The Italian Count's Defiant Bride

‘We’ll celebrate it tomorrow. In the meantime, lie down again; you still look peaky.’ Alicia plumped her friend’s pillows up invitingly.

‘So come on then, Lally,’ demanded Meg as she subsided against them. ‘Tell me what you’ve seen!’

‘I found the Piazza della Signoria quite easily. It’s not far, and just as amazing as expected, like a great outdoor sculpture-gallery. I had a look at the Palazzo Vecchio, though I didn’t go inside, then I went past the crowds round the Neptune fountain to look at the replica of David and the statues in the Loggia dei Lanzi. The Rape of the Sabines is pretty realistic,’ added Alicia with relish. ‘But my favourite is Perseus holding the severed head of Medusa.’

‘Can’t wait! Did you splurge on a birthday hot chocolate at Rivoire afterwards?’

‘Sort of, yes.’

‘What do you mean, “sort of”?’

Alicia took in a deep breath, her eyes blazing with excitement. ‘You’ll never guess who I ran into.’

Megan’s eyes widened. ‘The minute you’re let loose in Florence? Who?’

With drama, Alicia described the incident with her bag and the man who came to her rescue.

Meg snorted. ‘You mean that after all my dire warnings you let someone pick you up?’

‘Yes, Mother Hen! Literally. Otherwise I would have fallen on my nose.’

‘This rescuer—was he Italian?’

‘What did you expect, someone from Cardiff?’ Alicia’s dimples flashed wickedly. ‘Are you sitting comfortably, Megan dear? Because here’s the bit you won’t believe. It was Francesco da Luca.’

Meg stared at her, open-mouthed. ‘The Italian winger from your rugby gallery?’

‘The man himself.’ Alicia laid a hand on her heart. ‘The object of my girlish adoration.’

‘Did you tell him that?’

‘Of course not. But I did say I was a rugby fan.’

‘So what happened then?’

‘He insisted on buying me a cold drink to get over my little shock—only I asked for chocolate—and we sat at one of the outside Rivoire tables. We talked for ages, then he walked back here with me.’ Alicia smiled rapturously. ‘It must have been fate that sent me tumbling in front of him.’

‘And kindly made me sick so you were on your own,’ said Meg darkly, then grinned. ‘But I’m glad you had some excitement on your birthday, love.’

‘My mother will never believe me!’

‘Nor mine!’ Meg yawned widely. ‘Look, I’m not up to eating yet, but you must be hungry.’

‘Not really, after the hot chocolate. And you still look tired, so get your head down again. I’ll read for a while outside on the terrace.’ Alicia waved a paperback with anticipation. ‘What a treat! Fiction to wallow in instead of endless text-books. Try to sleep. I’ll see you later.’

But when she finally settled under an umbrella Alicia was too wired to concentrate on her novel. Instead she leaned back, eyes closed, reliving every moment of the meeting with Francesco. Eventually she gave up even pretending to read and went inside to see if Meg felt like eating something.

‘Great—I was just about to text you! Those just arrived.’ Meg yanked Alicia into the room to show her the flowers on the dressing table. ‘The receptionist brought them up. The posy of carnations is for me, because the card wishes me a swift recovery, but the roses are for Miss Alicia Cross.’

Alicia gazed in delight at the creamy, half-open blooms. The message on the card wished her a happy birthday, and asked Miss Alicia Cross and her friend to give Francesco da Luca the pleasure of dining with him that evening. He would call for them at eight to see if this was agreeable.

‘Agreeable? It’s fantastic! Sorry I was nosy, but I just had to see what he said.’ Meg’s eyes glittered in her pallid face. ‘So get your party dress on, girl. This is your night!’

‘It most certainly is not! I’m not leaving you on your own again, Megan,’ said Alicia indignantly. ‘When Francesco comes I’ll tell him you’re not well enough, and thank him nicely and say maybe some other time.’

‘Are you nuts? There won’t be another time.’ Meg pulled Alicia down on the edge of the bed beside her. ‘Look, this is a one-off, Lally. Go for it. If you’re in doubt ring your mother again first and see what she says.’

Alicia grinned ruefully. ‘If I do that, Bron will say no.’

‘And you really want to go out with your Francesco?’

‘Of course I do. But I wish you were well enough to go too.’

‘So do I, but as I look totally gruesome and can’t face the thought of food it’s just not on. Give Francesco my regrets.’ Meg patted Alicia’s hand. ‘Ring down for some tea for me, then hit the shower, deck yourself in some of your birthday gear, and get ready to party!’

