From Florence With Love

She reached across the aisle and touched his arm gently. ‘I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have brought it up if …’

‘Don’t apologise. It’s not your fault. Anyway, five years is a long time.’

Long enough that, when confronted by a vivacious, dynamic and delightful woman with beautiful, generous curves and a low-cut dress that gave him a more than adequate view of those curves, he’d almost forgotten his wife …

Guilt lanced through him, and he pulled out his wallet and showed her the photos—him and Angelina on their wedding day, and one with the girls clustered around her and the baby in her arms, all of them laughing. He loved that one. It was the last photograph he had of her, and one of the best. He carried it everywhere.

She looked at them, her lips slightly parted, and he could see the sheen of tears in her eyes.

‘You must miss her so much. Your poor children.’

‘It’s not so bad now, but they missed her at first,’ he said gruffly. And he’d missed her. He’d missed her every single day, but missing her didn’t bring her back, and he’d buried himself in work.

He was still burying himself in work.

Wasn’t he?

Not effectively. Not any more, apparently, because suddenly he was beginning to think about things he hadn’t thought about for years, and he wasn’t ready for that. He couldn’t deal with it, couldn’t think about it. Not now. He had work to do, work that couldn’t wait. Work he should be doing now.

He put the wallet away and excused himself, moving to sit with the others and discuss how to follow up the contacts they’d made and where they went from here with their marketing strategy, with his back firmly to Lydia and that ridiculous wedding dress that was threatening to tip him over the brink.

Lydia stared at his back, regret forming a lump in her throat.

She’d done it again. Opened her mouth and jumped in with both feet. She was good at that, gifted almost. And now he’d pulled away from her, and must be regretting the impulse that had made him offer her and Claire a lift to Italy.

She wanted to apologise, to take back her stupid and trite and intrusive question about his wife—Angelina, she thought, remembering the way he’d said her name, the way he’d almost tasted it as he said it, no doubt savouring the precious memories. But life didn’t work like that.

Like feathers from a burst cushion, it simply wasn’t possible to gather the words up and stuff them back in without trace. She just needed to move on from the embarrassing lapse, to keep out of his personal life and take his offer of a lift at face value.

And stop thinking about those incredible, warm chocolate eyes …

‘I can’t believe he’s taking us right to Siena!’ Claire said quietly, her eyes sparkling with delight. ‘Jo will be so miffed when we get there first, she was so confident!’

Lydia dredged up her smile again, not hard when she thought about Jen and how deliriously happy she’d be to have her Tuscan wedding. ‘I can’t believe it, either. Amazing.’

Claire tilted her head on one side. ‘What was he showing you? He looked sort of sad.’

She felt her smile slip. ‘Photos of his wife. She died five years ago. They’ve got three little children—ten, seven and five, I think he said. Something like that.’

‘Gosh. So the little one must have been tiny—did she die giving birth?’

‘No. No, she can’t have done. There was a photo of her with two little girls and a baby in her arms, so no. But it must have been soon after.’

‘How awful. Fancy never knowing your mother. I’d die if I didn’t have my mum to ring up and tell about stuff.’

Lydia nodded. She adored her mother, phoned her all the time, shared everything with her and Jen. What would it have been like never to have known her?

Tears welled in her eyes again, and she brushed them away crossly, but then she felt a light touch on her arm and looked up, and he was staring down at her, his face concerned.

He frowned and reached out a hand, touching the moisture on her cheek with a gentle fingertip.

‘Lydia?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m fine. Ignore me, I’m a sentimental idiot.’

He dropped to his haunches and took her hand, and she had a sudden and overwhelming urge to cry in earnest. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to distress you. You don’t need to cry for us.’

She shook her head and sniffed again. ‘I’m not. Not really.

I was thinking about my mother—about how I’d miss her—and I’m twenty-eight, not five.’

He nodded. ‘Yes. It’s very hard.’ His mouth quirked in a fleeting smile. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve neglected you. Can I get you a drink? Tea? Coffee? Water? Something stronger?’

‘It’s a bit early for stronger,’ she said, trying for a light note, and he smiled again, more warmly this time, and straightened up.

‘Nico would have been on the second bottle of champagne by now,’ he said, and she felt a wave of relief that he’d saved her from what sounded more and more like a dangerous mistake.

