The Italians: Rico, Antonio and Giovanni: The Hidden Heart of Rico Rossi / The Moretti Seduction / The Boselli Bride

‘It would be the sensible thing to do.’

The ‘but’ was loud and clear. She felt the same way he did. Mixed up and torn between the options. Safe and not safe.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you right from the start,’ he said.

‘I guess you had your reasons for what you did. I think they’re ridiculous reasons, but I suppose you weren’t doing it out of a sense of meanness.’

‘No, I wasn’t. It’s the way people are with me—they see me in terms of what I can do for them. With you, it felt different. I didn’t want that to change.’ She looked so cute, and he was so, so tempted just to lean forward and steal a kiss. But he held himself back. Just. ‘I really ought to go and find your clothes, let you get dressed, and take you down to dinner. But I have a feeling that they’re going to be pretty crumpled—just as mine are.’

‘I didn’t think of that.’ She bit her lip. ‘Everyone’s going to look at us in the restaurant when we walk in and jump to conclusions. Worst of all, they’re going to be right.’

‘Let’s order room service. We can eat in the other room. And it means we can try talking again, without an audience.’

‘OK. That sounds good.’

He handed her the menu. ‘Have a look through and choose what you want.’

He disappeared into the living room, then came back a few moments later with her clothes neatly stacked in a pile, which he placed on the chair. Shortly afterwards, she heard the shower running. He emerged from the bathroom wearing only a towel wrapped round his hips; she wasn’t sure whether it was his near-naked body or his smile that made her heart skip a beat.

‘Help yourself to whatever you need in the bathroom,’ he said. ‘By the way, I had a word with Reception. The hotel laundry service can press your stuff for you while we’re having dinner.’

Ella felt the colour bloom in her face. ‘Oh, God. So they know what we’ve—’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he cut in softly. ‘We’re not the first people who’ve got a bit carried away and we won’t be the last. Anyway, for all they know, you spilled something over your jacket and skirt and had to sponge your suit down.’

She knew he was trying to make her feel better. But it didn’t quite work. ‘Mmm,’ she said.

‘Look, there’s a robe behind the bathroom door. You’re very welcome to use that until your suit’s ready. Have you decided what you’d like from the menu?’

‘The salmon, please. And can I be greedy and have the chocolate-dipped strawberries for pudding?’

‘Great idea.’ Though the suddenly heated expression in his eyes told her that he had ideas about the strawberries. Ideas that involved her.

Ella almost, almost climbed out of bed, removed his towel and dragged him into the shower with her. But sense prevailed—just—and she waited until he’d left the bedroom before heading for the bathroom.

The hotel toiletries were gorgeous, citrus-scented, and the towels were large and super-soft. When she came out of the shower, she noticed that her suit and shirt had gone. So he’d kept his word about the laundry service, then.

Dressed in the soft, fluffy bathrobe, she padded barefoot back out to the living room where Rico was waiting for her.

‘Thank you for sorting out the laundry.’

‘Prego,’ he said, giving her a tiny bow.

He was fully dressed in a clean white shirt and chinos.

‘You’re pretty high maintenance, aren’t you?’ she asked.

‘How do you mean?’

‘You always wear a white shirt and it’s always pristine. I hate to think what your laundry bill’s like.’

‘Don’t you think I do them myself?’

‘No. Because I think you’ve costed out how much that time’s worth to you and you’d rather use that time in a more productive way,’ she said.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that you talking as an accountant, or are you giving me the reason why you use a laundry service?’

‘I do my own laundry, actually. Ironing time is good thinking time. And I’m an ex-accountant for the time being.’

‘I’ll try to remember that,’ he said dryly.

‘So you’re thinking of buying this hotel?’

‘It’s a possibility, yes.’

‘Why London?’

‘Because we already have four hotels in Rome, and to have any more would mean we’d be competing against ourselves.’

‘Expanding your empire into another country. Veni, vidi, vici. Maybe I should start calling you Julius,’ she teased.

He laughed. ‘London, Paris, then maybe Vienna or Barcelona. I have plans.’

‘So that’s your dream. To be a hotel tycoon.’

‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Actually, I like this hotel. There are a few tweaks I’d want to make, but I can see it fitting in with the rest of the Rossi chain. It’s big enough to have every comfort, but it’s not so big that it’s impersonal. The staff care about the guests, and the facilities are good. And the figures stack up. It doesn’t need much work to bring it in line with the rest of my hotels.’