There was soon a lot more argument while Alicia hassled the invalid into eating some of the toast ordered with the tea. But in the end she gave in to Meg’s urging and began to get ready.

‘Bron insisted I pack the dress she bought as part of my present, so do you think I’d better wear it tonight?’ Alicia asked, holding it against her.

‘Of course! That coffee-cream shade looks good on you. Subtle but pretty.’

‘I wanted black and strapless, not pretty,’ sighed Alicia. ‘But Bron vetoed that.’ She shivered suddenly and hung the dress back in the wardrobe. ‘Look, I’m not sure this evening’s a good idea—I’ll stay here with you.’

‘Rubbish. If you don’t keep your date with Signor Dreamboat, you’ll never stop kicking yourself afterwards. Now, move. Get into the underwear I gave you, and I’ll lend a hand with your hair after you do your face.’

All her life Alicia had longed for straight, dark hair like Meg’s. To tame her curly, coppery mane she usually wove it into a thick braid, but because this was a one-off special occasion Meg insisted on wielding the hair dryer and created looser waves that she ordered Alicia to leave down for once.

‘Looks great like that. Now, put your frock on and I’ll fall in a heap while you add the finishing touches.’ She crawled back into bed with a sigh of relief.

‘Oh Meg!’ said Alicia in remorse. ‘Now look at you.’

‘I’m fine. Hurry up. Put the new heels on and give me a twirl.’

Alicia pulled a face as she obeyed. ‘I hope I don’t have to walk far in these.’ She transferred a few belongings to a small clutch-bag and fastened on the gold chain-bracelet Meg’s parents had given her. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right? I’ve got my posh new phone if you need me.’

‘I won’t need you. I’ll read or watch telly.’ Meg smiled encouragingly. ‘For heaven’s sake go, girl. Enjoy your birthday!’

But Alicia suffered a bad attack of cold feet as she went down in the lift. Francesco might get entirely the wrong idea when she turned up alone. He knew nothing about her or her background. He might think she did this kind of thing all the time, whereas Meg’s brother Gareth and his friends were the only boys she knew. And to them she was just a freckle-faced kid.

When she reached the foyer Alicia’s heart leapt as Francesco walked through the door. Elegant in a superb linen suit, he was so much her every dream come true she pinched herself surreptitiously to make sure this was really happening.

‘Buona sera,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘You look delightful, Miss Alicia Cross.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled shyly. ‘Meg and I both thank you very much for the flowers, too, but I’m afraid there’s a problem—’

‘You cannot dine with me?’ he said quickly, his smile fading.

‘Meg’s not well enough to come.’ Alicia eyed him uncertainly. ‘Is it all right if I come with you on my own?’

Francesco’s eyes lit with a look which set her pulse racing. ‘It is perfect. I am most honoured to help you celebrate your birthday.’ He took a phone from his pocket. ‘I will ring the restaurant.’ After a short, rapid-fire conversation he led Alicia outside into the balmy, starlit night. ‘We are dining in Santa Croce. Can you walk that far in those shoes?’

She nodded fervently. Even if she had blisters tomorrow.

Florence after dark was so vibrant with noise and life, and the constant background noise of traffic and inevitable motor scooters. Alicia took in a deep, relishing breath, drinking it in like nectar as Francesco led her through the still-crowded Piazza della Signoria where at outside tables couples were drinking cocktails and people-watching in the balmy evening. Neptune loomed in his fountain, sleek and silvery-pale in the floodlights with his attendant water-nymphs, but Alicia’s eyes went straight to the Loggia dei Lanzi where Perseus held his gruesome trophy aloft.

‘You like that statue?’ asked Francesco, watching, and she nodded happily.

‘But I love everything here. I’ve looked forward to the holiday for so long, I was afraid I might be disappointed.’ She smiled up at him. ‘But your city is even more wonderful than I’d imagined.’

‘It is beautiful,’ he agreed as they left the piazza behind to make for Santa Croce. ‘But it is not my city. I am here for a few days on business. I do not live here. My home is in Montedaluca.’

As they passed the floodlit façade of the great Santa Croce church, it suddenly struck Alicia that in the town that had his name in it he might well have a wife and family. Something she should have checked on long before now.

