It was a busy house. The drinks and pastries that had been set up were not just for Luca and Emma’s benefit, but for an endless parade of guests, all wanting to meet Luca’s girlfriend and to wish Daniela well for her big day. And Luca saw the strain showing in Emma’s smiling face as the shadows lengthened, and he was proud of her, proud at how easy she had made it for him to be here, and he wanted to make it easier for her too.
‘I thought I might take Emma out for dinner. I know you are busy…’
There were protests from Mia, of course, but not too many. Rico was tired and wanted to get back to his bed, and Daniela was calling for help from the bedroom. Just a typical family two days before a wedding, and, as pleasant as the afternoon had been, it was rather nice to get out.
They walked through his village, the scent of the sea filling the late summer sky, and he took her to a local restaurant. No matter how many Italian restaurants she had been to before, nothing could compare to the simple fare of fresh pasta swished in basil pesto and lavishly smothered in Parmesan. The wine was rich and deep and fruity, and they sat outside drinking it, bathed in citronella-fragranced candlelight. Though they had eaten out together on many occasions, both in London and abroad, this was nothing like a business dinner, because here no business was discussed.
Her eyes were huge in the candlelight, her laughter infectious, and for the first time at home Luca relaxed, till the conversation turned personal.
‘So you brought Martha here…’ She took a sip of her wine rather than look at him.
‘It was a bad idea,’ Luca finally admitted. ‘Martha insisted it would change nothing.’
‘But it did?’
‘My family assumed we were serious—and then Martha started believing it too.’
‘Is it so impossible?’ Emma blinked. ‘You talk as if you’ve no intention of ever settling down.’
‘I don’t,’ Luca said. ‘I would grow bored, restless…I would rather have my pick.’ He gave her a smile. ‘Italian men get better looking as they get older, so I don’t think I’ll be short of company.’
And it was honest, so why did it hurt her?
The thought of him in years to come, that jet hair dashed with silver, his distinguished features slightly more ravaged—this beautiful man walking the planet alone…yes, she couldn’t deny that it hurt.
‘I’m surprised you haven’t built a hotel here, if you don’t like staying with your family.’ Emma refused to get morose.
‘It is often suggested by developers, but it would ruin it. There are natural springs close by, so it would certainly be a tourist paradise, but…’ Luca shook his head. ‘No.’ He had no desire to be here any more than he had to and no desire to discuss his family further, so he concentrated on their meal instead. ‘There are two desserts,’ Luca translated the menu for her. ‘Tiramisu or tiramisu with cream…’
He liked it that she laughed, liked it that she didn’t decline dessert and instead ordered it with cream, liked eating with a woman who actually enjoyed it!
‘They make it once a week, and each night they soak in a little more liquor, so by Friday it has reached perfection,’ he told her.
‘Then thank God it’s Friday.’ She smiled.
She had tasted many tiramisus—good and bad, tiramisu ice cream, tiramisu from the supermarket, even tiramisu from an expensive Italian restaurant Luca had taken her to with clients, but as the sweet moist dessert met her mouth Emma realised she had never really tasted tiramisu.
‘It’s gorgeous.’ She closed her eyes and relished it for a moment.
And so are you, Luca thought, watching her.
She could feel his eyes on her, and dashed to the ladies to touch up her make-up, wrestled with underwear that was supposed to smooth out bumps and realised that maybe the tiramisu was more potent than it looked as she struggled to replace the top on her lip gloss.
Or she’d had too much wine with dinner, Emma thought, staring at her glittering eyes and rosy cheeks.
Or maybe it was just a reaction to the company!
Even if it wasn’t real, it was so good to be away, to forget, to be twenty-five years old today and go out for dinner with the sexiest man in the world.
He signed for the bill and they wandered back, taking the sandy route. Emma slipped off her sandals, feeling a million miles from London, from everything, as her feet sank into the wet sand, and her ankles were bathed by the warm sea.
‘How can you bear to stay away?’ she murmured.
‘You eventually get tired of the view,’ Luca said, ‘no matter how beautiful.’
‘I meant from your family.’