The Boselli Bride

‘Oh…thank you, but I’m sure I’ll manage,’ Emily said.

‘Why didn’t you accept his offer of a lift?’ Coral demanded as they were driven swiftly back to the hotel in a taxi.

‘Because we don’t know him, Coral!’

‘He wasn’t exactly a stranger…’

‘As good as,’ Emily replied.

But later, as Emily listened to Coral’s gentle snoring from the other bed, she instinctively felt that there would have been no need to fear Giovanni’s intentions. He was clearly a well known member of the local community and, if the younger men’s reaction was anything to go by, highly respected.

Emily turned over, flinging her arm across her pillow. Behind her closed lids she could still see those ruinously seductive eyes gazing at her. Then she half sat up, pushing her hair away from her face. This would not do, she thought. She was here chiefly on business, not to indulge herself in sensitive thoughts about the first Italian who’d paid her any special attention. It was just a shame that she and Giovanni would probably never meet again…especially as there were only two days to go before they returned to England.

Back in his luxury flat in the heart of the city, Giovanni dragged his shirt over his head and unbuckled his jeans before going into the bathroom to shower. What a piece of good luck that he’d come across Emily again. She might have gone to any one of the countless restaurants on offer, or indeed might have already been on her way back home. And what luck that fate had given him the opportunity to approach her without causing any offence. He’d observed the young men attach themselves to the two girls, and had spotted at once that Emily had seemed uncomfortable about it. She’d certainly not appreciated the rather clumsy gesture she’d received from one of them. It was that which had made Giovanni intervene.

He stared at himself in the mirror for a second, a slight grin on his rugged face. He met many lovely women all the time, and this was hardly the first occasion that his masculine propensities had been briefly shaken and stirred. But, somehow, this felt different…He suddenly felt alive inside again, the persistent sense of guilt which he’d been suffering for the last eighteen months lessening slightly. He bit his lip. He was being introspective again, he thought. He must stop it. Wasn’t it time to give himself an emotional break and start looking forward, instead of back? And he was not going to deny that Emily had lit a particular spark in him which was both exciting and unexpected. On so short an acquaintance he was, quite simply, enchanted by her. She was not only beautiful, she was…thoughtful…wistful, maybe…some other quality that he couldn’t quite identify, but everything about her made him want to hold her and protect her. He had never, ever felt that instant, deep attraction to a woman before in his life—and the realization came as something of a shock.

Stepping into the shower, he let the water rush in cool, satisfying waves over the length of his taut, muscular body before beginning to soap himself vigorously. At least he knew where she’d be staying for the next few days, but he didn’t have long and he wanted to know more about this Englishwoman before it was too late.

He finished showering, then knotted the huge white towel around his waist and padded barefoot into his bedroom, feeling elated. Feeling eighteen again. Emily Sinclair had definitely sprinkled some magic dust over him that day, he admitted—and who knew what may lie ahead? Didn’t all his friends call him ‘Lucky Gio’?

CHAPTER TWO

‘OH, WHAT a night I’ve had!’

Coral sat on the edge of her bed with her head in her hands, then peered through her fingers at Emily, who was barely awake. ‘But I’m glad that I don’t appear to have disturbed you,’ she added a trifle sarcastically.

Emily sat up and stared at her friend sleepily. ‘No, I didn’t hear a thing. In fact, I had the best sleep I’ve had in ages. But—what happened—or shouldn’t I ask?’

‘Oh, it’s just that I’ve been in and out of the bathroom for the entire night,’ Coral replied. ‘I suppose it was something I ate for supper,’ she added.

‘Well, we had the same thing and it didn’t affect me,’ Emily said mildly, thinking that it was probably more to do with the amount Coral had had to drink. She’d almost single-handedly consumed the bottle of expensive wine which Giovanni had bought, and she’d had a lot before that. ‘Do you think you can manage breakfast?’ she asked doubtfully. The girl was still looking very white-faced.

‘Don’t! Don’t mention food!’ Coral said theatrically. ‘It’ll be nil by mouth for me today.’ She got up slowly and went across to the window, clasping her stomach. ‘It looks as if it’s going to be another scorcher,’ she said, ‘but I shan’t be coming with you, Ellie. I couldn’t trust myself to be anywhere but here for the next few hours.’ She turned to glance at Emily. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ Emily said at once. ‘But you’re probably over the worst.’ She climbed out of bed, yawning. ‘I’ll ring your mobile at lunchtime to see if you’re able to come and meet me later.’