Francesco came to a halt soon afterwards outside the ancient palazzo which housed the restaurant. ‘Something worries you,’ he said in the slow, careful English which had surprised her from the first. She would have expected an Italian to talk quickly, with a lot of hand waving. But there was an inner stillness to Francesco da Luca she found deeply fascinating. ‘What troubles you, Alicia?’

She braced herself. ‘Are you married?’

‘Ah, I see! What would you do if I say yes?’ he asked, amused, sending her heart plummeting down to the new shoes.

‘Go straight back to the hotel,’ she said promptly. And cry into her pillow.

‘Without your birthday dinner?’ He smiled. ‘Then it is a good thing, cara, that I am not married.’ He threw out a hand. ‘No wife, no fidanzata.’

‘What’s that?’

‘A fiancée, MissAlicia.’ He looked suddenly stern. ‘If I had possessed either I would not have requested your company tonight.’

Her chin lifted defiantly. ‘I had to ask.’

‘Naturalmente.’ He smiled and took her hand. ‘Now, let us eat.’

An elegant woman at the reception desk led them through the crowded restaurant to a small group of tables for two on a raised dais at the back of the room. Alicia gazed at her surroundings in delight as Francesco held her chair for her. Faded haughty faces of mediaeval knights looked down on them from frescoed walls, their rearing horses and lean hunting-dogs given the illusion of movement by the flickering candles on the tables. Alicia was suddenly grateful for her mother’s faultless taste. Her simple little sheath-dress, for all its simplicity—or because of it—felt exactly right here. As Francesco held her chair for her Alicia’s eyes widened. On her plate lay a single, creamy rose. She gazed up at him in delight as she thanked him, thinking how aristocratic he looked, so very obviously at home in surroundings like this.

‘I chose it with care,’ he informed her, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight. ‘See? The petals are the colour and velvet texture of your skin.’

Thankful that due to this same texture her skin rarely showed blushes, she smiled at him luminously. ‘Thank you for making my birthday so special for me.’

‘It is my great pleasure,’ Francesco assured her as a waiter filled their glasses. ‘Allora, even if you do not care for it you must have one sip of champagne to celebrate this special day. Happy birthday, Alicia.’

She smiled as he raised his glass in a toast and touched it with her own, and to please him drank a little. And found that this champagne was pure nectar. ‘It’s delicious,’ she told him, surprised.

He smiled indulgently. ‘I am glad it pleases you. Now, tell me what you like to eat.’

Alicia took one look at the daunting menu and appealed to Francesco. ‘Will you help me choose?’

His eyes gleamed bright in the candlelight as they smiled into hers. ‘I will do anything you wish, cara.’

Afterwards Alicia had very little recollection of the delicious antipasti she was served, or the meltingly tender lamb with artichokes that followed. She was so enchanted with Francesco and Florence that the food was of secondary importance as they talked together in a little candlelit oasis of privacy on their dais above the other diners in the crowded restaurant.

‘So where did you go to school, Alicia?’ he asked.

‘In a convent,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘When the nuns heard we were coming to Florence, they told us we must visit Santa Croce—but they meant the church, not a restaurant like this.’

‘You are a Catholic?’

‘Yes. Are you?’

He nodded. ‘But not as devout as my mother would wish.’

‘I’m not as devout as Bron, either.’

‘Bron?’

‘My mother, Bronwen Cross. As I mentioned before, I’ve never met my biological father,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Is your father still alive?’

His eyes shadowed. ‘No. My parents married late. He died when I was young.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ She touched his hand in sympathy. ‘Brothers, sisters?’

‘None.’

‘So your mother just has you.’

‘Davvero,’ he said heavily, then smiled and changed the subject. ‘I would offer you more champagne, but perhaps it is better you keep to one glass.’

‘Much better,’ she agreed, and with a sigh glanced at her watch. ‘The entire evening has been so lovely, Francesco, but now I must get back to Meg.’

As they left the restaurant Alicia stumbled a little in her new heels, and Francesco took her hand to steady her, then kept it in his to walk back to the hotel. For Alicia the warm, hard clasp of Francesco’s hand in hers was the crowning touch of the entire evening. As they neared the hotel he drew her to a halt in the shadows in the quiet street.

‘Tomorrow I have business matters to attend to during the day, but in the evening will you dine with me again, Alicia? Your friend also, if she is well enough.’ He smiled into her startled eyes. ‘Say yes.’

‘I need to ask Meg first,’ she hedged, secretly ecstatic.

‘Do you have a telefonino—a mobile phone?’

