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

‘I like him,’ Minty said, wanting to change the subject. ‘Your grandfather, I mean. And I think...’ She cast about for the right words but ended up saying baldy, ‘I think he is really proud of you.’

‘You got all that from a five-minute conversation?’ Luca sounded sceptical.

‘I got that from five minutes of him singing your praises. Did you know that your gelato is the most authentic mass-produced product he has ever tasted?’

‘It’s traditionally made, not mass-produced—’ Luca stopped mid-speech. ‘The conte said that?’

Minty nodded. ‘And much, much more, but I’d hate for you to get big-headed. Aha! I told you this was the way.’

They were at the entrance to a large square, a fountain in the middle. Along one side was a two-storey building with a series of steps leading to the pillared terrace. At the back of the shallow terrace was a wall with heavy-looking doors interspersed at intervals. The pillars were impressively carved with round medallion-style decorations, a picture of a baby on each one.

‘The hospital of the innocents,’ Minty said softly. ‘I used to come here most days, trying to imagine what it was like to know you had been literally posted into an orphanage. I wonder if it was better to grow up never knowing who your parents were or to know why you were here. Or—and spot the melodrama of a teenager here—was it worse to have parents who took no notice of you at all? These children had no expectations, no obligations; they were free...’

‘Free to be foundlings, paupers and servants,’ Luca said wryly. He put an arm around her. ‘Is this what you did when you lived in Florence, mooched dreamily around here?’

Minty nestled into his embrace. ‘I promenaded and flirted with dangerously attractive Italian boys.’ She looked up at him provocatively. ‘A habit I don’t seem to have lost.’ Luca’s arm tightened round her shoulders. ‘I went to every museum at least once and what felt like every church. I saw more depictions of the Madonna and Child than anybody could cope with and realised an art history degree wasn’t for me, despite its royal connections!’

‘What did you do instead?’

‘Well, I did get engaged twice before I was twenty-one,’ she pointed out. ‘That took up some time.’

‘And the boat to Australia,’ he said.

‘That came afterwards. I was running away from the fallout with Spike.’ She sighed. ‘I do seem to run away a lot.’ She straightened up, moving out of his embrace. ‘I shouldn’t have brought you here; it always makes me sombre. Come on, I want gelato. Does anywhere round here stock yours?’ She smiled at him. ‘Ours, I should say.’

She grabbed his hand and pulled him along, away from the square and the gloomy thoughts it always evoked. ‘All the really good gelato shops in Florence make their own,’ Luca said. ‘And they are all worth trying.’ He flashed her a dangerously sexy grin. ‘I’m not so vain that I can’t appreciate somebody else’s artisanship.’

Another couple of moments and they were outside one of the city’s most popular gelaterias. The glass windows showcased the long counters filled with over one hundred vibrantly coloured ice creams.

‘Cone or a cup?’

Minty gave Luca a withering glance. ‘Oh, I know you purists are all about the cup, but I, my friend, am English and we eat our ice cream out of a cone. But,’ she added cautiously, ‘I am a sophisticated type and I only like sugar cones.’

‘And which flavours would the beautiful signorina like in her sugar cone?’

‘All of them,’ she said, her nose pressed up against the glass like a starving Victorian waif. ‘How can I choose?’

‘Let’s go in and decide,’ Luca suggested. ‘Or we could just stand here and look...’

It only took ten minutes for Minty to choose, which, as she explained to Luca, was pretty good, considering she had been in Italy for no more than a couple of weeks and had yet to enter a gelateria.

‘You have been to my factory shop, like clockwork, every afternoon break,’ Luca said indignantly.

‘It’s not the same,’ Minty tried to explain.

‘And yet with all this choice you go for a frutti di bosco and a lemon,’ he said. Luca had spent some time trying to persuade Minty to be more exotic in her choice.

‘It’s a classic,’ she said. ‘I’m sure mint liquorice and coffee makes a great combination but I wanted something more subtle. And yes,’ she added as she saw the glint in his eye, ‘I can be subtle. Just look at me tonight.’