As soon as she’d had her breakfast, Emily took a few moments to read the instructions she’d been given. There were two hotels and two restaurants on her list for today and, although her map-reading skills weren’t particularly impressive, she felt reasonably confident that she’d be able to get around. A couple of the places looked fairly close to each other, but the others seemed more spread out.

After feeling as if she’d walked fifty miles on the unyielding pavements, Emily had tracked down the two more central establishments before deciding to stop at a small café for a few minutes to make some notes. And to order a long glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

Sitting with her pad on her knee, she sipped her drink, staring pensively out at the fast-moving traffic. She was doing OK, she thought, feeling quite pleased with herself-even if she had gone round in circles when given conflicting directions by two passers-by. But she decided that she’d hail a taxi to take her to the next stop-a rather nice-looking hotel, if the description on her notes was anything to go by.

Standing uncertainly on the pavement, she held out her hand as one cab after another swept past her, obviously all occupied, and after several fruitless minutes she began to walk a little way up the street before trying her luck again. She saw another one approaching her rapidly and, stepping off the kerb in order to get the driver to stop, she stumbled and almost fell as he, too, roared past her. Emily bit her lip in frustration-why was it proving so difficult? she asked herself, beginning to feel hot and bothered all over again.

Suddenly, a sleek black car pulled up alongside her and, glancing in quickly at the driver, she felt a rush of pleasure—and relief—when she saw who it was.

‘Buon giorno, signorina,’ Giovanni said through the open window, a roguish smile on his lips, his black eyes unashamedly taking in her appearance.

‘Oh…hello, Giovanni—I mean, Joe…’ Emily replied, hardly believing her luck. He’d be sure to offer to help find the place she was looking for—and in this heat she wouldn’t be turning him down.

Without switching off the engine, he got out of the car and came around to open the passenger door for her. Well, well, well—Lady Luck was on his side again, he thought. It was as if she had been planted neatly on that pavement for him to offer her a ride. He didn’t usually drive his car around the city at this time of day.

He got in beside her, turning to look at her for a second, noting her flushed cheeks and aware that she seemed out of breath. ‘You were obviously trying to get a taxi,’ he said. Well, there couldn’t have been any other reason for her to stand there alone with her arms in the air. ‘It can be difficult sometimes,’ he added.

‘So I see,’ Emily replied as they drew away smoothly. ‘None of them seem to need my custom today.’ She leaned her head back and sighed, grateful for the air-condition-ing—and to be with someone who knew where he was going. ‘I need to visit two hotels today…My work involves assessing places that might meet all the criteria for British visitors,’ she explained, ‘and I don’t know how to get to either of these.’

‘Well, what a good thing I’m not at the shop this afternoon,’ Giovanni said, ‘so I can take you wherever you want to go.’ Effortlessly, he pulled the car to the side of the road for a moment and looked across at her. ‘What names are you looking for?’

Emily handed him the sheet of paper with the instructions and a small map, and after a few seconds he nodded. ‘They’re a bit out of the way,’ he conceded, ‘but easy enough to find. That’s if you…are happy…for me to take you,’ he added.

Emily looked at him quickly, realizing that today it hadn’t struck her that the man was still the stranger that he’d been last night when she’d refused his offer of a lift. So why did she feel so relaxed…so happy…to be sitting alongside him now? She turned to look in front of her. ‘If you’re sure it’s not inconveniencing you, Gio, I’d be very grateful,’ she said simply.

‘Which travel company are you with?’ Giovanni wanted to know as they drove away and, when Emily told him, he nodded. ‘They’re well known,’ he said briefly. ‘How long have you worked for them?’

‘Almost a year,’ Emily replied.

‘And before that?’

‘Oh, I had a couple of years with a small art gallery in London,’ she said, glancing across at the handsome profile, the strong neck and firm chin. His white shirt exposed heart-throbbing muscular arms and shoulders which tensed and rippled as he moved. She swallowed, looking away. ‘And what about you?’ she asked, thinking that it was his turn to answer some questions. ‘How long have you owned the shop?’