She nodded. ‘Megan’s brother gave me a new one for my birthday.’

‘Give it to me, then. I will enter my number into it, and yours into mine. Allora,’ Francesco said with satisfaction when he’d finished, ‘we can communicate.’ He paused and moved closer. ‘Though there are other ways to communicate, Alicia—the most delightful way is a kiss to wish you happy birthday.’ He drew her very gently into his arms in the shadows. ‘Passers by will not think it remarkable to see people kissing.’

Alicia stood very still in his embrace, her heart hammering. She had been hoping, longing, for Francesco da Luca to kiss her. She had dreamed about it often enough in the past when his photograph was the last thing she saw before going to sleep every night.

Francesco bent his head, his lips gentle at first. But at the first touch of them against hers she responded so helplessly she felt his athlete’s body tense against her. His arms tightened as her lips parted, his tongue found hers in a caress that took her breath away, and the kiss quickly grew so urgent Alicia’s head reeled when his arms finally fell away.

He stood back, breathing hard as he stared down at her blankly. ‘Mi dispiace,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I did not expect…’

‘Neither did I,’ she said with feeling, and took in a deep breath. ‘I’ve never been kissed like that before.’

He smiled in open male triumph and kissed her again. ‘You enchant me, Alicia Cross. I will call for you tomorrow evening.’

‘I haven’t agreed to that,’ she protested.

‘Then agree now, tesoro.’ His eyes locked with hers. ‘Say “yes, Francesco, I will be very pleased to dine again with you”.’

Instead of saying yes to dinner—and to anything else he wanted—Alicia hung on to every scrap of willpower she possessed. ‘Ring me tomorrow and I’ll let you know if Meg agrees.’

Francesco tucked an errant curl behind her ear. ‘Va bene, Miss Alicia Cross.’ He took her hand and escorted her into the lobby of the hotel. ‘A domani,’ he said formally, and waited until the lift doors closed behind her.

CHAPTER TWO

FRANCESCO rang early next morning, before Alicia even had time to worry whether he would or not.

‘Whatever he suggests tell him yes!’ Meg ordered, as she devoured her breakfast.

‘Buon giorno, Alicia,’ said Francesco. ‘How are you today?’

‘Good morning. I’m just fine. How are you?’

‘Waiting in great suspense,’ he said, with a caressing note in his voice. ‘Is your friend better?’

‘Fighting fit now,’ said Alicia, grinning as she pushed the last roll towards Meg.

‘Eccelente. Please give her my good wishes. So—you will both dine with me this evening?’

‘Thank you, we’d love to,’ said Alicia, rolling her eyes as Meg punched the air in triumph.

‘Bene. What will you do today?’

‘The usual tourist things.’

‘Do not tire yourself with too many such things, cara. I shall call for you at eight. Ciao.’

‘Ciao,’ she echoed and switched off the phone. ‘There, Megan Davies. We’ve got a date. Satisfied?’

‘You could have asked him to bring a friend.’

‘You don’t want much, do you? Hard luck; you’ll just have to share Francesco with me.’

‘Playing gooseberry’s not my thing, you know,’ said Meg ruefully.

‘It’s not applicable,’ said Alicia, blocking out last night’s kiss. ‘Francesco is just a very kind man taking pity on a couple of convent schoolgirls let loose in Florence for the first time.’

‘You told him about the convent?’ said Meg in disgust, then grinned wickedly. ‘I hope you said we just went to school there! Nuns we are not.’

‘I might as well be,’ said Alicia gloomily. ‘I’ve never had a boyfriend.’

‘Only because you’re picky—and Rhys Evans was already taken.’

‘Bowled over by you the first time Gareth brought him home to supper!’ Alicia laughed and hugged her friend. ‘Thank goodness you’re feeling better. Come on, we’re wasting time.’

‘Put loads of sunscreen on first—and don’t forget your hat and glasses.’

‘Yes, Mummy!’

For the rest of the holiday the girls packed in as many sights as possible during the day. In deference to the nuns, they inspected the tombs of Michelangelo and Galileo in the great church of Santa Croce, visited the vast Duomo to marvel at Brunelleschi’s dome, then after waiting in line marvelled even more at Michelangelo’s mighty David in the Accademia. They queued for hours longer to look at the paintings in the Uffizi, and after wriggling their way to the front of the crowd to look at it close up decided they liked Botticelli’s Primavera best. They bought paninis stuffed with ham before visiting the Pitti Palace to look at more paintings, then picnicked afterwards in the Boboli Gardens.

