

‘Don’t give up,’ he said. ‘Someone out there would give up everything to travel along the Amazon with you.’

‘For a while, maybe.’ Her voice trailed off, the heap of small balls of bread on her plate growing larger. Luca opened his mouth to reassure her, to press the point home. But he didn’t know what to say.

At that moment the waiter brought out large plates heaped with steaming pasta, covered with a delicious-smelling tomato and vegetable sauce garnished with anchovies.

‘Good, they haven’t stinted on the anchovies,’ Minty said enthusiastically, picking up her fork. ‘I love them.’