‘You are beautiful tonight,’ he said. ‘I didn’t forget to tell you that, did I?’

‘You have only mentioned it ten or so times but I’ll forgive you.’ Normally Minty liked to live up to her public image and dress accordingly. She eschewed the fake tan and barely-there clothes of other party girls, preferring to stay at the cutting edge of fashion and to be a little less obvious.

Tonight, however, she had decided against avant garde design and had chosen something appropriate for a charity gala dinner, a soft dress of midnight-blue. The material was clingy and deceptively demure, high-necked and calf-length with chiffon shoulder straps. Not only did it cling to Minty’s torso like a second skin, until the waist where it flared out into a ballerina skirt, but both the neckline and from the mid-thigh down were made of a thinner, almost transparent material, showcasing her legs and cleavage whilst covering them. She’d teamed it with a silver velvet wrap for outside and silver star earrings.

Simple yet devastating—at least, that was the effect she had hoped for and, by the look in Luca’s eyes when she had finally got dressed, she had achieved it.

They walked along side by side, not speaking as they enjoyed their ice cream, just content to be together. For once Minty didn’t feel the need to interrupt the silence, to prattle or make jokes. She just was. They strolled down the side of the world-famous Uffizi towards the Arno and Minty caught Luca’s arm, pulling him to a standstill. On the other side of the street a lone violinist was playing. They stood and listened to the soaring strings for a moment and then, by silent accord, sat on the steps opposite, enthralled by the magic of the night.

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?

‘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.’

And the moment was gone. But he wanted to hold on to it, hold on to her. Spend more time in her world, her impulsive, irresponsible, fun world, away from the everyday cares and stresses he had been shouldering for as long as he could remember.

Be someone else, someone she wanted, for just a little bit longer.

* * *

‘We don’t have to go straight back to Oschia.’

Minty looked up from the car’s state-of-the-art and ridiculously complicated stereo. ‘I thought we were getting to the stage where all we would have to do was think of a tune and it would miraculously play,’ she grumbled. ‘I don’t understand what it wants me to do.’

Luca reached down without looking and one second later the strains of classical music filled the car. It was a violin solo and Minty was immediately transported back to the night before. To that moment of sheer perfection and happiness.

‘Too solemn,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I want something poppy.’ Something that wasn’t going to evoke any embarrassing memories of weakness. Of neediness.

Luca obligingly changed the music until he reached a well-known female singer-songwriter and Minty nodded approvingly. ‘Perfect,’ she said, leaning back and putting her bare feet back on the dashboard, throwing a provocative glance at Luca as she did so. She knew how much it annoyed him.

She wiggled her toes.

‘So?’ he prompted.

‘So?’

‘What do you think about not heading back?’

‘We already stopped off for lunch,’ Minty pointed out, regarding her toenails critically. She had painted them silver for the party but they were already chipping. Maybe something bright and cheerful next; she had bought a vivid orange in Florence which might do. She slid a glance over at Luca. He probably wouldn’t really appreciate her painting her nails in his car.

He was a smooth driver, though.

And at that thought a mental image of the two of them the day before, entwined, filled her head. She squirmed in her seat. Driving wasn’t the only thing he did smoothly.

‘I didn’t mean for an hour or two. I meant for a few days. After all...’ His head jerked meaningfully to the three large suitcases in the boot. ‘You have enough there to last an apocalyptic catastrophe.’

She hadn’t brought that much with her. Minty glanced into the back. Oh, the man had a point.

‘Won’t people talk?’

He shrugged. ‘Who? The tabloids don’t even know who I am.’

‘Not people—people,’ she said. ‘Your family. Our—your—colleagues.’

He looked over at her, disbelief written clearly on his face. ‘We have been living together since you got here and have just spent a weekend together—with my uptight, old-fashioned grandfather—being photographed at a very public charity event. They are already talking. Let’s clear off and let the fuss die down. If we’re lucky, Andreo in accounts will finally ask Maria on reception out and we will be forgotten. Yesterday’s news.’