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

Although Ella was busy on Friday, she was surprised to discover that she missed not seeing Rico, and the highlight of her day was when he called her.

Which was utterly ridiculous. She didn’t need a man to make her life complete. Especially one who clearly wasn’t going to give anything of himself.

On Saturday, Rico arrived at Ella’s kitchen at half-past eight, just when she was putting cupcakes in a box. ‘What’s that?’ he asked, going over to the plate where a single cupcake sat. Then he laughed, seeing his name piped on top of the icing. ‘Now that’s cute.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You were supposed to ask if any of those cakes were going begging. And then I was going to tell you that, actually, one of them had your name on it, and present you with that one.’

He wrapped his arms round her waist and kissed her. ‘I like your sense of humour, bellezza. Are you done, or is there anything I can do to help?’

‘I’m just dropping these off at the cafés. You can be my delivery boy and carry the boxes, if you like.’

‘Delivery boy, hmm? I assume the payment is in cake. But I should ask before accepting the job what the benefits package is.’

Oh, the ideas that put in her head. ‘Cake,’ she said firmly. She wrapped catering film over his cupcake and put it in the fridge.

He laughed and stole a kiss. ‘OK. Today’s “acquaintances”, too. I get it. Give me the boxes, bellezza.’

Once they’d dropped off the cakes, they caught the Tube to Trafalgar Square. ‘I used to come here with my mum to feed the pigeons when I was a little girl,’ she said, ‘but people are banned from feeding them now.’

‘I can see why. Their droppings do a lot of damage to stonework, and they’re a health hazard. I don’t encourage them at any of my hotels, either,’ Rico said. He gazed round the square. ‘So this is the famous fountain—the one everyone jumps into on New Year’s Eve?’

‘Well, not everyone. And I imagine this probably feels a bit plain and small to you, after all the gorgeous ones in Rome, but it’s had a makeover recently, so it’s lit up by coloured lights at night. And the water goes higher now than I ever remember it being when I was a child,’ she said.

‘No, it’s charming,’ he said.

They wandered along to see the bronze Landseer lions guarding Nelson’s Column. ‘I like these, too. Very stately,’ he said with a smile.

‘We could go to the National, as we’re here,’ she said. ‘Or, as it’s a nice day, maybe we can walk by the river. There are usually street performers on the South Bank at weekends.’

‘It’s too nice to go indoors,’ he agreed.

Over on the South Bank, there were indeed the street performers she’d promised: living statues, jugglers, a contortionist, a man making balloon animals for children, and a string quartet in full evening dress playing Mozart.

There were also a crowd of artists, sketching caricatures and portraits of willing punters. He smiled. ‘They’re like the ones at the top of the Spanish Steps. Rome isn’t so very different from London.’ He gazed up at the London Eye. ‘That’s on our list, yes?’

‘Yes. I’m not sure whether to take you there by day or by night.’

‘We’ll do both.’ He gave her a wicked grin. ‘Seeing as I’m such a spoiled rich kid.’

She sighed. ‘I did apologise for that.’

‘I know. I’m angling for a kiss better.’

‘Oh, you fraud.’

‘Please?’ He batted his eyelashes at her. ‘Pretty please with sugar on it?’

How could she resist? This was a different side of Rico. A playboy, but not a selfish one. And she really, really liked this side of him. Though at the same time it made her nervous. Was this the real Rico? She couldn’t tell; and it worried her how easy it would be to let herself fall for him. How could she fall for him when she wasn’t sure she could trust him?

When he saw the children playing in the fountain installation, jumping the boundaries between each ‘room’ made from the fountain jets when they died down, he tugged at her hand. ‘Come on. That looks like fun.’

‘I’m not sure if there’s a set rotation of the walls or if it’s random,’ she said.

He watched the walls of water for a while. ‘Random. Which is more fun. Your choice which way we jump—now!’

She picked the wrong one, and they both got soaked as the water rose up between the grids. Rico simply laughed and kissed her.

‘Typical Roman boy—can’t resist the fountains,’ she teased.

They lay on the grass in Jubilee Gardens to dry out, enjoying the early summer sunshine. ‘Do you like Chinese food?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Good—we’ll eat in Chinatown tonight.’

