Italian Escape: Summer with the Millionaire / In the Italian's Sights / Flirting with Italian

One day...

‘Oh!’ Minty made a small muffled sound of pain. Luca turned quickly, expecting to see a spilt cup of coffee. Instead Minty was bolt upright, staring at her iPad screen, a haunted, betrayed look in her huge eyes, her mouth twisted as she swallowed back tears.

‘What is it?’ Luca was by her side in a flash, pulling the tablet from her unresisting fingers. Two pictures filled the screen. One was of Minty, a glass of wine in her hand, laughing, eyes glittering, wearing something that even in the photo looked expensive and short. His eyes skirted quickly over the close-up of generous cleavage and acres of thigh. The other was a photo of a young man, suited, hair neatly parted, holding hands with an equally sober-looking woman, her hair neatly pinned back. Minty’s Curse Strikes Again! screamed the headline.

Three-times-unlucky socialite Lady Araminta Davenport is reeling from the news that ex-fiancé number three has announced his engagement to fellow politician Clara Church—less than three months since the dramatic collapse of his engagement to Minty.

The blonde beauty, daughter of the Earl of Holgate and actress Coco Waters, has managed to bag a rock for her finger on three occasions—but has yet to make it down the aisle. Instead, each of her fiancés has married another within six months of breaking up with the former wild child.

‘Minty’s devastated,’ said a close friend. ‘She wonders if it will ever be her turn.’

Who next for Lady Min? We’ve compiled a list of the hottest possibilities. The lucky lady has already bagged a viscount, a rock star and a rising politician! Who will she choose next time—and will this one stick around?

Underneath the article were headshots of several young men the newspaper had thoughtfully collated for her, ranging from minor European royalty to an Eton-educated Shakespearian actor.

Minty glanced at the pictures over Luca’s shoulder. ‘That’s the best they can do? At least two of these men are gay and one is married. Their researchers are terrible. It’s a good thing they don’t know I’m here; a successful businessman under thirty and the grandson of a conte, you’d be at the top of the list.’

She’d wiped the shock off her face; all she showed was mild amusement. If Luca hadn’t heard the muffled cry of anguish, he wouldn’t have thought she was affected at all.

‘Is it true?’

She shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’ She shook her head. ‘Probably. Clara was always around, although Joe swore they were just friends. Obviously. They were at Cambridge together, and her father was party royalty; together they’ll be unbeatable.’

She reached over and grabbed the iPad from him. ‘I told you, I’m a starter fiancée; they all meet their perfect match after we split up.’ She scrolled down the article then tilted the screen towards him to show photos of two very different men, each with a female companion. The younger of the two men was posed with his arm stiffly round a woman in her early twenties. She had a haughty, well-bred air, her long, straight hair held back from her high forehead with a thick Alice band.

‘She really dresses like that,’ Minty said. ‘I think she was born in tweed and wellies.’ She looked wistfully at the photo. ‘They look good together, don’t they?’

Luca murmured noncommittally. So this was Barty, the boy she had become engaged to so soon after fleeing from his bed? He looked...nice, affable: floppy hair, nice smile, laid-back. Unthreatening. He was just a boy.

But she had been just a girl.

‘I never really fit in,’ Minty continued. ‘I tried, but I just don’t have the whole pony club, hunt balls thing going for me. Taffy is a natural. They have three children already; can you imagine?’ She slanted a glance at him. ‘Shame you didn’t meet her first.’

‘She looks a little stern for me,’ Luca said, studying the picture.

‘Oh, yes, she rules poor Barty with a rod of iron. Not that he seems to mind.’

Luca moved the screen to enlarge the photo of the second man. A good twenty years older than Luca, he had a mass of long, greying hair, his skinny body squeezed into tight, black leather trousers. He was gazing adoringly at the much younger, taller, glossy, high-cheekboned woman on his arm with a look that suggested all his Christmases had come at once. ‘This must be Spike?’

Minty nodded. ‘Yes, bachelor number two. Actually, I think Spike has split up with his supermodel wife already. He’s turning into a parody of an aging rock star. But Barty’s still happily married. I must send Joe a card, and maybe flowers. Remind me, will you?’