He grinned without looking at her. ‘Oh, it’s not mine,’ he said. ‘It belongs to a friend. I just mind the place for him from time to time.’

There was silence for a few moments after that and Emily thought-well, that didn’t say much. If it wasn’t his shop, what else did he do?

‘So, when you’re not selling beautiful marmalade jars…?’ she enquired.

‘My friend also owns the restaurant you were dining in last night,’ he said, ‘and I help out there, too, in the bar sometimes—but mostly I manage his paperwork for him.’ He paused. ‘By the way,’ he went on, changing the subject, ‘where is—Coral—today?’

‘Oh, I’m afraid Coral might have had too much sun yesterday,’ Emily said. She wasn’t going to go into details. ‘So she decided to stay at the hotel and rest for a few hours…which reminds me—I must ring her to see if she’s feeling any better.’

Taking her mobile from her bag, Emily dialled Coral’s number and was relieved that her friend answered almost immediately and sounded her old self.

‘Good,’ Emily said into the mouthpiece, ‘I’ll be back about six o’clock and we’ll go out to supper later—if you’re still feeling OK…What? Oh—I’m phoning from…from…I’m in a car on my way to one of those hotels, but once I’m there it shouldn’t take long,’ she added as she rang off.

Now why hadn’t she told Coral that it was Giovanni’s car that she was sitting in? she asked herself as she replaced her phone in her bag. And Giovanni must have been thinking the same thing because he gave her a wicked sidelong glance and said bluntly, ‘Is my name a dirty word then, Emily? You’re not…ashamed…of me, I hope?’

Emily felt her cheeks beginning to burn. ‘Of course not!’ she said. ‘It…it was somehow difficult to try and explain to Coral how you…I mean…how…I’ll tell her later, of course.’ The fact was that Coral had fallen madly in love with Giovanni and when they’d got back last night hadn’t stopped going on and on about him until the small hours. If Emily had said, Guess what? Giovanni just happened to be passing by and now I’m sitting in his fantastic car and yes, he’s just as gorgeous as he was last night! Coral would have demanded to know how that had happened, and her shriek of amazed jealousy would have been deafening and very difficult to explain to the man in the driving seat!

It took about twenty minutes to reach the quite imposing hotel, and Giovanni glanced across at Emily. ‘Do you have an appointment, or do you just turn up unannounced?’ he asked.

‘It varies,’ Emily replied. ‘It’s quite good not to let them know when you’re coming, for obvious reasons, but I usually do ring first. Let’s hope the manager is available today. I’m hoping to see Signor Saracco, but in any case I can get a good feel of the place and see if it’s the sort which our clients might approve of.’

They got out of the car and together they went into the large foyer. This would obviously have to feature in the brochure for one of their more expensive holidays, Emily thought, looking around her at the impressive glass cabinets containing luxurious clothing and jewellery. The girl standing behind the huge oak reception desk looked up as they entered, her eyes glancing briefly at Emily, but lingering for a lot longer on Giovanni, immediately captivated by his ruthlessly seductive appeal.

Emily stepped forward. ‘Parla inglese?’she asked, and the woman nodded hesitantly.

‘A leetle,’ she replied.

In the following few moments it was obvious that the receptionist was having a struggle with the language, and Emily made a mental note of the fact. It would be important for British visitors to feel comfortable at this early point, she thought, and for any queries they might have to be dealt with efficiently. Then Giovanni spoke quietly to the girl and for what seemed like ten minutes to Emily they conversed rapidly in Italian, the receptionist clearly relieved to be speaking her own language, laughing excitedly now and then—and also obviously enjoying talking to the handsome visitor. Then he glanced down at Emily.

‘This young lady is only standing in for the permanent receptionist,’ he explained, ‘owing to illness. She only started today and says it’s been the longest morning of her life. Another girl is coming in tomorrow, apparently. She is only seventeen,’ he added, and Emily was amazed. ‘Carla’—for that was the name on the identity tag the girl was wearing—looked at least in her mid-twenties. She was immaculately dressed, her black outfit pristine and enlivened with gold jewellery, her dark hair swept back elegantly. ‘I also asked if Signor Saracco was available, and she says that he is due back in one hour,’ Giovanni went on. ‘Do you want to hang on that long, or shall we find the other place first?’ He paused. ‘I don’t know about you, but I didn’t have any lunch. They do very good light meals, served all afternoon, so Carla tells me…’

Suddenly, the thought of sitting down to a gentle Italian repast sounded just what she needed and Emily smiled, realizing that her ‘lunch’ had been that glass of orange juice. ‘I’d love something to eat,’ she said, ‘and we might as well wait for the manager now that we’re here.’