‘Fizzy water would be nice, if you have any?’ she said, and he nodded.

‘Claire?’

‘That would be lovely. Thank you.’

He moved away, and she let her breath out slowly. She hadn’t really registered, until he’d crouched beside her, just how big he was. Not bulky, not in any way, but he’d shed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, and she’d been treated to the broad shoulders and solid chest at close range, and then his narrow hips and lean waist and those long, strong legs as he’d straightened up.

His hands, appearing in her line of sight again, were clamped round two tall glasses beaded with moisture and fizzing gently. Large hands, strong and capable, no-nonsense.

Safe, sure hands that had held hers and warmed her to the core.

Her breasts tingled unexpectedly, and she took the glass from him and tried not to drop it. ‘Thank you.’

‘Prego, you’re welcome. Are you hungry? We have fruit and pastries, too.’

‘No. No, I’m much too excited to eat now,’ she confessed, sipping the water and hoping the cool liquid would slake the heat rising up inside her.

Crazy! He was totally uninterested in her, and even if he wasn’t, she wasn’t in the market for any more complications in her life. Her relationship with Russell had been fraught with complications, and the end of it had been a revelation. There was no way she was jumping back into that pond any time soon. The last frog she’d kissed had turned into a king-sized toad.

‘How long before we land?’ she asked, and he checked his watch, treating her to a bronzed, muscular forearm and strong-boned wrist lightly scattered with dark hair. She stared at it and swallowed. How ridiculous that an arm could be so sexy.

‘Just over an hour. Excuse me, we have work to do, but please, if you need anything, just ask.’

He turned back to his colleagues, sitting down and flexing his broad shoulders, and Lydia felt her gut clench. She’d never, never felt like that about anyone before, and she couldn’t believe she was reacting to him that way. It must just be the adrenaline.

One more hour to get through before they were there and they could thank him and get away—hopefully before she disgraced herself. The poor man was still grieving for his wife. What was she thinking about?

Ridiculous! She’d known him, what, less than two hours altogether? Scarcely more than one. And she’d already put her foot firmly in it.

Vowing not to say another thing, she settled back in her seat and looked out of the window at the mountains.

They must be the Alps, she realised, fascinated by the jagged peaks and plunging valleys, and then the mountains fell away behind them and they were moving over a chequered landscape of forests and small, neat fields. They were curiously ordered and disciplined, serried ranks of what must be olive trees and grape vines, she guessed, planted with geometric precision, the pattern of the fields interlaced with narrow winding roads lined with avenues of tall, slender cypress trees.

Tuscany, she thought with a shiver of excitement.

The seat belt light came on, and Massimo returned to his seat across the aisle from her as the plane started its descent.

‘Not long now,’ he said, flashing her a smile. And then they were there, a perfect touchdown on Tuscan soil with the prize almost in reach.

Jen was going to get her wedding. Just a few more minutes …

They taxied to a stop outside the airport building, and after a moment the steps were wheeled out to them and the door was opened.

‘We’re really here!’ she said to Claire, and Claire’s eyes were sparkling as she got to her feet.

‘I know. I can’t believe it!’

They were standing at the top of the steps now, and Massimo smiled and gestured to them. ‘After you. Do you have the address of the hotel? I’ll drive you there.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’d hate you not to win after all this,’ he said with a grin.

‘Wow, thank you, that’s really kind of you!’ Lydia said, reaching for her skirts as she took another step.

It happened in slow motion.

One moment she was there beside him, the next the steps had disappeared from under her feet and she was falling, tumbling end over end, hitting what seemed like every step until finally her head reached the tarmac and she crumpled on the ground in a heap.

Her scream was cut off abruptly, and Massimo hurled himself down the steps to her side, his heart racing. No! Please, she couldn’t be dead …

She wasn’t. He could feel a pulse in her neck, and he let his breath out on a long, ragged sigh and sat back on his heels to assess her.

Stay calm, he told himself. She’s alive. She’ll be all right.

But he wouldn’t really believe it until she stirred, and even then …

‘Is she all right?’

He glanced up at Claire, kneeling on the other side of her, her face chalk white with fear.