She was magnificent. All signs of pain had been wiped away; anyone walking in would think she really only felt mild interest in her ex-fiancé’s very public new relationship. But Luca knew differently. And that knowledge changed everything. It was time to armour up, to grab his sword and shield. Luca Di Tore was going to play the knight yet again.

Maybe this time it would all be different

‘Let’s do something wild and crazy—go in a couple of hours late. Do you want to take a walk?’

Minty stared at Luca in astonishment. ‘Go in late?’ she repeated. ‘Won’t there be a national panic if you’re not there on the dot of nine? They’ll send the air force and the army here to make sure you’re okay. Special Branch will abseil through the windows; there will be camera crews stampeding the house. But sure, I’d love to.’

Luca didn’t respond to her nonsense. Instead he was staring at her shoes with undisguised disapproval. ‘Do you need to change those?’ Minty swallowed back a smile. She’d only brought ballet flats and flip-flops with her. Luca seemed fixated on the unsuitability of her footwear; it was as if she was wobbling along on six-inch bondage heels.

She was tempted to buy some, just to see his face.

‘As long as you don’t expect me to wade through fords or climb mountains, I think these will survive.’ Minty strode over to the door, then turned back to say with perfect, limpid innocence, ‘I am beginning to think you have some kind of anti-shoe fetish. You disapprove of every pair I own.’

‘I took Francesca to Roma once,’ Luca said. ‘She brought two large bags for a three-night stay and only the most ridiculously high heels. She then complained bitterly the whole time about her feet, about blisters, and when I offered to buy her some walking shoes she cried.’

Minty bit back a smile. ‘I’m beginning to sympathise with poor Francesca. Was that the last straw?’

‘Scuzi?’

‘Your break-up. Was it over shoes or over your lack of sympathy?’

His mouth quirked. ‘Maybe it was both. It should have been a romantic weekend. We had a five-star hotel right by the Spanish steps, the weather was perfect, but we fought the whole time. I had a much better time when I took you.’

His expression was unreadable and Minty swallowed, unsure what the floating feeling in her stomach meant. ‘That was one of the best days of my life,’ she said.

It had been. Sometimes she thought that that was the day her crush on Luca had turned from something inconvenient but entertaining into something real, all-encompassing. Or maybe the day he took pity on a small, sobbing girl and entertained her patiently, playing board games in a language he’d barely spoken. Minty had cheated dreadfully, of course, but he didn’t seem to mind. Most days she could write him off as serious, stuffy, dull. And then he would do something kind, something spontaneous.

Would get under her skin.

Luca was still looking at her intently and all Minty wanted to do was to take a step towards him. Forget Joe, forget everything. For a moment she stood wavering, memories flooding through her. Memories of Rome, of laughter and teasing, of being treated like an adult, treated with respect. Other memories pushed insistently: memories of firelight and red wine, tears kissed away, comforting arms becoming stronger, more dangerous. Heat.

And then the utter chill of rejection.

Minty turned resolutely away. ‘Come on, then,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Or you might not make it in till lunch, and even Special Ops wouldn’t cope with that!’

* * *

He might be just a little bit biased but Luca knew that his farm was the most beautiful place on earth. The meadows were already strewn with a rainbow assortment of spring flowers; herds of cows were dotted about the distant fields, all chewing contentedly.

Minty sighed, a great, satisfied gust. ‘When I’m in London I think it’s the nicest place on earth and can’t imagine living anywhere else,’ she said. ‘And when I’m at the ancestral pile I feel exactly the same way—I yearn for London. But this kind of countryside is different. It’s peaceful and yet alive somehow. You know?’

Luca grunted in acknowledgement and kept on walking, faster than before. Minty had to break into a stride in order to keep up. He gave the velvet flip-flops a meaningful glance but manfully resisted saying anything.

He didn’t know what to say. Things suddenly seemed different, almost comfortable. The moment he had said she could stay had felt like the start of something new between them. Or was it the moment she had let her facade crack a little, had let him in enough to see the hurt? Was that why he felt catapulted into deeper intimacy with her?

He had promised himself it wouldn’t happen. Not again. And yet in some ways it was as inevitable as the dew-soaked dawn.

Besides, she was older now, and different under that flippant exterior. Maybe the depths he had always hoped for did exist after all.

