‘I don’t normally bother with jewellery,’ Fran said, eyeing it dubiously.
‘Try it on and see what you think,’ the assistant suggested. ‘I reckon it matches the dress perfectly. Here—do you want me to do it up for you?’
Ten seconds later, Fran stared at herself in the mirror. The necklace really was the finishing touch, skimming across the middle of her collarbones and throwing the paleness of her skin into relief.
And the bulges she’d feared she’d see weren’t visible. Just curves.
‘It’s perfect. Don’t wear anything else, not even a watch,’ the assistant said. ‘What about shoes?’
‘I was thinking black high heels,’ Fran said.
‘Patent or suede?’
‘Suede.’
The assistant nodded. ‘Perfect. You’re going to blow his mind when he sees you.’
Not when she wasn’t his real girlfriend. ‘Maybe,’ she hedged.
‘There’s no maybe about it,’ the assistant said with a smile. ‘That dress was made for you.’
‘I was planning to get a little black dress. Something practical that I could dress up or down.’
‘You could,’ the assistant said, ‘but, believe me, nothing’s going to be as perfect as what you’re wearing right now.’
And Fran knew the assistant was right when she opened her front door to Gio and his jaw dropped.
‘Wow.’ Then he seemed to recover fast and go back to their usual teasing relationship. ‘You scrub up nicely, Francesca Marsden.’
So did he. In dark trousers and a silk shirt, he looked stunning. And very, very touchable.
He reached out and traced a fingertip just below the line of her necklace. The feel of his skin against hers made every nerve end quiver and her pulse speeded up.
‘Your dress is the same colour as your eyes. It’s fabulous,’ he said softly.
And she knew he meant it.
He wasn’t paying his pretend girlfriend a compliment in front of his family.
He was telling her this, here and now. In private.
‘Not just the dress. You look fabulous.’ Then he held out his hand. ‘We’d better go. The taxi’s waiting.’
She locked up and followed him out to the taxi. He held the door open for her—the perfect manners were typical of Gio—and it seemed as if hardly a minute passed before they were there.
‘Are you really sure you’re up to this?’ Gio asked. ‘The Mazetti clan is pretty big. It’s not too late to back out.’
‘I’ve already met Nonna, your parents and your sisters, your aunt and some of your cousins,’ she reminded him. ‘It’ll be fine.’
‘Then let’s do it.’ He slid his arm round her shoulders, and they walked into the hall together.
He’d said his family was big. But she hadn’t expected the place to be so utterly packed. Gio introduced her to person after person; although she was normally good with names, there were so many that she simply lost track.
And she had no idea who was topping up her glass, but the level of champagne never seemed to go down. It would be way too easy to drink too much and make a mistake—say something she shouldn’t. She made a mental note to put her glass down and forget about it.
‘Francesca, cara!’ Nonna came over to her, hugged her and kissed both cheeks. ‘You look lovely.’
‘So do you,’ Fran responded politely.
Nonna chuckled. ‘Ah, but I don’t have that extra sparkle—the look of a young woman in love.’
Maybe Gio’s family were seeing what they wanted to see, Fran thought. Or maybe after all these years she’d finally found her hidden talent: acting. Because she wasn’t in love with Gio.
Was she?
Before Nonna could say anything else, the band on stage played a fanfare.
Gio groaned. ‘Why do we have to do this every year?’
‘Because it wouldn’t be a birthday party without it, figlio mio,’ his father said, laughing and patting his shoulder.
‘You know the song,’ the singer said into the microphone. ‘Four times. Giovanni, Isabella, Giuditta and Marcella.’
The band played the introduction to ‘Happy Birthday to You’, and then were drowned out by the entire room singing in Italian. ‘Tanti auguri a te, Tanti auguri a te, Tanti auguri Giovanni, tanti auguri a te!’ The song was repeated for Gio’s sisters; and finally, there was a rousing set of cheers.
‘Your family definitely knows how to party,’ Fran said, smiling at Gio when the cheers had died down and the band was playing again.
‘Years of practice,’ Gio said. ‘Let’s get some food and escape outside. It’s boiling in here.’