‘What if the figures didn’t stack up?’

‘Then I would’ve looked at other hotels.’ He smiled. ‘Like you, I have back-up plans. And, talking of your business, I meant to ask—how was your first day, post-launch?’

‘Busy,’ she said. ‘I have a few orders for celebration cakes to take me into the next six weeks, and some regular cupcake orders from a couple of local cafés that will keep me ticking over in between.’

‘If you’re experimenting with different frostings, I’d be happy to lend my services as a taste-tester. You make the best chocolate cake I’ve ever eaten.’

‘Thank you for the compliment.’ She smiled. ‘And I might take you up on that taste-testing thing. Provided you’re totally honest with me.’

‘I’m not going to lie to you again, Ella.’

‘I don’t mean that—I mean, being polite. Fudging the issue so you don’t hurt my feelings. I need to know if something works or not. If it doesn’t, then I can tweak the recipe until it does work.’

‘Honest feedback’s important. It’s what I want from my guests, too,’ he said. ‘OK. It’s a deal.’

Room service arrived, and the waiter served their meal at the table that Ella guessed Rico used as a desk during the day. The food was excellent, and by the end of the meal she’d lost her residual shyness and was totally relaxed in Rico’s company. It really didn’t matter any more that he was properly dressed and she was only wearing a bathrobe.

All the same, she was glad when her suit and shirt arrived, neatly pressed, along with their coffee.

‘Don’t change back into your clothes just yet. Come and sit with me,’ Rico said, shepherding her over to the sofa.

She curled up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder and enjoying the warmth of his body against hers.

‘Tell me about Julia,’ he said.

‘She’s my best friend. I’ve known her since we were ten.’

‘And she’s an English teacher and film buff.’

‘Yes.’ Ella was surprised he’d remembered that; then again, to do what he did, Rico needed a keen eye for detail.

‘You seemed very close.’

Mmm, and he’d called Julia her guard dog. ‘Ju’s like the sister I never had.’

‘You don’t have a brother, either? Your mum didn’t remarry?’

‘I’m an only child. And Mum didn’t marry my father in the first place.’ Ella pulled away from him. Well, he might as well know what he was getting into if he planned to start seeing more of her. Even if it was supposed to be acquaintances with benefits and no emotional entanglement. ‘He was already married to someone else. Mum didn’t have a clue that he wasn’t single until she fell pregnant with me. Then, when she told him she was expecting me, he told her that she’d have to deal with it.’ She lifted her chin. ‘In other words, get rid of me. Which she refused to do. So he dumped her.’

‘That’s appalling.’ Rico winced. ‘I’m beginning to see why you have a thing about lies.’

‘It wasn’t just Mum he lied to. It was his wife, too. And I’d bet Mum wasn’t the first to fall for him—or the last.’ She sighed. ‘My grandparents didn’t react very well to the news that she was expecting me and the baby’s father didn’t want to know. She was an only child—a very late baby—and they were more like her grandparents than her parents, with an older generation’s views on morality.’

Rico sucked in a breath. ‘Please tell me they got over it and supported her.’

‘Far from it. They said they were ashamed of her. They, too, wanted her to get rid of me. When she refused, they threw her out,’ Ella said grimly. ‘But Mum managed to find a flat, and when I was growing up she worked three jobs to make sure she could put food on the table for both of us.’

‘Which is why you wanted a safe job when you grew up.’

‘Financial security.’ She nodded. ‘And it was fine. I could do my cakes in my spare time. I’ve just been incredibly lucky and now I have a chance to do what I really love and make a living from it.’ She blinked away the threatening tears. ‘I just wish I’d won that money when Mum was still here, so I could’ve treated her and made some of her dreams come true, too. And I would’ve bought her a flat, given her the security she always wanted and never really had.’

He frowned. ‘Didn’t your father have to pay her maintenance?’

‘Mum wouldn’t have taken it, even if he’d offered. It wasn’t about the money, for her. And I’m pretty sure he didn’t offer in any case. What I found when I was going through her things last year, after she died …’ She grimaced. ‘When I was a kid, I used to feel it that I didn’t have a dad—I really envied my friends who had two parents to go home to, and who talked about their dads teaching them to swim or ride a bike. I didn’t even have an uncle. But now I’m glad he’s never been part of my life. I don’t think he’s the kind of man I’d want to know.’