‘Good,’ he said at once, cupping her elbow in his hand and leading her towards the other end of the entrance hall where late lunches were being served. Without looking back, Emily knew that Carla would be watching them. The young girl had been instantly flattered by Giovanni’s kindly attention to her, flashing her artificially long eyelashes at him as he’d looked across at her. And Emily could quite see how any female would be touched by his attitude. He’d been attentive, understanding…and deliciously sensuous, yet not creepy or overpowering. She’d give him full marks for the way in which he demonstrated his particular art-or was it craft?

He led her to a small round table in the corner, by a window which looked out across a beautifully green lawn. In a lazy circular movement, a hose was lightly playing water over the grass and Emily glanced up at Giovanni as he held out a chair for her to sit down.

‘They must employ a lot of staff to keep this place up to standard,’ she said. ‘It does seem a very well run establishment.’

For a few moments they studied a copy of the menu, then both decided on something called the House Special, which was ravioli accompanied by freshly cooked spinach.

‘I hope the service is good,’ Giovanni remarked as he clicked his fingers to attract the attention of the drinks waiter, ‘because I’m starving.’

Emily had to admit that she was beginning to feel the same way, and soon they were tucking into what turned out to be a really delicious version of the simple Italian dish. ‘When I do ravioli at home,’ she said, running her knife around her plate to scoop up the last of the sauce, ‘it doesn’t taste nearly as good as this.’

Giovanni smiled across at her, realizing how much he was enjoying the company of this Englishwoman whom he barely knew. His eyes narrowed briefly as he continued watching her. Although she was not cold towards him, he thought—no, not at all—he sensed a sort of protective film around her persona which seemed to exclude him. So why didn’t he stick with his own kind? he asked himself. It wouldn’t take long for that young receptionist to respond to his male ego!

Emily looked up at him now and he smiled, thinking that there was a little time to go before the manager turned up. Time to find things out.

‘So,’ he said smoothly, finishing the last of his beer, ‘are there any more like you at home, Emily? Or are you an only child?’

‘I have a brother,’ Emily replied, folding her napkin and sitting back contentedly. ‘He’s a lawyer, and slightly older than me.’ She paused. ‘Although we both live and work in London, we don’t see as much of each other as we’d like—there never seems enough time, somehow.’

‘One must always make time for relationships,’ Giovanni said, his expression darkening momentarily.

‘Are your parents alive?’ Emily wanted to know.

‘I still have my mother with me,’ he replied, ‘but my father died ten years ago.’

So, Emily thought, they were both semi-orphans. ‘Does your mother live in Rome with you?’ she asked.

‘No, we have a family home in the country, a few miles outside,’ he said. ‘She is happy there—though she sometimes comes into the city and stays at my flat when she feels like it.’ He paused. ‘And your father? You told me that he is alone now, but where does he live?’

‘In the same house in Hampshire where my parents lived all their married life,’ Emily replied, wishing that she hadn’t had that small glass of white wine.

There was silence for a few moments, then he said casually, ‘And what about your love life, Emily—you have a partner longing for your return?’

Emily was a bit taken aback at the way he’d put the question—she didn’t usually discuss her ‘love life’ with anyone! ‘No, I do not have a partner—at the moment,’ she said coolly, and he looked at her quizzically. There was a fleeting expression on her face which he couldn’t interpret, didn’t understand…Surely there must be a long queue of men lusting for her? he thought.

And Emily, looking out of the window thoughtfully, would not be telling him about Marcus—that was all in the past. And she was surviving life without specific male company too, she thought. Life was blissfully uncomplicated now. Life was OK, wasn’t it? She swallowed. It was time to talk of other things.

Just then a murmuring of voices coming from the reception area made them both glance up as three men, dressed formally, entered. Immediately, Giovanni stood up—he’d obviously seen someone he knew, Emily thought, and almost at once the taller one of the trio came over to them. He was about forty-five or so, Emily guessed, and extremely good-looking.