‘I think so,’ he said, but he didn’t think any such thing. Fear was coursing through him, bringing bile rising to his throat. Why wasn’t she moving? This couldn’t be happening again.

Lydia moaned. Warm, hard fingers had searched for a pulse in her neck, and as she slowly came to, she heard him snap out something in Italian while she lay there, shocked and a little stunned, wondering if it was a good idea to open her eyes. Maybe not yet.

‘Lydia? Lydia, talk to me! Open your eyes.’

Her eyes opened slowly and she tried to sit up, but he pressed a hand to her shoulder.

‘Stay still. You might have a neck injury. Where do you hurt?’

Where didn’t she? She turned her head and winced. ‘Ow … my head, for a start. What happened? Did I trip? Oh, I can’t believe I was so stupid!’

‘You fell down the steps.’

‘I know that—ouch.’ She felt her head, and her hand came away bloodied and sticky. She stared at it. ‘I’ve cut myself,’ she said, and everything began to swim.

‘It’s OK, Lydia. You’ll be OK,’ Claire said, but her face was worried and suddenly everything began to hurt a whole lot more.

Massimo tucked his jacket gently beside her head to support it, just in case she had a neck injury. He wasn’t taking any chances on that, but it was the head injury that was worrying him the most, the graze on her forehead, just under her hair. How hard had she hit it? Hard enough to …

It was bleeding faster now, he realised with a wave of dread, a red streak appearing as she shifted slightly, and he stayed beside her on his knees, holding her hand and talking to her comfortingly in between snapping out instructions.

She heard the words ‘ambulanza’ and ‘ospedale’, and tried to move, wincing and whimpering with pain, but he held her still.

‘Don’t move. The ambulance is coming to take you to hospital.’

‘I don’t need to go to hospital, I’m fine, we need to get to the hotel!’

‘No,’ Massimo and Claire said in unison.

‘But the competition.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said flatly. ‘You’re hurt. You have to be checked out.’

‘I’ll go later.’

‘No.’ His voice was implacable, hard and cold and somehow strange, and Lydia looked at him and saw his skin was colourless and grey, his mouth pinched, his eyes veiled.

He obviously couldn’t stand the sight of blood, Lydia realised, and reached out her other hand to Claire.

She took it, then looked at Massimo. ‘I’ll look after her,’ she said. ‘You go, you’ve got lots to do. We’ll be all right.’

His eyes never left Lydia’s.

‘No. I’ll stay with you,’ he insisted, but he moved out of the way to give her space.

She looked so frail suddenly, lying there streaked with blood, the puffy layers of the dress rising up around her legs and making her look like a broken china doll.

Dio, he felt sick just looking at her, and her face swam, another face drifting over it. He shut his eyes tight, squeezing out the images of his wife, but they refused to fade.

Lydia tried to struggle up again. ‘I want to go to the hotel,’ she said to Claire, and his eyes snapped open again.

‘No way.’

‘He’s right. Don’t be silly. You just lie there and we’ll get you checked out, then we’ll go. There’s still plenty of time.’

But there might not be, she realised, as she lay there on the tarmac in her ridiculous charity shop wedding dress with blood seeping from her head wound, and as the minutes ticked by her joy slid slowly away …

CHAPTER TWO

THE ambulance came, and Claire went with Lydia.

He wanted to go with her himself, he felt he ought to, felt the weight of guilt and worry like an elephant on his chest, but it wasn’t his place to accompany her, so Claire went, and he followed in his car, having sent the rest of the team on with a message to his family that he’d been held up but would be with them as soon as he could.

He rang Luca on the way, in case he was there at the hospital in Siena that day as he sometimes was, and his phone was answered instantly.

‘Massimo, welcome home. Good flight?’

He nearly laughed. ‘No. Where are you? Which hospital?’

‘Siena. Why?’

He did laugh then. Or was it a sob of relief? ‘I’m on my way there. I gave two girls a lift in the plane, and one of them fell down the steps as we were disembarking. I’m following the ambulance. Luca, she’s got a head injury,’ he added, his heart pounding with dread, and he heard his brother suck in his breath.

‘I’ll meet you in the emergency department. She’ll be all right, Massimo. We’ll take care of her.’