‘What did you find?’ Rico asked softly.

‘Thirty-six envelopes. Each one contained a photograph of me on my birthday or at Christmas, for every single year since I was born. And every one was marked “return to sender”.’ Ella tried not to grind her teeth. ‘Her letters never asked him for a thing. She was only writing to let him know how I was getting on. She told him about me, and she really tried to build some kind of connection between us—but he threw it back in her face every single time. She even sent the letters to his office rather than to his home, so it wouldn’t be like rubbing his wife’s face in it. But he just didn’t want to know.’

‘Thirty-six envelopes. And you’re twenty-eight?’

‘Yes.’

‘So he must’ve kept some?’

Ella shook her head. ‘Mum gave up sending them when I turned eighteen. So now you know why I don’t have a family. I probably have half-siblings somewhere out there—who knows how many other women fell for the same lies that my mum did?—but they’ve never tried to find me, and I don’t need them. I have good friends, and that makes me luckier than a lot of people.’

‘Did your grandparents soften once they met you?’

‘No. Mum tried to stay in touch with them, but they refused to see us. And it’s too late for any reconciliation now—they both passed away, some years back.’

‘It was their loss, not yours.’ Rico pulled her onto his lap and held her close.

For a moment Ella thought that she saw something in his expression—something that told her he understood how she felt because he’d been badly let down himself—but he masked it so quickly that she couldn’t be sure.

Sitting so close with him like this made her feel so warm, so secure. And the question slipped out before she realised what she was going to say. ‘So do I get to see you tomorrow?’

‘Maybe. What time do you finish?’

‘I’m not sure. Late afternoon, I guess.’ She thought about it. ‘I have two celebration cakes to make and flat-ice, and then I need to do some of the sugar work for them, as well as make the cupcakes for the two local cafés who’ve agreed to stock my cakes. And there’s the business admin stuff. If I keep on top of it, then it won’t take long. If I leave it to pile up, it’ll be a chore.’

‘So the cupcakes have to be ready before the cafés open. Does this mean a really early start?’

She smiled. ‘That rather depends on whether you call six a.m. early.’

‘I’d better get you home, then. It’s not fair to make you burn the candle at both ends. If you want to get dressed in my bedroom, I’ll call a taxi.’

‘Thank you.’

The phone rang as she walked back into the living room. Rico answered it. ‘That’s great. Thank you very much.’ He turned to Ella. ‘That was Reception. They’re very efficient—the taxi’s here already.’

‘Thank you. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’

‘I’ll see you home. I would’ve driven you myself, but I haven’t sorted out a car yet.’

Outside her flat, he kissed her lingeringly in her doorway.

‘What time do you finish tomorrow?’ she asked.

‘That depends on how my meetings go.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Plus I have a pile of paperwork to get through and a few phone calls to make to Rome.’

‘Call me when you’re free,’ she said.

‘I’ll do that.’ He kissed her again. ‘Goodnight, Ella bellezza. Sweet dreams.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

WHEN Ella’s alarm clock went off at five-thirty the next morning, she woke with a smile on her face. This was everything she’d wanted: being her own boss, organising her own work and being responsible for everything. And she didn’t mind the early starts, because she loved what she was doing.

And she loved the way her schedule was coming together. The way she was able to work at a pace to suit her, to music she enjoyed listening to, and she didn’t have to change things to suit other people. Perfect.

She baked the cupcake orders for the two local cafés; while the cakes were cooling, she made the fruit cakes and put them in the oven. Once she’d iced the cupcakes, she dropped off the boxes to her clients, then came back to check on the fruit cakes and start making the sugar roses. The Madeira cake was next; finally, when all the large cakes had cooled, she flat-iced them, ready for decorating.

She’d just washed up and put the icing bowls away when her mobile phone rang.

‘Hi. You asked me to call you when I was done,’ Rico said.

And how crazy it was that hearing his voice made her heart beat faster. This wasn’t good. ‘Uh-huh.’ If she had any sense left, she’d tell him she was too busy to see him. But her mouth had other ideas. ‘Are you coming over now?’

‘It’s a good time?’

Tell him no, her common sense urged.

‘It’s fine. See you when you get here.’