He smiled. ‘I love it when you go all bossy on me.’

She coughed. ‘Isn’t that a bit pots and kettles?’

‘A bit what?’

‘Pots and kettles.’ She flapped an apologetic hand at him. ‘Sorry, your English is so good that I forget you might not know all the idioms. It’s a saying, “the pot calling the kettle black”—because they were both covered in soot. Or were, in the days when people cooked over an open fire,’ she explained.

‘Hypocritical, you mean. As in me calling you bossy when I’m just as bad.’

‘Yes.’

He leaned over and kissed her until she was dizzy. ‘If we weren’t in a public place, I’d show you just how bossy I can be,’ he whispered.

He’d actually made her forget where they were. And that people were all round them—people who could see him kissing her so passionately, and the way she responded to him. Colour rushed into her face, and he laughed. ‘I love the way you blush. You’re so cute, Ella bellezza. And you’re like nobody else I’ve ever met.’

‘I hope that’s meant in a nice way.’

‘Yes.’ And Rico was surprised by how much he was enjoying Ella’s company. He could relax with her, be himself, act on crazy impulses and play in a fountain with her—and she didn’t complain that her hair was ruined or sulk about getting splashed. He was enjoying himself more than he had in years.

Yet, at the same time, it made him panic. It would be, oh, so easy to fall for Ella Chandler. To be hers for the taking.

But what if, once he let her that close, he wasn’t enough for her? Just as he hadn’t been enough for his parents. Just as he wasn’t enough for his grandparents.

He’d never really loved anyone. And maybe he never would be able to love someone the way that Ella would want to be loved. Maybe it just wasn’t in him.

‘Come on, bellezza. You’re supposed to be showing me round London.’ And he needed serious distraction from his thoughts. The best way to distract himself would be to carry Ella to his bed—sex always worked—but he’d promised not to rush her. And he had a nasty feeling that sex was different with Ella because she was something special.

Exactly the opposite of what he’d been trying to prove to himself.

They continued their tour of London; in the evening, she took him to a restaurant in Chinatown. The incredibly abrupt waiter waved them downstairs, where another waiter sat them on a large table with several complete strangers, then banged down a pot of jasmine tea and two handleless cups in front of them.

‘The service here won’t have the finesse you’re used to,’ she said, ‘but I promise the food makes up for it. They do the best crispy duck in London.’

‘It’s an experience, I’ll give you that,’ Rico said with a grin.

‘And we’re going halves on the bill. Equals, remember.’

‘Sì, signorina.’ He dipped his head and gave her a deferential look. She rolled her eyes and punched his arm, and he just laughed.

After their meal, they wandered back through Leicester Square.

‘I don’t know if I dare suggest stopping here for an ice cream. Not when Italian ice cream is the best in the world,’ Ella said, looking longingly in the window of one of the ice-cream shops.

‘If you want an ice cream, bellezza, that’s fine. Though I’ll pass, because I happen to know there’s a cupcake with my name on it in your fridge and I want to make sure I can do it justice.’

They caught the DLR back to Greenwich, and she produced the cupcake from the fridge. ‘Enjoy.’

He savoured every mouthful. ‘I’m seriously thinking about kidnapping you and making you my personal pastry chef.’

‘So I’d cook at your whim?’

‘No. You can cook whatever and whenever you like. Your pleasure will be mine.’

It was suddenly hard to breathe, because she knew he wasn’t just talking about food. And he had a point. She got a real kick out of pleasing him; and it was entirely mutual.

As if he guessed at her thoughts, he drew her towards him. He kissed her until she forgot what day it was, then brought her to an incredibly intense climax before taking it much more slowly and doing it all over again.

Curled up in bed beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, she asked softly, ‘So are you staying tonight?’

Stay.

Rico was shocked by how much he wanted to take her up on that offer.

But this really wasn’t a good idea. Sex was one thing, but intimacy was quite another. Dangerous. He still didn’t want his heart involved. And she was vulnerable; he was pretty sure that most of her assertions were utter bravado and what she really wanted was a family. Something he’d never be able to give her.