Or maybe he was a fool who never learned.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, searching for a neutral topic of conversation. ‘I am going to a charity event in Florence this weekend—at least, my grandfather has summoned me there.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘You know the conte; he doesn’t like the word no.’

‘I love Florence,’ Misty said wistfully. ‘I haven’t been there for years.’

He grimaced. ‘I hate it: tourists, crammed streets, noise, expectations.’ The hideous formality, the eternal disappointment of his grandfather. The only times Florence had been bearable were when Minty had tagged along. Her irreverence had always taken the sting out of his grandfather’s disapproval.

She had almost made it fun.

‘You’re still not close to your grandfather?’

That was an understatement.

‘He was always nice to me,’ she continued, looking up at him, concern in her eyes— concern for him. That was unexpected.

And surprisingly nice.

‘He approved of you: title, lots of well-connected relatives, the right manners—when you chose to show them. Me, however; I was a disappointment. No social aspirations. All I wanted to do was grub about on the farm or work in the factory.’

‘Glad that someone approves of me. Maybe I should ask him to adopt me.’

‘He’d accept like a shot,’ Luca said. He stopped and turned, looked down at her, a sudden wild idea springing fully formed into his head. Minty was right, his grandfather had always liked her. ‘Come with me.’

A faint colour crept over her cheeks. ‘To please your grandfather?’

Was it? ‘Maybe. Partly.’ His eyes met hers, gold on blue.

Or was it because he liked having her around, liked the way she made him feel? Because with her he felt something other than responsibility, something a lot lighter.

Because when he looked into those improbably blue eyes he felt like he could do anything, be anyone. Since his parents’ crash he had worked so hard to be responsible, sensible, to live up to their legacy. His eyes had been so fixed on his chosen path he’d never noticed the small, winding diversions tempting him away.

Except just occasionally, in the company of the willowy girl standing next to him. Then he occasionally allowed himself to explore other routes, just for a little while, until his feet found his chosen straight-and-narrow path again.

He missed those diversions.

* * *

For a moment the world fell away. She could have been anywhere: desert, city street, her father’s estate. All that existed was the heat of those extraordinary eyes, suddenly alight again with fire, passion. With life.

Minty swallowed, trying to get some moisture back into a suddenly dry mouth. His gaze scorched her and she felt the heat of it right down to her toes, pooling at the pit of her stomach, molten lava burning her up inside.

She took a tentative step towards him, despite the warning bell clanging in her head. This man was different. She had survived the others; she might not survive this one. Not again. But now she had made the move she didn’t know if she could, if she wanted to, pull back.

Only she didn’t have to. He did, stepping back, moving away, pulling his eyes abruptly away from hers, breaking the connection. The shutters were back down and he was once again her childhood adversary, the disapproving golden boy.

It was a good thing he’d stopped, otherwise she most definitely would have, she told herself, but the ache of frustrated desire was hot and insistent.

He started walking again, further down into the valley. Minty stood for a second, watching him: the tall, broad frame; the dark hair, dishevelled as if he had washed it this morning and just left it to dry. He probably had.

Awareness prickled up and down her spine. Dear God, she wanted to find out if he really was all that she remembered. She wanted to pull that T-shirt up over his shoulders; undo his belt with trembling, suddenly clumsy fingers; try to unbutton his jeans before impatiently yanking them down. She wanted to see him, taste him, feel his skin against hers. She leant helplessly against the fence, her legs suddenly incapable of movement.

This impulsive nature of hers. She needed to contain it, channel it elsewhere into work and projects. No more throwing herself at unsuitable men, trying to be what they wanted. No more failing.

She was attracted to Luca. Okay, people were attracted to other people all the time. That didn’t mean you had to act on it, throw yourself all in. That kind of behaviour led to multiple marriages, multiple engagements, broken hearts and ruined expectations. She could be better than that. She didn’t have to take up the mantle of her inheritance.

And yet...it could be so easy. She knew what he wanted; he’d made it so clear. And she could be that hard-working, country-loving, family-orientated girl. For a short while. After all, she’d already played the hunt ball, point-to-point country girl; the wild and crazy rock chick; the hard-working and politically passionate small business owner.

