Her heart, which had taken a nosedive at the sight of Charlotte’s handwriting, flew up to hammer Rose in the ribs. To hide her horrified reaction, she turned very slowly to confront a tall, slim man with dark curling hair and a face that could be straight out of a Raphael portrait. A face she had never forgotten, though heaven knew she had tried. Here in the handsome, irresistible flesh was her reason for refusing all invitations to Tuscany—to avoid meeting up with her daughter’s father again.
‘Good heavens—Dante Fortinari,’ she said lightly when she could trust her voice. ‘What a surprise!’
‘A pleasant one, I hope?’ He took her hand, a light in his blue eyes that made her want to turn tail and run. ‘I am so very happy to see you again, Rose. Will you have a drink while you read your letter?’
Her first reaction was to refuse point-blank and tell him to get lost, but after a pause she nodded warily. ‘Thank you.’
‘Come.’ He led her to a table in the hushed sophistication of the lounge bar. ‘You would like wine?’
She felt in crying need of something even stronger than wine after the shock of seeing him again, but to keep her wits about her opted for water. ‘Sparkling water, please. Will you excuse me while I read this?’
Dante Fortinari gave the order to a waiter then sat watching intently while she read her letter. Rose Palmer had changed in the years since their last meeting at Charlotte Vilari’s wedding over four years ago. Then she had been an innocent just past her twenty-first birthday, but now she was very much a woman. Hair still the colour of caramello was swept up in a precarious knot that made his fingers yearn to bring it tumbling down. Combined with the severe dress, it gave her a look of sophistication very different from his memory of her. His mouth twisted. She had been so irresistible in her happiness for her friend that day, but the carefree young bridesmaid had now matured into a poised, self-contained adult who was very obviously not pleased to see him. This was no surprise. He had half expected her to snatch her letter and walk away, refusing to talk to him at all.
Rose, in the meantime, was reading Charlotte’s note in dismay.
You’ll want to hit me, love, when you read this—I don’t blame you one bit. Fabio woke me up yesterday morning with flowers, a gorgeous gold bracelet, plus tickets for a surprise trip to New York for today of all days.
God, Rose, the relief was enormous. I came across the tickets and hotel reservation by accident a while ago and immediately pole-vaulted to the wrong conclusion—that Fabio was taking someone else and pretending it was a business trip. And on our wedding anniversary! That was why I needed you so badly.
Sorry to be such a drama queen—I’ve been a total idiot. I was about to ring you to grovel and cancel your trip when Fabio insisted a little holiday would be very good for you after all your efforts to get away. I agreed wholeheartedly, so take it easy, Rose, and enjoy a taste of la dolce vita before you fly back. Lord knows you deserve it.
Enclosed is some spending money for meals and shopping—and Fabio says don’t dare refuse it or he’ll be very hurt. Buy presents, if nothing else. I’ll fly over to catch up very soon.
Love always, Charlotte.
‘Bad news?’ asked Dante.
Rose gave him a dazed look. ‘I flew here to meet Charlotte for a little holiday, but Fabio’s taken her on a surprise trip to New York today instead.’ She smiled valiantly to mask her crushing disappointment. ‘Never mind. I’ve always wanted to visit Florence.’