He grunted agreement, switched off the phone and followed the ambulance, focusing on facts and crushing his fear and guilt down. It couldn’t happen again. Lightning didn’t strike twice, he told himself, and forced himself to follow the ambulance at a sensible distance while trying desperately to put Angelina firmly out of his mind …

Luca was waiting for him at the entrance.

He took the car away to park it and Massimo hovered by the ambulance as they unloaded Lydia and whisked her inside, Claire holding her hand and reassuring her. It didn’t sound as if it was working, because she kept fretting about the competition and insisting she was all right when anyone could see she was far from all right.

She was taken away, Claire with her, and he stayed in the waiting area, pacing restlessly and driving himself mad with his imagination of what was happening beyond the doors. His brother reappeared moments later and handed him the keys, giving him a keen look.

‘You all right?’

Hardly. ‘I’m fine,’ he said, his voice tight.

‘So how do you know this woman?’ Luca asked, and he filled him in quickly with the bare bones of the accident.

‘Oh—she’s wearing a wedding dress,’ he warned. ‘It’s a competition, a race to win a wedding.’

A race she’d lost. If only he’d taken her arm, or gone in front, she would have fallen against him, he could have saved her …

‘Luca, don’t let her die,’ he said urgently, fear clawing at him.

‘She won’t die,’ Luca promised, although how he could say that without knowing—well, he couldn’t. It was just a platitude, Massimo knew that.

‘Let me know how she is.’

Luca nodded and went off to investigate, leaving him there to wait, but he felt bile rise in his throat and got abruptly to his feet, pacing restlessly again. How long could it take?

Hours, apparently, or at least it felt like it.

Luca reappeared with Claire.

‘They’re taking X-rays of her leg now but it looks like a sprained ankle. She’s just a little concussed and bruised from her fall, but the head injury doesn’t look serious,’ he said.

‘Nor did Angelina’s,’ he said, switching to Italian.

‘She’s not Angelina, Massimo. She’s not going to die of this.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. Yes, I’m sure. She’s had a scan. She’s fine.’

It should have reassured him, but Massimo felt his heart still slamming against his ribs, the memories crowding him again.

‘She’s all right,’ Luca said quietly. ‘This isn’t the same.’

He nodded, but he just wanted to get out, to be away from the hospital in the fresh air. Not going to happen. He couldn’t leave Lydia, no matter how much he wanted to get away. And he could never get away from Angelina …

Luca took him to her.

She was lying on a trolley, and there was blood streaked all over the front of the hideous dress, but at least they’d taken her off the spinal board. ‘How are you?’ he asked, knowing the answer but having to ask anyway, and she turned her head and met his eyes, her own clouded with worry and pain.

‘I’m fine, they just want to watch me for a while. I’ve got some bumps and bruises, but nothing’s broken, I’m just sore and cross with myself and I want to go to the hotel and they won’t let me leave yet. I’m so sorry, Massimo, I’ve got Claire, you don’t need to wait here with me. It could be ages.’

‘I do.’ He didn’t explain, didn’t tell her what she didn’t need to know, what could only worry her. But he hadn’t taken Angelina’s head injury seriously. He’d assumed it was nothing. He hadn’t watched her, sat with her, checked her every few minutes. If he had—well, he hadn’t, but he was damned if he was leaving Lydia alone for a moment until he was sure she was all right.

Luca went back to work, and while the doctors checked her over again and strapped her ankle, Massimo found some coffee for him and Claire and they sat and drank it. Not a good idea. The caffeine shot was the last thing his racing pulse needed.

‘I need to make a call,’ Claire told him. ‘If I go just outside, can you come and get me if there’s any news?’

He nodded, watching her leave. She was probably phoning the radio station to tell them about Lydia’s accident. And she’d been so close to winning …

She came back, a wan smile on her face. ‘Jo’s there.’

‘Jo?’

‘The other contestant. Lydia’s lost the race. She’s going to be so upset. I can’t tell her yet.’

‘I think you should. She might stop fretting if it’s too late, let herself relax and get better.’

Claire gave a tiny, slightly hysterical laugh. ‘You don’t know her very well, do you?’

He smiled ruefully. ‘No. No, I don’t.’ And it was ridiculous that he minded the fact.

Lydia looked up as they went back in, and she scanned Claire’s face.

