Italian Escape: Summer with the Millionaire / In the Italian's Sights / Flirting with Italian

This impulsive nature of hers. She needed to contain it, channel it elsewhere into work and projects. No more throwing herself at unsuitable men, trying to be what they wanted. No more failing.

She was attracted to Luca. Okay, people were attracted to other people all the time. That didn’t mean you had to act on it, throw yourself all in. That kind of behaviour led to multiple marriages, multiple engagements, broken hearts and ruined expectations. She could be better than that. She didn’t have to take up the mantle of her inheritance.

And yet...it could be so easy. She knew what he wanted; he’d made it so clear. And she could be that hard-working, country-loving, family-orientated girl. For a short while. After all, she’d already played the hunt ball, point-to-point country girl; the wild and crazy rock chick; the hard-working and politically passionate small business owner.

The ironic thing was that she was all of the above, a bit of her, at least. Just as she was also a shopaholic, a traveller, a reader, a lover of trash TV, a baker, a party girl, a veg-out queen; just as she loved takeaway food and posh restaurants. She was lots of things. But nobody was interested in the contrasts and the contradictions; they wanted her pigeonholed and pinned down.

Luca stopped and looked back. ‘Are you coming?’ he called.

What would he do if she sauntered down the hill, walked right up to him and put that swing in her hips she could do so well? If she pressed herself close, raised herself up on her tiptoes, pressed her mouth against his? Would he push her away, lose himself in her for a few moments, hours, then regret it? Would he allow her to morph into his perfect woman until he finally saw through her or she couldn’t pretend any more?

She wasn’t prepared to find out.

‘Just admiring the view,’ she called back, allowing a flirtatious edge to creep into her voice, a smile to curve on her lips. Just because she had decided not to go and get him didn’t mean she didn’t want him to admire her. She was only human, after all.

She took her time walking along the path towards him. The stone path had turned first to gravel and now to grass, lightly lined with woodchips to protect against the mud. It took them in a straight line through the fields, larger, more rolling fields than the patchwork style she was used to at home, all seamlessly making up the same landscape, broken only by small trees or hedgerows.

And Luca, an integral part of this pastoral landscape, linked by blood, work and love. Minty was just an onlooker, a walk-on part in somebody else’s life. Again.

CHAPTER SIX (#ud3d64fde-ab8b-5e1b-9c9d-78cdd97a8a7d)

‘IT’S NOT THAT I’m not enjoying the walk,’ Minty said when she reached him, ‘but I am wondering where we’re heading.’

Luca glanced at her curiously. ‘I thought you were a spur-of-the-moment type girl?’

She flushed. ‘Usually, yes. I mean, I have been known to do the odd impulsive thing. But there’s usually a reason or a destination. If I suddenly decide I’m going to crew a tall yacht around the world, for instance, then there is a plan behind that impulsive decision. I don’t just get on a boat to see where it sails.’

There was still a questioning look on his face. ‘Did you really crew a tall yacht round the world?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘At least, halfway round the world. I signed off when I got to Australia. A last minute decision that some might have called impulsive, but I knew exactly where I was heading and why.’

Luca raised an eyebrow. Minty knew full well he’d spent the summer he’d turned fourteen perfecting the art. It didn’t make the effect any less devastating. ‘Where were you heading?’

‘To Sydney,’ she admitted. ‘To party and to learn to surf. Turns out boat crewing was really hard work.’

His mouth twitched and Minty reined in the undignified urge to stick her tongue out at him. ‘So,’ she prompted. ‘Where are we going?’

‘The cow sheds are in that direction.’ He gestured down the valley. ‘Or we could head over the fields towards the stream.’ His eyes flickered towards her feet.

Minty followed his eyes and sighed. The bright velvet was looking dusty and stained, beyond repair, not that she would admit it. ‘Not one more word about my shoes,’ she said. ‘They’ll cope.’ She glanced over the fields to the trees lining the horizon. ‘I haven’t been down to the stream for years. It was always one of my favourite spots—and, let’s face it, way more picturesque than a cow shed, even a cow shed that produces wonderful milk to make into even more wonderful gelato. I vote we head that way.’

He nodded and strode off without waiting to see if she was following. It was, Minty thought, a good thing that she was long-legged, otherwise she’d have had to scuttle to keep up with him. And that would have been most undignified.

She caught up with the tall Italian and fell into step beside him, arms swinging, unabashedly enjoying the air, the sun, the exercise. She looked around her with approval. The views had been glorious from the farmhouse, but as they approached the bottom of the valley the countryside was not just a view, something to admire—it enclosed them; they were a part of it.