‘Giovanni,’ he began, his hand outstretched in greeting, and there followed a rapid exchange of Italian between the two of them. Then Giovanni looked down at Emily.

‘Um…allow me to introduce you, Emily,’ he said. ‘This is…Aldo.’ And to the man he added, ‘The young lady is Emily. She is here on business.’

Aldo took Emily’s hand in his and looked down at her, his searching Italian eyes seeming to unwrap every bit of her at a single glance. ‘I am charmed to meet you, Emily,’ he said smoothly, not letting her go, but turning his head to Giovanni. ‘Another delightful creature to add to your list, my friend?’ he said, and the remark seemed almost sinister to Emily. It held a definite touch of spite. She looked uncertainly at Giovanni—whose expression was non-committal, but there was suddenly a very cool atmosphere—and it seemed obvious that there was no love lost between these two.

After some more rather stilted discussion between them, Aldo made his gracious departure and joined his friends at a table at the opposite end of the room. Giovanni looked across at Emily as he sat down again.

‘Well, I did not expect that,’ he said, ‘and I must apologize that we did not speak in English.’

Emily shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘Is he—is Aldo—a friend? You’ve known him a long time?’

Giovanni grimaced briefly. ‘Too long,’ he said.

‘You don’t like him?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘I neither like nor dislike him,’ he replied casually. He paused. ‘The more important point is that he resents me…He does not like me.’

No, Emily thought—she’d seen that straight away. ‘Well, sometimes certain…friends…just don’t fit somehow, do they?’ she said. ‘It’s impossible to get on with each and every one of them.’

Giovanni nodded. ‘Oh, I do OK with friends,’ he said. ‘They’re no problem. Families are different.’ He glanced over at the three men, who were giving the waiter their order for drinks. ‘Aldo is family, unfortunately,’ he said, a note of resignation in his voice. ‘He’s my uncle. My father’s younger brother.’

‘Oh,’ Emily said, wondering why Giovanni hadn’t mentioned that when they’d been introduced. Then she shrugged inwardly. She knew that Italians were known to be great family people, but even in the best of families there’d be bound to be friction now and then. She glanced at her watch. It must surely be time for the manager to return, she thought.

‘You speak wonderful English, Gio,’ she said, changing the subject. ‘You’ve obviously spent a lot of time in the UK.’

‘Explained by the fact that I was educated mostly there,’ he said briefly.

Now, why did it surprise her, Emily asked herself, that he’d gone to school in England? ‘Where did you go?’ she asked him.

‘Boarding school in Surrey, then Marlborough College in Wiltshire, followed by London University. And, before you ask, I gained a Masters in Business Law.’

Emily was almost bowled over by all this information! Despite being born in Italy, and in appearance and attitude being a perfect example of typical Latin charm, he was nearly as English as she was herself! She almost laughed out loud at the thought.

‘So,’ she said, ‘if you only help out at the shop, and at your friend’s bar when you’re in Rome, where else do you work?’ she asked. ‘Where has all that education led you?’

He waited a moment before reaching into his pocket and handing her a small business card. ‘Oh, I help my mother with a…um…family concern in Rome,’ he said. ‘Which means I have to come to the UK every now and again,’ he added briefly.

Emily looked down at the card he’d handed her. Giovanni Boselli, she read. Financial Consultant, followed by his qualifications and the telephone number and address of the London office he apparently used. An address which was just a few streets away from her own office in Mayfair!

CHAPTER THREE

‘WELL, I think that’s everything sorted—thanks to you, Gio,’ Emily said, glancing across at him as they travelled back into the city later. ‘It would have taken me a lot longer to find my own way around.’

‘My pleasure,’ he said easily. ‘And-you were satisfied with both hotels?’

‘Perfectly,’ she replied. ‘I shall be able to put ticks in all the right boxes.’ She leaned her head back, feeling satisfied with the day’s work. ‘It was lucky for me that you happened to be free this afternoon—and also that you saw me trying to hail a taxi,’ she added.

He looked across at her and grinned. ‘Lucky for me, too,’ he said. ‘I’ve certainly enjoyed seeing you in action, Emily. You knew exactly how to handle those two managers, leaving them in no doubt what you expected—what your clients expected—of holiday accommodation.’