The ironic thing was that she was all of the above, a bit of her, at least. Just as she was also a shopaholic, a traveller, a reader, a lover of trash TV, a baker, a party girl, a veg-out queen; just as she loved takeaway food and posh restaurants. She was lots of things. But nobody was interested in the contrasts and the contradictions; they wanted her pigeonholed and pinned down.

Luca stopped and looked back. ‘Are you coming?’ he called.

What would he do if she sauntered down the hill, walked right up to him and put that swing in her hips she could do so well? If she pressed herself close, raised herself up on her tiptoes, pressed her mouth against his? Would he push her away, lose himself in her for a few moments, hours, then regret it? Would he allow her to morph into his perfect woman until he finally saw through her or she couldn’t pretend any more?

She wasn’t prepared to find out.

‘Just admiring the view,’ she called back, allowing a flirtatious edge to creep into her voice, a smile to curve on her lips. Just because she had decided not to go and get him didn’t mean she didn’t want him to admire her. She was only human, after all.

She took her time walking along the path towards him. The stone path had turned first to gravel and now to grass, lightly lined with woodchips to protect against the mud. It took them in a straight line through the fields, larger, more rolling fields than the patchwork style she was used to at home, all seamlessly making up the same landscape, broken only by small trees or hedgerows.

And Luca, an integral part of this pastoral landscape, linked by blood, work and love. Minty was just an onlooker, a walk-on part in somebody else’s life. Again.

CHAPTER SIX

‘IT’S NOT THAT I’m not enjoying the walk,’ Minty said when she reached him, ‘but I am wondering where we’re heading.’

Luca glanced at her curiously. ‘I thought you were a spur-of-the-moment type girl?’

She flushed. ‘Usually, yes. I mean, I have been known to do the odd impulsive thing. But there’s usually a reason or a destination. If I suddenly decide I’m going to crew a tall yacht around the world, for instance, then there is a plan behind that impulsive decision. I don’t just get on a boat to see where it sails.’

There was still a questioning look on his face. ‘Did you really crew a tall yacht round the world?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘At least, halfway round the world. I signed off when I got to Australia. A last minute decision that some might have called impulsive, but I knew exactly where I was heading and why.’

Luca raised an eyebrow. Minty knew full well he’d spent the summer he’d turned fourteen perfecting the art. It didn’t make the effect any less devastating. ‘Where were you heading?’

‘To Sydney,’ she admitted. ‘To party and to learn to surf. Turns out boat crewing was really hard work.’

His mouth twitched and Minty reined in the undignified urge to stick her tongue out at him. ‘So,’ she prompted. ‘Where are we going?’

‘The cow sheds are in that direction.’ He gestured down the valley. ‘Or we could head over the fields towards the stream.’ His eyes flickered towards her feet.

Minty followed his eyes and sighed. The bright velvet was looking dusty and stained, beyond repair, not that she would admit it. ‘Not one more word about my shoes,’ she said. ‘They’ll cope.’ She glanced over the fields to the trees lining the horizon. ‘I haven’t been down to the stream for years. It was always one of my favourite spots—and, let’s face it, way more picturesque than a cow shed, even a cow shed that produces wonderful milk to make into even more wonderful gelato. I vote we head that way.’

He nodded and strode off without waiting to see if she was following. It was, Minty thought, a good thing that she was long-legged, otherwise she’d have had to scuttle to keep up with him. And that would have been most undignified.

She caught up with the tall Italian and fell into step beside him, arms swinging, unabashedly enjoying the air, the sun, the exercise. She looked around her with approval. The views had been glorious from the farmhouse, but as they approached the bottom of the valley the countryside was not just a view, something to admire—it enclosed them; they were a part of it.

It wasn’t silent; it was too real for that. A cacophony of birds competed with each other to make the loudest call, sing the most tuneful song, like some avian reality show. She almost expected to see a row of small feathered judges sitting on a branch ready to destroy the enthusiastic chirpers’ dreams. She could hear the sound of engines in the distance—some farm machinery doing something she probably wouldn’t be able to identify if she stood and watched for an hour—mingled with the ever-present lowing of the cattle.

Definitely not quiet, but somehow so peaceful. In just a few weeks the corn poppies would explode into a vibrant slash of red in the green landscape. She wanted to be around to see it.

‘I am usually all about the city,’ she said. ‘Yet this place is so special too. I missed it. No wonder you wanted to stay here. You must love it that it’s yours, part of you.’

