The Italians: Rico, Antonio and Giovanni: The Hidden Heart of Rico Rossi / The Moretti Seduction / The Boselli Bride

‘Something like that,’ she admitted. She looked at the obelisk in the centre of the square. ‘I take it that that’s another of the Egyptian obelisks that seem to be everywhere?’

‘Yup. Caligula brought it to Rome, and it was moved here from Nero’s circus by the order of Pope Sixtus V,’ Rico told her. ‘Apparently, it took four months to move it across Rome, and the men who moved it had to do it in silence, on pain of death.’

‘Wow. That’s a bit harsh. I assume that’s another medieval thing, like the Mouth of Truth biting off the hands of liars?’

‘Roman history’s not totally gory,’ Rico said, laughing.

‘Gladiators, Nero, Caligula … I rest my case.’ She spread her hands, laughing back.

They walked back into the city, stopping every so often to look at the gorgeous cakes in the windows of the pasticcieri. There were lilacs and orange trees everywhere, and Ella loved every second of it.

As they crossed the Tiber Ella asked, ‘Can I take you to dinner tonight?’

She wanted to take him to dinner? That was a first. Normally, Rico did the asking. And normally, Rico did the paying. The only time someone else offered to treat him, there was usually an ulterior motive—an obvious one at that. Not being able to see a motive made him feel out of his depth, to the point where he was lost for words.

‘Sorry. Of course you’re probably busy. I assumed too much,’ she said when he was silent.

‘No, I’m not busy. And, yes, I’d like to have dinner with you.’

‘And it’s my bill,’ Ella said firmly.

That was what he didn’t get. He couldn’t help asking, ‘Why?’

‘You cooked for me, that first night. Obviously I can’t return the favour because I don’t have access to a kitchen here, so the best I can offer is buying you a meal in a restaurant.’ She smiled. ‘I would say let’s go to the swishest restaurant in Rome, but I’d guess you have to make a reservation months in advance, and anyway I don’t really have anything suitable to wear.’

‘Plus it would be incredibly expensive. Michelin stars and what have you don’t come cheap,’ he warned.

She shrugged. ‘The money doesn’t matter. Remember, I won all that money, and I’m under budget here anyway. I can afford it.’

Rico hid a smile. Ella might be planning a new career as a baker, but she still talked like an accountant.

‘And anyway, it’d be a treat for me as well,’ she added, as if trying to persuade him.

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said. ‘I have a few connections.’

She smiled. ‘Thank you.’

‘Let’s have a coffee and I’ll make some phone calls.’

He gulped his lukewarm espresso down, as usual, and made a few calls. Luckily Ella’s Italian was nowhere near good enough to follow what he was saying. There was one particular restaurant he had in mind; the food was stunning, and there was always a huge waiting list to get a table. But it also happened to be owned by a very good friend of his, and if there was a chance he could call in a favour …

He was in luck. The maître d’ also agreed to let him settle most of the bill beforehand and give Ella a much smaller bill at the end of the night, to Rico’s relief. No way was he letting her pay for a meal that costly, lottery win or no lottery win. And sorting this out beforehand meant that he was still in control. No surprises.

‘The good news is, I have a reservation for us at eight tonight,’ he said when he’d finished the call. ‘The bad news … Do you have a little black dress with you?’

She grimaced. ‘No.’

‘It might be an idea to buy one.’ Normally, he’d just go to the Via Condotti with his current girlfriend and let her loose in the designer shops with his credit card. But he had a feeling that Ella would refuse to let him buy her a dress and shoes. And if he explained that he could afford it—and could more than afford to take her out to one of the fanciest restaurants in Rome every night of the week—he had a feeling that she’d react badly. She’d told him at the park that she didn’t like lying or game-playing. Though he wasn’t playing games—merely taking the chance to be seen for who he was, for once, rather than for what he stood for. And surely one little white lie wasn’t that bad?

‘Can you recommend any shops?’ she asked.

‘It depends what you want. The big designers have shops on the Via Condotti.’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Sorry, I’m not really a designer person. How about something … well, not cheap and cheerful, but not ridiculous designer prices, either?’

He loved the fact that she was so no-nonsense. And he’d just bet that she shopped efficiently, rather than dragging round every shop and then going back to the first one at the end of a long, miserable day. ‘Sure. Let’s go.’

Rico discovered that he’d underestimated her on the efficiency front. ‘Colour me impressed,’ he said. ‘I’ve never met a woman who could choose a dress and shoes all within the space of twenty minutes.’

Ella frowned. ‘That’s incredibly sexist.’

‘No. It’s based on painful experience,’ he said with a grimace.

‘You’ve been dating the wrong kind of woman,’ she teased.

Now he’d met Ella, he was beginning to think that himself. Which was ridiculous. He didn’t want a relationship; he’d seen first-hand just how messy things could get, and he never wanted to be in that position himself. But there was something about Ella Chandler. Something he couldn’t put his finger on. Something that drew him and scared him at the same time.

They bought cold drinks at a caffè and sat watching the world go by for a while, relaxing in the sun.

‘Our table’s booked for eight,’ Rico said. ‘So I’ll have a taxi ready for us at seven-thirty and I’ll pick you up at your room.’

‘That’d be great. Thanks.’

He saw her back to the hotel, then sat on his terrace for a while, thinking about Ella. It would’ve been nice to share the fading afternoon with her here, but the explanations would be way too complicated.

He showered, shaved and changed into a suit, then went to meet Ella. When she opened the door to him, he whistled in appreciation. She’d chosen a very classic black dress and plain high-heeled court shoes: simple, but very effective. ‘You look lovely.’

‘Thank you.’ She blushed prettily. ‘You look nice, too.’

‘Mille grazie.’ He bowed his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. ‘Shall we go?’

At the restaurant, he had a rapid conversation with the maître d’ in Italian to make sure that what he’d arranged that afternoon still stood; and then they were shown to their table. Just what he’d asked for; it was right by the plate-glass windows with a view over the city.

Watching her pay the bill didn’t sit well with him, but he could see that she wanted to do something nice for him, so he smiled. ‘Thank you. That was a real treat.’

‘My pleasure. I’m glad I shared it with you. And the food was fabulous.’

Rico itched to take her to his rooftop garden again and dance with her in the starlight, but he contented himself with taking a taxi back to the hotel and making love to her in the big, wide bed of the honeymoon suite until they were both satiated and drowsy.

‘So tomorrow, you go home,’ he said, lying with her curled in his arms.

‘My flight’s at four in the afternoon.’

‘Which means you need to check in by two, so you need to leave here at, say, one,’ he mused aloud. ‘You can leave your luggage here—the staff can put it in secure storage until you’re ready to collect it—and I’ll drive you there myself.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Very sure.’ He kissed her. ‘And maybe tomorrow I can show you a bit of underground Rome.’