In the narrow streets of Oltrarno—literally the ‘other side’ of the River Arno—they peered into little workshops where craftsmen carved wood for mirrors and picture frames, or created elegant handbags and gloves from softest leather. They gazed in the jewellers’ shops on the Ponte Vecchio, and at designer clothes in the Via Tuornabuoni, fantasising over what they would buy if they had the money. But eventually it was agreed that their favourite place of all was the Bargello, once a prison, now a sculpture museum where Meg fell madly in love with Donatello’s nude bronze of David.

‘He looks so cute in just his jaunty hat and boots!’

‘Only you could call a fabulous work of art cute,’ said Alicia, laughing.

Each evening Francesco called for them to take them out to dinner and listen to their report on their day, and from the moment Meg first met him she had no more qualms about playing gooseberry. As she told Alicia later, he was as good looking and charming as she’d expected, but his manners were so perfect he made her feel like an asset to the evening instead of an unwanted third.

Both girls had made it plain to Francesco, the moment he arrived the first evening to take them both out, that they must be allowed to pay for their share of the meal. And to Alicia’s relief he’d taken them to a lively, packed trattoria, very different from the restaurant of the night before, and a great deal less expensive. Meg had loved everything about it, and tucked into her prawn-stuffed ravioli with unashamed gusto after her fast of the previous day. The only flaw in the evening came later when Francesco had insisted on paying the bill after all. But Meg had calculated the cost of their meals to the last euro, and the moment the three of them left the trattoria she presented Francesco with two thirds of the bill in notes.

‘Our share,’ said Meg firmly, and in the end, under protest, he had to accept.

‘But this once only,’ he said at last when they refused to budge. ‘Allora, tell me what you have planned for tomorrow.’

When they’d got back to the hotel Meg announced that it was time for her nightly phone call to her boyfriend, and after thanks to Francesco for a fabulous evening she hurried inside and left them together.

‘Your friend is not only charming, but tactful,’ he said, looking down at Alicia. ‘This boyfriend is waiting for her at home?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled affectionately. ‘Rhys thinks Meg hung the moon.’

‘He is a man of perception. She is very attractive—not just her looks, but her personality.’ Francesco’s hand caught hers. ‘Do you have a boyfriend waiting for you, Alicia?’

Wishing she could say there were several all counting the minutes until she got back, she shook her head. ‘No, I don’t.’

‘Ottimo!’ He kissed her hand, then drew her into his arms and kissed her willing mouth. ‘I will call for you both at eight tomorrow. And this time I will pay, so no more argomento!’

The dream holiday went by so fast the last day arrived all too soon. During a final shopping trip for gifts to take home, Alicia found it hard to be cheerful as they searched for bargains in San Lorenzo, because later that night she would have to say goodbye to Francesco. Once Megan left them outside the hotel after dinner, their few moments alone together would be the last time she would ever see him. And she couldn’t bear the thought of it.

Meg eyed her downcast face as they carried their modest haul up to their hotel room, then told her to ring Francesco. ‘Ask him if we can eat earlier tonight.’

Alicia eyed her suspiciously as she unlocked their door. ‘Why?’

‘When Francesco walks us back after dinner, I’ll plead packing and phone calls to my mother and Rhys and you two can enjoy an hour alone together. Don’t argue. Do it.’

Alicia looked at her friend’s vivid face in silence for a moment, then threw her arms round her and hugged her. ‘Thank you.’

Meg hugged her back. ‘You’ve done it for me and Rhys often enough, now it’s my turn.’

‘It’s hardly the same thing!’

‘It’s exactly the same thing. Go on. Ring him.’

When the unmistakeable voice said ‘Pronto,’ Alicia took in a deep breath.

‘It’s me. Alicia.’

‘Que cosa? Is something wrong?’ Francesco demanded sharply.

‘No. Nothing. It’s just that Meg—I mean we—well, we wondered if we could have dinner earlier tonight? Because we’ve got packing and so on.’

‘But of course,’ he said, with such audible relief Alicia smiled radiantly at Meg. ‘I will come for you at seven.’

‘Grazie, Francesco. Ciao.’

Meg grinned like a Cheshire cat as Alicia switched off her phone. ‘Quite the little linguist these days! So, early is good?’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘Better than Francesco knows. He’s such a star, never giving the slightest sign that I’m in the way, but he’s obviously desperate to spend time alone with you.’