‘Did you ring the radio station?’

‘Yes.’

‘Has …’ She could hardly bring herself to ask the question, but she took another breath and tried again. ‘Has Jo got there yet?’ she asked, and then held her breath. It was possible she’d been unlucky, that she hadn’t managed to get a flight, that any one of a hundred things could have happened.

They hadn’t. She could see it in Claire’s eyes, she didn’t need to be told that Jo and Kate, her minder, were already there, and she felt the bitter sting of tears scald her eyes.

‘She’s there, isn’t she?’ she asked, just because she needed confirmation.

Claire nodded, and Lydia turned her head away, shutting her eyes against the tears. She was so, so cross with herself. They’d been so close to winning, and if she’d only been more careful, gathered up the stupid dress so she could see the steps.

She swallowed hard and looked back up at Claire’s worried face. ‘Tell her well done for me when you see her.’

‘I will, but you’ll see her, too. We’ve got rooms in the hotel for the night. I’ll ring them now, let them know what’s happening. We can go there when they discharge you.’

‘No, I could be ages. Why don’t you go, have a shower and something to eat, see the others and I’ll get them to ring you if there’s any change. Or better still, if you give me back my phone and my purse, I can call you and let you know when I’m leaving, and I’ll just get a taxi.’

‘I can’t leave you alone!’

‘She won’t be alone, I’ll stay with her. I’m staying anyway, whether you’re here or not,’ Massimo said firmly, and Lydia felt a curious sense of relief. Relief, and guilt.

And she could see the same emotions in Claire’s face. She was dithering, chewing her lip in hesitation, and Lydia took her hand and squeezed it.

‘There, you see? And his brother works here, so he’ll be able to pull strings. It’s fine, Claire. Just go. I’ll see you later.’ And she could get rid of Massimo once Claire had gone …

Claire gave in, reluctantly. ‘OK, if you insist. Here, your things. I’ll put them in your bag. Where is it?’

‘I have no idea. Is it under the bed?’

‘No. I haven’t seen it.’

‘It must have been left on the ground at the airport,’ Massimo said. ‘My men will have picked it up.’

‘Can you check? My passport’s in it.’

‘Si.’ He left them briefly, and when he came back he confirmed it had been taken by the others. ‘I’ll make sure you get it tonight,’ he promised.

‘Thanks. Right, Claire, you go. I’m fine.’

‘You will call me and let me know what’s going on as soon as you have any news?’

‘Yes, I promise.’

Claire gave in, hugging Lydia a little tearfully before she left them.

Lydia swallowed. Damn. She was going to join in.

‘Hey, it’s all right. You’ll be OK.’

His voice was gentle, reassuring, and his touch on her cheek was oddly comforting. Her eyes filled again.

‘I’m causing everyone so much trouble.’

‘That’s life. Don’t worry about it. Are you going to tell your family?’

Oh, cripes. She ought to phone Jen, but she couldn’t. Not now. She didn’t think she could talk to her just yet.

‘Maybe later. I just feel so sleepy.’

‘So rest. I’ll sit with you.’

Sit with her and watch her. Do what he should have done years ago.

She shut her eyes, just for a moment, but when she opened them again he’d moved from her side. She felt a moment of panic, but then she saw him. He was standing a few feet away reading a poster about head injuries, his hands rammed in his pockets, tension radiating off him.

Funny, she’d thought it was because of the blood, but there was no sign of blood now apart from a dried streak on her dress. Maybe it was hospitals generally. Had Angelina been ill for a long time?

Or maybe hospitals just brought him out in hives. She could understand that. After Jen’s accident, she felt the same herself, and yet he was still here, still apparently labouring under some misguided sense of obligation.

He turned his head, saw she was awake and came back to her side, his dark eyes searching hers.

‘Are you all right?’

She nodded. ‘My head’s feeling clearer now. I need to ring Jen,’ she said quietly, and he sighed and cupped her cheek, his thumb smoothing away a tear she hadn’t realised she’d shed.

‘I’m sorry, cara. I know how much it meant to you to win this for your sister.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said dismissively, although of course it would to Jen. ‘It was just a crazy idea. They can get married at home, it’s really not an issue. I really didn’t think I’d win anyway, so we haven’t lost anything.’