The Italian Count's Defiant Bride

‘Sort of, yes.’

‘What do you mean, “sort of”?’

Alicia took in a deep breath, her eyes blazing with excitement. ‘You’ll never guess who I ran into.’

Megan’s eyes widened. ‘The minute you’re let loose in Florence? Who?’

With drama, Alicia described the incident with her bag and the man who came to her rescue.

Meg snorted. ‘You mean that after all my dire warnings you let someone pick you up?’

‘Yes, Mother Hen! Literally. Otherwise I would have fallen on my nose.’

‘This rescuer—was he Italian?’

‘What did you expect, someone from Cardiff?’ Alicia’s dimples flashed wickedly. ‘Are you sitting comfortably, Megan dear? Because here’s the bit you won’t believe. It was Francesco da Luca.’

Meg stared at her, open-mouthed. ‘The Italian winger from your rugby gallery?’

‘The man himself.’ Alicia laid a hand on her heart. ‘The object of my girlish adoration.’

‘Did you tell him that?’

‘Of course not. But I did say I was a rugby fan.’

‘So what happened then?’

‘He insisted on buying me a cold drink to get over my little shock—only I asked for chocolate—and we sat at one of the outside Rivoire tables. We talked for ages, then he walked back here with me.’ Alicia smiled rapturously. ‘It must have been fate that sent me tumbling in front of him.’

‘And kindly made me sick so you were on your own,’ said Meg darkly, then grinned. ‘But I’m glad you had some excitement on your birthday, love.’

‘My mother will never believe me!’

‘Nor mine!’ Meg yawned widely. ‘Look, I’m not up to eating yet, but you must be hungry.’

‘Not really, after the hot chocolate. And you still look tired, so get your head down again. I’ll read for a while outside on the terrace.’ Alicia waved a paperback with anticipation. ‘What a treat! Fiction to wallow in instead of endless text-books. Try to sleep. I’ll see you later.’

But when she finally settled under an umbrella Alicia was too wired to concentrate on her novel. Instead she leaned back, eyes closed, reliving every moment of the meeting with Francesco. Eventually she gave up even pretending to read and went inside to see if Meg felt like eating something.

‘Great—I was just about to text you! Those just arrived.’ Meg yanked Alicia into the room to show her the flowers on the dressing table. ‘The receptionist brought them up. The posy of carnations is for me, because the card wishes me a swift recovery, but the roses are for Miss Alicia Cross.’

Alicia gazed in delight at the creamy, half-open blooms. The message on the card wished her a happy birthday, and asked Miss Alicia Cross and her friend to give Francesco da Luca the pleasure of dining with him that evening. He would call for them at eight to see if this was agreeable.

‘Agreeable? It’s fantastic! Sorry I was nosy, but I just had to see what he said.’ Meg’s eyes glittered in her pallid face. ‘So get your party dress on, girl. This is your night!’

‘It most certainly is not! I’m not leaving you on your own again, Megan,’ said Alicia indignantly. ‘When Francesco comes I’ll tell him you’re not well enough, and thank him nicely and say maybe some other time.’

‘Are you nuts? There won’t be another time.’ Meg pulled Alicia down on the edge of the bed beside her. ‘Look, this is a one-off, Lally. Go for it. If you’re in doubt ring your mother again first and see what she says.’

Alicia grinned ruefully. ‘If I do that, Bron will say no.’

‘And you really want to go out with your Francesco?’

‘Of course I do. But I wish you were well enough to go too.’

‘So do I, but as I look totally gruesome and can’t face the thought of food it’s just not on. Give Francesco my regrets.’ Meg patted Alicia’s hand. ‘Ring down for some tea for me, then hit the shower, deck yourself in some of your birthday gear, and get ready to party!’

There was soon a lot more argument while Alicia hassled the invalid into eating some of the toast ordered with the tea. But in the end she gave in to Meg’s urging and began to get ready.

‘Bron insisted I pack the dress she bought as part of my present, so do you think I’d better wear it tonight?’ Alicia asked, holding it against her.

‘Of course! That coffee-cream shade looks good on you. Subtle but pretty.’

‘I wanted black and strapless, not pretty,’ sighed Alicia. ‘But Bron vetoed that.’ She shivered suddenly and hung the dress back in the wardrobe. ‘Look, I’m not sure this evening’s a good idea—I’ll stay here with you.’

‘Rubbish. If you don’t keep your date with Signor Dreamboat, you’ll never stop kicking yourself afterwards. Now, move. Get into the underwear I gave you, and I’ll lend a hand with your hair after you do your face.’

All her life Alicia had longed for straight, dark hair like Meg’s. To tame her curly, coppery mane she usually wove it into a thick braid, but because this was a one-off special occasion Meg insisted on wielding the hair dryer and created looser waves that she ordered Alicia to leave down for once.

‘Looks great like that. Now, put your frock on and I’ll fall in a heap while you add the finishing touches.’ She crawled back into bed with a sigh of relief.

‘Oh Meg!’ said Alicia in remorse. ‘Now look at you.’

‘I’m fine. Hurry up. Put the new heels on and give me a twirl.’

Alicia pulled a face as she obeyed. ‘I hope I don’t have to walk far in these.’ She transferred a few belongings to a small clutch-bag and fastened on the gold chain-bracelet Meg’s parents had given her. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right? I’ve got my posh new phone if you need me.’

‘I won’t need you. I’ll read or watch telly.’ Meg smiled encouragingly. ‘For heaven’s sake go, girl. Enjoy your birthday!’

But Alicia suffered a bad attack of cold feet as she went down in the lift. Francesco might get entirely the wrong idea when she turned up alone. He knew nothing about her or her background. He might think she did this kind of thing all the time, whereas Meg’s brother Gareth and his friends were the only boys she knew. And to them she was just a freckle-faced kid.

When she reached the foyer Alicia’s heart leapt as Francesco walked through the door. Elegant in a superb linen suit, he was so much her every dream come true she pinched herself surreptitiously to make sure this was really happening.

‘Buona sera,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘You look delightful, Miss Alicia Cross.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled shyly. ‘Meg and I both thank you very much for the flowers, too, but I’m afraid there’s a problem—’

‘You cannot dine with me?’ he said quickly, his smile fading.

‘Meg’s not well enough to come.’ Alicia eyed him uncertainly. ‘Is it all right if I come with you on my own?’

Francesco’s eyes lit with a look which set her pulse racing. ‘It is perfect. I am most honoured to help you celebrate your birthday.’ He took a phone from his pocket. ‘I will ring the restaurant.’ After a short, rapid-fire conversation he led Alicia outside into the balmy, starlit night. ‘We are dining in Santa Croce. Can you walk that far in those shoes?’

She nodded fervently. Even if she had blisters tomorrow.

Florence after dark was so vibrant with noise and life, and the constant background noise of traffic and inevitable motor scooters. Alicia took in a deep, relishing breath, drinking it in like nectar as Francesco led her through the still-crowded Piazza della Signoria where at outside tables couples were drinking cocktails and people-watching in the balmy evening. Neptune loomed in his fountain, sleek and silvery-pale in the floodlights with his attendant water-nymphs, but Alicia’s eyes went straight to the Loggia dei Lanzi where Perseus held his gruesome trophy aloft.

‘You like that statue?’ asked Francesco, watching, and she nodded happily.