His Sicilian Cinderella

‘Go easy, Shandy,’ Matteo said, but there was no chance of that. Shandy would cry over spilt water.

‘Jobless imbecile.’ Shandy continued her rant in furious Italian and she also upgraded Matteo’s relationship with her. ‘Because I’m getting you fired. How dare you come in without knocking, how dare you interrupt my fiancé and I—?’

‘It was an accident,’ the maid was pleading as she tried to rectify the chaos—the tray she had brought in and its contents lay strewn not just over the floor but on a wall. Thick black coffee was seeping into the carpet, pastries and ham were sliding down the bedside table but the main chaos came from Shandy. She had jumped out of bed, was pulling on a robe and heading through to the lounge, screaming at the maid to have it cleaned up by the time she was back and warning her over and over that she was about to be fired.

Matteo stood, wrapped in a sheet, as Shandy picked up the phone in the lounge and demanded that the maid’s head be served on a silver platter, then she flounced off to the shower, leaving Matteo to deal with the rest.

‘Mi scusi,’ the maid said again. She was kneeling on the floor, trying to sort out the things, but Matteo was far from impressed with her attempts to apologise. He didn’t believe she was sorry for a moment, though his words were not sharp when he addressed her, more wearied.

‘Get up, Bella.’

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