Luca nodded. ‘It’s part of the family history, in my blood. It’s a good marketing gimmick too; all the milk we produce is used in our ice cream, although we have to buy in a lot more. It’s tenanted out, though, I don’t get involved in the day-to-day work much.’

Judging by the firm muscles under the snug jeans and T-shirt Minty suspected he did more than he let on. If sitting at a desk and testing ice cream led to bodies like that, London’s gyms would be a lot less full. And a lot less sweaty.

The sun was still shining down from the cloudless sky bathing the earth below in a benevolent warmth, yet Minty’s arm goose-pimpled and she suppressed a sudden shiver. Walking with this man, in this place, suddenly filled her with a melancholy, a lonely nostalgia.

A babble of shallow water interrupted her thoughts, and pushing through a line of small trees brought Minty to the edge of a wide, shallow stream liberally carpeted with pebbles and rocks. Luca was leaning against a tall oak tree, staring thoughtfully into the water.

‘There won’t be any fish in there,’ Minty said, walking next to him and following his eyeline. ‘Too shallow.’

‘I didn’t know you fished.’

‘I don’t.’ She shuddered. ‘Too much sitting around for me. And I always feel so sorry for them, with their mouths gaping and their cold little eyes. Daddy fished, of course. I think he almost has to; it’s in the earl charter or something.’

She stopped, looking down at the shallow water. ‘Spike liked country sports too. In some ways he and Daddy were better suited than he and I. You know, I watch some of those TV programmes about music. Spike was so anti-establishment when he was young, all about the shock value and creativity. And now he has a country estate, fishes and wears tweed. I kid you not. And loads of his friends are the same. The ones who didn’t die of drug overdoses, that is. They don’t even see the irony.’

‘Are you still friends?’

She shook her head. ‘Not at all; he didn’t want to be friends.’ She sighed, almost imperceptibly. ‘They never do.’

For a moment he didn’t say anything, just stood there, a reassuring presence. The silence was oddly comforting.

‘Come on, Minty, accompany me to Florence.’

Her heart gave a funny little jump. It felt almost like hope. What harm could there be in a weekend away?

‘A couple of days in Florence would be nice. And...’ she gave him her best cheeky smile ‘...grandfathers usually love me. Grandmothers not so much, but we can’t have everything.’ She eyed him suspiciously, trying to remain objective, not to allow her gaze to dwell on the stubbled cheeks and the way his hair fell unguarded over his forehead.

‘Why do you want me to?’

‘Does there have to be a reason?’

For Luca? Usually yes, unless he felt sorry for her, just like the old days.

She didn’t want to be the object of his pity.

He shrugged. ‘He does like you. I know I shouldn’t care about pleasing him and, to be honest, I find it insulting that he will be far more impressed if you accompany me to this event than he is by my multi-million-euro turnover, but...’ He paused, oddly vulnerable. ‘But he’s old. Frail.’ Another pause, longer this time, then, almost imperceptibly, ‘He and Gio are all I have left.’

Minty was torn between conflicting emotions. If there was one subject she didn’t do, it was families. Oh, she could laugh at her own situation, turn her childhood, her failed relationships, into a self-deprecating stand-up routine that had them rolling in the aisle. But deep, heartfelt, emotional discussions? Not her style. And yet, she sensed that this man rarely opened up, that he carried his shame, his fears, tightly boxed up inside him.

For some unfathomable reason he was choosing here and now to release them—he was choosing her. It terrified her and yet at the same time she was touched, gratified that he didn’t think she was too shallow to understand.

‘He’s a link to your mother,’ she offered shyly.

‘Yes!’ He turned to her. ‘Exactly. Would she approve of me, of the man I’ve become? Or, like him, would she be disappointed that I don’t attend balls and charity events and the opera in Verona? Would she think I was an uncouth country farmer who thinks of nothing but ice cream?’

‘She married a farmer,’ Minty pointed out. ‘And for what it’s worth I think she would be ridiculously proud of you. So proud she’d have to bite her tongue at parties so as not to bore all the other guests with a long list of your virtues! I think she would look at you and see a man proud of his home and his heritage. A man who has no reason at all to make his grandfather happy, but wants to anyway, because that’s the kind of person he is. That’s what she would see.’