Gently, he disengaged himself from her. ‘Sorry. I’ve skived off all day, so I’ll have a pile of emails waiting for me when I get back to the hotel,’ he said. He knew he was using his business as an excuse, but he didn’t want to hurt her. ‘But I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He smiled to soften his words. ‘My personal tour guide promised me the Changing of the Guard.’

‘Buckingham Palace is nearer you than me, so I’ll meet you at The Fountain,’ she said.

‘Fine. What time?’

‘Is nine o’clock too early?’

‘Nine o’clock is fine. I’ll see you then.’

Ella hid her disappointment that Rico didn’t stay. This was a fling and nothing more. So why did she feel so empty as soon as he was gone …?

On Sunday, Rico was waiting in the reception area of The Fountain when Ella walked in. ‘Buongiorno, Ella bellezza,’ he said.

‘Good morning. Are you ready to play tourist?’

‘Absolutely.’ He gave her a wide smile.

They were near enough to walk to the palace from his hotel, and eventually joined the queue of people waiting outside Buckingham Palace. At last, the soldiers in their red tunics and tall bearskin hats marched onto the forecourt outside the palace, and he enjoyed watching the spectacle. Though he had a nasty feeling that, more than that, what he was really enjoying was being with her.

She smiled at him when it was over. ‘So there you have it. One very British tradition.’

‘Nothing like you’d see in Rome. You might get the odd Roman legion and a bunch of senators in the Circus Maximus on a weekend—usually re-enactment groups—but I’ve not seen anything like this before.’

‘I’m glad I’ve shown you something new.’ She laced her fingers through his as the old guard marched away. ‘You showed me the grisly bits of Rome. It’s time I returned the favour—we’ll go and see the Tower of London.’

‘So is this the oldest building in London?’ he asked as they walked inside the complex.

‘Just about,’ she said. ‘Though your Colosseum’s a thousand years older. William the Conqueror started it with the White Tower, and various kings extended the buildings over the years. I remember my mum taking me here when I was small; I was fascinated by the Beefeaters and their hats. And the ravens.’

‘Let’s go and see the ravens,’ he said.

The ravens stalked across a patch of ground by the Wakefield Tower. ‘According to legend, the kingdom and the tower will fall if the ravens fly away, so their wings are clipped to make sure they don’t,’ Ella told him.

‘Poor things. They’re trapped.’ Which was how he’d felt at university. He’d been groomed to take over Rossi Hotels, so he knew that choosing any other career would mean letting his family down; his father was totally useless, and Rico was the only grandchild. The only one who could continue the business. Without him, hundreds of jobs would be at risk, and that wasn’t fair on the staff who’d worked for Rossi Hotels for years.

Yet it wasn’t fair on him, either, to have all his choices taken away. Frustration at being hemmed in had nearly sent him off the rails; and then his best friend had pointed out that, actually, the world was at his feet because he could take the business in any direction he liked and he didn’t have to follow his grandfather’s lead.

Which was precisely why his next hotel was going to be in London rather than in Italy. He was in charge, and he was putting his stamp on the firm. And this deal was going to be a lot bigger than the last one he’d made. He was branching out, in more ways than one—and he already knew his grandfather had reservations about it. Well, tough. Rico didn’t have reservations. He was going to make this work. And then maybe his grandfather would be forced to admit that Rico was doing just fine.

‘The ravens’ wings are almost the same colour as your hair,’ she said, ruffling it.

He caught her round the waist, spun her round and kissed her; she was pink and laughing by the time he’d finished.

‘Now, now. You’re not supposed to distract the tour guide,’ she scolded, but she was laughing as she spoke.

‘How long is it since you’ve been here?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure. Years. But I loved it as a child. The crown jewels, Henry VIII’s armour …’

‘What’s the significance of the polar bear?’ Rico asked, gesturing to the sculpture.

‘There used to be a menagerie here. Actually, there’s sort of a Roman connection, because the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II sent Henry III three leopards when Henry married Frederick’s sister Eleanor. It really snowballed from there; the King of Norway sent Henry a polar bear.’ She smiled. ‘My mum told me how the bear was kept on a long leash so he could swim in the Thames and catch fish. And then the King of France sent Henry an elephant. Apparently it came up the Thames by boat. Mum and I made up a song together about elephants in the tower, but I can’t remember how it goes now.’

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