‘I’m on my way. Ciao, bellezza.’

Ella had just about finished tidying her kitchen when he arrived.

‘Wow, you made these?’ he said, looking at the sugar roses. ‘They’re incredibly delicate. And very realistic.’

‘They’re for a wedding cake—though it’s one that was booked in weeks ago. Normally people book cakes like this at least six weeks in advance.’

‘How fast can you do a celebration cake?’

‘If it’s just a normal-sized cake and I don’t have to do carving or armature or lots of intricate sugar-paste work, I can do one in a day—baking it, flat-icing it and basic decoration.’

‘Carving and armature?’ Rico asked, looking puzzled.

‘Shaped cakes. Some of them need support so they don’t collapse—that’s the armature bit.’ She took her display book from the shelf and flicked through it until she found the page she wanted. ‘Like my dinosaur.’

‘This is a million miles away from what I do in my job,’ Rico said. ‘I wouldn’t even know where to start, making something like that. And how do you get the colours on the icing?’

‘I hand-paint it. It’s pretty labour-intensive, but I love doing it. Creating someone’s dream out of sugar, butter, eggs and flour.’ She smiled at him, ‘So what do you want to do this evening?’

‘Are we talking acquaintances or benefits?’

To her annoyance, she actually blushed. ‘Acquaintances. Rico, I hope you realise I don’t sleep around.’

‘Neither do I. Don’t believe everything you read in the press.’

She stared at him, shocked. ‘The press follow you about?’

‘In Italy, sometimes. It depends who I’m seeing.’

‘I’m a nobody, so you should be safe,’ she said dryly.

‘That wasn’t what I meant. But the press blow things up out of proportion and twist a story to suit themselves. If everything they said about me was true, there’d be so many notches I wouldn’t actually have a bedpost left. Dating someone doesn’t necessarily mean sleeping with them.’ He leaned forward and stole a kiss. ‘Let’s start again. What do you want to do this evening?’

Her mouth was tingling—and that kiss had been the lightest and sweetest of touches. He tempted her so badly that she could barely resist him. ‘Do you want to come upstairs for a mug of coffee while we think about it?’

‘Sure.’ He followed her up to her flat. ‘What sort of thing do you normally do in the evenings?’

‘It depends what kind of day I’ve had.’ She switched on the kettle and shook grounds into a cafetière. ‘I might go to the cinema or out for a drink with friends; I might just go for a walk by the river; or I might collapse on the sofa in front of the telly.’ She gave him a wary look. ‘I should perhaps warn you I’m really not into clubbing.’

‘Good. Me, neither.’ He looked at the photographs pinned with magnets to her fridge. ‘That must be your mum.’

‘Yes.’ She had to swallow hard. Even now, a year later, she still missed her mother badly. Missed her smile, her gentle calmness, her common sense.

‘She’s very like you,’ he commented.

‘I hope so.’ She definitely hoped she hadn’t inherited any of her father’s genes. Pushing the thought away, she suggested, ‘Maybe we can go for a walk by the river? It’s really pretty here in Greenwich.’

‘I’d like that. And I’d like to see more of London while I’m here. What’s the epitome of London?’

She thought about it. ‘I guess it’d be something like the Changing of the Guard outside Buckingham Palace. Mind you, you need to be there early to get a decent spot to see it, so it’ll have to be a weekend.’

‘We’ll leave that for Saturday, then.’

She gave him a regretful smile. ‘Sorry, I can’t make it. I’m working.’

‘You’re working six days a week?’ Rico looked concerned. ‘You’re risking burnout if you keep up that kind of pace.’

‘Unless I have a really big celebration cake to sort out, it’s only half a morning on Saturdays, enough to keep the cafés stocked with cupcakes. They’re closed on Sundays, so I can take Sundays off,’ she explained.

‘Let’s do the Changing of the Guard on Sunday, then.’

He hadn’t given her any idea about his schedule; she didn’t have a clue when he was going back to Rome. ‘Are you in London for very long?’

‘Possibly.’

Which served her right for asking a closed question. Then again, she had the feeling that Rico could turn the most open question into a closed one.

‘We should make a list of places we’re going to see.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re such a control freak, Rico.’

‘You work with lists,’ he pointed out, gesturing to the lists held to her fridge door by magnets.

‘I like being organised.’

‘Now who’s the control freak?’ he teased, and kissed her.

