From Florence With Love: Valtieri's Bride / Lorenzo's Reward / The Secret That Changed Everything

‘Got that,’ she said, waggling it at him with a smile. ‘It’s clothes. I want enough, but not too much. I don’t know what the weather will be like.’

‘It can get cold. Bring warm things for later, but don’t worry. You can buy anything you don’t have.’

‘I’m trying to stick to a sensible baggage allowance for when I come back.’

‘Don’t bother. I’ll pay the excess. Just bring what you need.’

‘What time are we leaving?’

‘Seven.’

‘Seven?’ she squeaked, and he laughed.

‘That’s a concession. I would have left at five, or maybe six.’

‘I’ll be ready whenever you tell me. Have you been shown to your room?’

‘Si. And the bathroom is opposite?’

‘Yes. I’m sorry it doesn’t have an en suite bathroom—’

‘Lydia, stop apologising for your home,’ he said gently. ‘I’m perfectly capable of crossing a corridor. I’ll see you at six for breakfast, OK?’

‘OK,’ she said, and for a heartbeat she wondered if he’d kiss her goodnight.

He didn’t, and she spent a good half-hour trying to convince herself she was glad.

They set off in the morning shortly before seven, leaving Jen and Andy still slightly stunned and busy planning their wedding, and she settled back in the soft leather seat and wondered if she’d completely lost her mind.

‘Which way are we going?’ she asked as they headed down to Kent.

‘The quickest route—northern France, across the Alps in Switzerland, past Lake Como and onto the A1 to Siena. We’ll stay somewhere on the way. I don’t want to drive through the Alps when I’m tired, the mountain roads can be a little tricky.’

Her heart thudded. They were staying somewhere overnight?

Well, of course they were, he couldn’t possibly drive whatever distance it was from Suffolk to Tuscany in one day, but somehow she hadn’t factored an overnight stop into her calculations, and the journey, which until now had seemed simple and straightforward, suddenly seemed fraught with the danger of derailing their best intentions.

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_519c8e91-fc35-5fa1-ba06-56a4a5fa21b4)

‘LYDIA?’

She stirred, opened her eyes and blinked.

He’d pulled up in what looked like a motorway service area, and it was dark beyond the floodlit car park. She yawned hugely and wrapped her hand around the back of her neck, rolling her head to straighten out the kinks.

‘Oh, ow. What time is it? I feel as if I’ve been asleep for hours!’

He gave her a wry, weary smile. ‘You have. It’s after nine, and I need to stop for the night before I join you and we have an accident.’

‘Where are we?’

‘A few miles into Switzerland? We’re getting into the mountains and this place has rooms. It’s a bit like factory farming, but it’s clean and the beds are decent. I’d like to stop here if they have any vacancies.’

‘And if they don’t?’

He shrugged. ‘We go on.’

But he must be exhausted. They’d only stopped twice, the last time at two for a late lunch. What if they only have one room? she thought, and her heart started to pound. How strong was her resolve? How strong was his?

She never found out. They had plenty of space, so he booked two rooms and carried her suitcase for her and put it down at the door. ‘We should eat fairly soon, but I thought you might want to freshen up. Ten minutes?’

‘Ten minutes is fine,’ she said, and let herself into her lonely, barren motel room. It was clean and functional as he’d promised, just another generic hotel room like all the rest, and she wished that for once in her life she had the courage to go after the thing she really wanted.

Assuming the thing—the person—really wanted her, of course, and he’d made it clear he didn’t.

She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. What was she thinking about? She didn’t want him! She wasn’t ready for another relationship. Not really, not if she was being sensible. She wanted to get her career back on track, to refocus her life and remember where she was going and what she was doing. She certainly didn’t need to get her heart broken by a sad and lonely workaholic ten years her senior, with three motherless children and a massively demanding business empire devouring all his time.

Even if he was the most fascinating and attractive man she’d ever met in her life, and one of the kindest and most thoughtful. He was hurting, too, still grieving for his wife, and in no way ready to commit to another relationship, no matter how deeply she might fall in love with him. He wouldn’t hurt her intentionally, but letting herself get close to him—that was a recipe for disaster if nothing else was.

‘Lydia?’

There was a knock at the bedroom door, and she turned off the bathroom light and opened it. Massimo was standing there in the corridor, in a fresh shirt and trousers, his hair still damp from the shower. He looked incredible.

‘Are you ready for dinner?’

She conjured up a smile. ‘Give me ten seconds.’

She picked up her bag, gave her lips a quick swipe of translucent colour as a concession to vanity and dragged a comb through her hair. And then, just out of defiance, she added a spritz of scent.

She might be travel weary, and she might not be about to get involved with him, but she still had her pride.

The dinner was adequate. Nothing more, nothing less.

He was tired, she was tired—and yet still they lingered, talking for an hour over their coffee. She asked about Isabelle and Luca’s baby, and how the children were, and he asked her about Jen’s progress and if she’d be off the crutches by the time of the wedding, whenever it would be.

They talked about his time at boarding school, and she told him about her own schooling, in a village just four miles from where she lived.

And then finally they both fell silent, and he looked at his watch in disbelief.

‘It’s late and tomorrow will be a hard drive,’ he said. ‘We should go to bed.’

The word bed reverberated in the air between them, and then she placed her napkin on the table and stood up a little abruptly. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry, you should have told me to shut up.’

He should. He should have cut it short and gone to bed, instead of sitting up with her and hanging on her every word. He paid the bill and escorted her back to her room, leaving a clear gap between them as he paused at her door.

Not because he wanted to, but because he didn’t, and if he got any closer, he didn’t trust himself to end it there.

‘Buonanotte, bella,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll wake you at five thirty.’