It wasn’t silent; it was too real for that. A cacophony of birds competed with each other to make the loudest call, sing the most tuneful song, like some avian reality show. She almost expected to see a row of small feathered judges sitting on a branch ready to destroy the enthusiastic chirpers’ dreams. She could hear the sound of engines in the distance—some farm machinery doing something she probably wouldn’t be able to identify if she stood and watched for an hour—mingled with the ever-present lowing of the cattle.

Definitely not quiet, but somehow so peaceful. In just a few weeks the corn poppies would explode into a vibrant slash of red in the green landscape. She wanted to be around to see it.

‘I am usually all about the city,’ she said. ‘Yet this place is so special too. I missed it. No wonder you wanted to stay here. You must love it that it’s yours, part of you.’

Luca nodded. ‘It’s part of the family history, in my blood. It’s a good marketing gimmick too; all the milk we produce is used in our ice cream, although we have to buy in a lot more. It’s tenanted out, though, I don’t get involved in the day-to-day work much.’

Judging by the firm muscles under the snug jeans and T-shirt Minty suspected he did more than he let on. If sitting at a desk and testing ice cream led to bodies like that, London’s gyms would be a lot less full. And a lot less sweaty.

The sun was still shining down from the cloudless sky bathing the earth below in a benevolent warmth, yet Minty’s arm goose-pimpled and she suppressed a sudden shiver. Walking with this man, in this place, suddenly filled her with a melancholy, a lonely nostalgia.

A babble of shallow water interrupted her thoughts, and pushing through a line of small trees brought Minty to the edge of a wide, shallow stream liberally carpeted with pebbles and rocks. Luca was leaning against a tall oak tree, staring thoughtfully into the water.

‘There won’t be any fish in there,’ Minty said, walking next to him and following his eyeline. ‘Too shallow.’

‘I didn’t know you fished.’

‘I don’t.’ She shuddered. ‘Too much sitting around for me. And I always feel so sorry for them, with their mouths gaping and their cold little eyes. Daddy fished, of course. I think he almost has to; it’s in the earl charter or something.’

She stopped, looking down at the shallow water. ‘Spike liked country sports too. In some ways he and Daddy were better suited than he and I. You know, I watch some of those TV programmes about music. Spike was so anti-establishment when he was young, all about the shock value and creativity. And now he has a country estate, fishes and wears tweed. I kid you not. And loads of his friends are the same. The ones who didn’t die of drug overdoses, that is. They don’t even see the irony.’

‘Are you still friends?’

She shook her head. ‘Not at all; he didn’t want to be friends.’ She sighed, almost imperceptibly. ‘They never do.’

For a moment he didn’t say anything, just stood there, a reassuring presence. The silence was oddly comforting.

‘Come on, Minty, accompany me to Florence.’

Her heart gave a funny little jump. It felt almost like hope. What harm could there be in a weekend away?

‘A couple of days in Florence would be nice. And...’ she gave him her best cheeky smile ‘...grandfathers usually love me. Grandmothers not so much, but we can’t have everything.’ She eyed him suspiciously, trying to remain objective, not to allow her gaze to dwell on the stubbled cheeks and the way his hair fell unguarded over his forehead.

‘Why do you want me to?’

‘Does there have to be a reason?’

For Luca? Usually yes, unless he felt sorry for her, just like the old days.

She didn’t want to be the object of his pity.

He shrugged. ‘He does like you. I know I shouldn’t care about pleasing him and, to be honest, I find it insulting that he will be far more impressed if you accompany me to this event than he is by my multi-million-euro turnover, but...’ He paused, oddly vulnerable. ‘But he’s old. Frail.’ Another pause, longer this time, then, almost imperceptibly, ‘He and Gio are all I have left.’

Minty was torn between conflicting emotions. If there was one subject she didn’t do, it was families. Oh, she could laugh at her own situation, turn her childhood, her failed relationships, into a self-deprecating stand-up routine that had them rolling in the aisle. But deep, heartfelt, emotional discussions? Not her style. And yet, she sensed that this man rarely opened up, that he carried his shame, his fears, tightly boxed up inside him.

For some unfathomable reason he was choosing here and now to release them—he was choosing her. It terrified her and yet at the same time she was touched, gratified that he didn’t think she was too shallow to understand.

‘He’s a link to your mother,’ she offered shyly.

‘Yes!’ He turned to her. ‘Exactly. Would she approve of me, of the man I’ve become? Or, like him, would she be disappointed that I don’t attend balls and charity events and the opera in Verona? Would she think I was an uncouth country farmer who thinks of nothing but ice cream?’

‘She married a farmer,’ Minty pointed out. ‘And for what it’s worth I think she would be ridiculously proud of you. So proud she’d have to bite her tongue at parties so as not to bore all the other guests with a long list of your virtues! I think she would look at you and see a man proud of his home and his heritage. A man who has no reason at all to make his grandfather happy, but wants to anyway, because that’s the kind of person he is. That’s what she would see.’