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

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       CHAPTER EIGHT

      ‘HUNGRY? WE COULD stop off in Siena for lunch.’

      What did that mean? Did he want to stop off or would he rather get back? Minty shot Luca a quick glance. He was looking straight ahead, all his concentration on the road.

      He had always been a careful driver, steady and sure, unwilling to take risks. She used to tease him about it but he had never allowed her to provoke him. Minty squirmed in her seat. She knew exactly how his parents had died and yet she had been thoughtless enough to laugh at Luca’s driving. What a self-centred brat she had been.

      Not that he had seemed to notice. It had driven her mad how easily he used to ignore her presence. Luca Di Tore, the golden boy, hard-working, courteous, who never put a foot wrong. Completely oblivious to her, to her need for his attention.

      Getting him to notice her had been the main focus of most of Minty’s summers. It had started out as a game, a way to annoy him and it had usually taken something fairly outrageous before he’d looked down from his lofty heights and deigned to bestow attention on her. It had been bad enough when she was small. By the time she was fourteen it had been unbearable.

      She hadn’t wanted to fancy Luca. But she had walked in that summer and whoosh, bam, wallop, it had hit her hard. He had grown up whilst at university: grown up, grown out, grown hot. She’d barely been able to breathe when he was in the room, let alone say two words to him.

      Of course, she would rather have been flayed alive than admit it even to herself, let alone anyone else. It was easier to act out even more, hide behind arrogance, insouciance and plain outrageousness.

      It was a facade that had served her well for four years, right until Rose’s funeral. And then she was too broken to hide. She had allowed Luca to see everything: her pain, her misery, her want, her need. And he had turned her away.

      It had been utterly humiliating.

      But last night she had allowed him in again, babbling on about Barty, about Joe, about rejections and feelings. Would she ever learn?

      ‘So do you? Want lunch?’ His voice was completely even. What was he thinking? Was he regretting the time they had spent together? Regretting how they’d spent their time?

      ‘Define lunch.’

      ‘Okay.’ He sounded puzzled. ‘A meal, in a restaurant, comprising at least two courses.’

      ‘I didn’t mean...’ She paused. What did she mean? ‘Is this a date? Or just lunch? What are we actually doing here?’

      ‘Are you asking me what my intentions are?’ Damn, he was laughing at her. Minty felt her teeth grinding together.

      ‘Of course not!’ Not exactly. ‘I was just wondering what we’re doing here. We spent all weekend together and back in Oschia we, well, we were together. And, if you hadn’t noticed, at the moment we live together, work together... It’s a little awkward.’

      He didn’t answer for a long moment as he negotiated the car around a tight bend. ‘Minty, you’re rebounding from an engagement. You’re not ready for anything serious; I know that. Don’t worry, I’m not planning to ask you to bear my four children.’

      Obviously and, by the way, thank goodness. But it rankled a little how hilarious he found that idea.

      ‘I thought we could just explore this thing, see where it takes us. Have some fun.’ His voice sounded concerned. ‘But if you want to stop, if you’re feeling uncomfortable, then please just say.’

      ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m fine.’

      Fun. It was the answer she’d been hoping for, because of course he was right. She’d been engaged to another man just a few weeks ago—not that that had stopped Joe moving on, but Minty Davenport was not so fickle. At least, she was trying not to be.

      So why did she feel disappointed? It was her stupid fourteen-year-old self with a house-sized crush and a romantic streak longer than the Arno. Three engagements should have dried that streak right out.

      Luca was right. Why plan? They both knew this would burn out eventually. They were so different, wanted such different things. Why spoil the moment with labels and definitions? That was far more Luca’s style than hers—if he could be relaxed, then of course she could be too!

      ‘You’re right,’ she said, leaning back, forcing herself to sound unconcerned. ‘Lunch sounds lovely.’

      * * *

      ‘Admit it, the view’s gorgeous.’ Minty waved her soup spoon at him. ‘The soup’s good too.’

      ‘The soup is four times as expensive as it would have been round the corner.’ Luca shook his head. ‘Hope the view’s worth it.’

      They were sat at a table in Siena’s bustling main square. A place fit only for tourists, Luca had told her.

      ‘I never mind paying for a view,’ Minty said, gesturing around with her spoon. ‘I’d rather sit in St Mark’s Square or enjoy a view of the Pantheon with my coffee than save a couple of euros and sit in an alleyway somewhere, looking at damp brickwork.’

      ‘It can be a lot more than a couple of euros.’ Luca shook his head. She had no idea how privileged she was. Even Luca, who had grown up in comfortable surroundings, ran a very profitable business, travelled first class and wore tailor-made suits balked at the mark-up in these places. ‘Not everyone can afford to spend ten euros on a coffee.’

      Minty СКАЧАТЬ