If he kept this up, she’d forget all about making acquaintances and go straight for benefits. ‘Busted,’ she said, and moved away from him to make the coffee—while she still could. ‘With you coming from Rome, I guess we should do a tour of Roman London. We can start with the Roman Wall; plus there’s a Roman bath near the Strand, and an amphitheatre under the Guildhall. And guide books are bound to list other stuff I don’t know about.’

‘So you’re going to be my personal tour guide of London?’

‘Ironic, considering how I met you.’ She coughed. ‘Except I’m not pretending to be a guide.’

‘I wasn’t pretending. I was doing the job—and I didn’t hear any complaints from you,’ he reminded her.

‘No. You really made the Colosseum come alive for me. You know a lot about your home city.’

‘Because I love Rome,’ he said simply. ‘It’s the only place I ever want to live.’

So this thing between them, she thought, had definite limits. She had no intention of moving to Rome, and he had no intention of moving here. Not permanently. So she’d take the warning as read. This was a fling, until his interest waned. She’d enjoy it while it lasted, but she wouldn’t expect anything more from him.

He took a mouthful of the coffee she gave him. ‘This is good. Thanks.’

‘My pleasure.’

‘Let’s make that list. Do you have a laptop?’

She fetched it and placed it on the kitchen table between them. He scooped her onto his lap and wrapped his arms round her waist. ‘Now we can both see the screen,’ he said.

‘We could both see it perfectly well from where we were sitting,’ she pointed out.

‘Yes, but this way is more comfortable.’ He kissed the curve of her neck.

He was right; it felt good to be held close to him like this. Not that she was going to tell him. She didn’t want him thinking that all he had to do was whistle and she’d sit up and beg.

Between them, and with the help of a few websites, they came up with a mixture of the famous sights and some quirky, out-of-the-way places to visit.

‘Enough for now. It’s a nice evening. Let’s go for that walk by the river,’ he said.

The sky was streaked with pink feathery clouds as they wandered hand in hand along the path by the Thames.

‘Since I’m being your personal tour guide, I should tell you that that’s the Royal Naval College,’ she said, pointing out the complex of beautiful white buildings and the twin grey domes with their gold clocks and weather vanes. ‘It was designed by Christopher Wren.’

‘Like St Paul’s. Which we need to add to our list,’ he said. ‘It’s gorgeous.’

They carried on down the Thames Path until they reached a waterfront pub. ‘I sometimes stop here for a drink with Ju,’ Ella said. ‘Apparently Dickens used to drink here. And the food’s OK, too, if you fancy something to eat?’

‘Sure.’ They had a drink on one of the wrought-iron balconies, then headed back inside when their food was ready; the waiter had found them a table overlooking the Thames.

When they came back out, the sky was midnight blue, fading almost to white and then deep orange at the horizon, and the buildings of London were all lit up. ‘That’s the Millennium Dome over there,’ she said, pointing out the white dome with its yellow, blue and red spikes. ‘It always reminds me of a birthday cake with candles on it.’

‘London’s beautiful by night,’ Rico said. He leaned down to kiss her. ‘And so are you.’

‘Thank you.’ It wasn’t just the words that touched Ella. Rico made her feel beautiful in the way he touched her, the way he listened to her. And he really had seemed interested in her job, not just as if he were being polite.

They walked hand in hand back to her flat.

‘Do you want to come in for coffee?’ she asked, unlocking the door.

‘Not coffee,’ he said, and dipped his head to kiss her.

By the time he broke the kiss, Ella was shaking with need. She made no protest when Rico scooped her up, pulled the door closed behind him, and carried her up the stairs to her bed. She wanted this every bit as much as he did, matching him touch for touch and kiss for kiss. And it shocked her how quickly he could make her climax. She’d never, ever experienced that kind of intensity before.

When he came back from the bathroom fully dressed, she blinked in surprise. Wasn’t he going to stay?

‘Not a good idea,’ he said softly, as if her thoughts had been written all over her face.

‘Will I see you tomorrow?’ she asked, hating herself for sounding needy but wanting to know the answer.

‘No. I’m up to my eyes. But I’ll call you. And I’ll see you on Saturday.’

‘Sure.’ Acquaintances with benefits. That was what they’d agreed. And she’d be a fool to want more. ‘I’ll see you later.’