Italian Summer with the Single Dad

by Ella Hayes

  They’d written their own vows. He’d made his pledge to her in Italian; she’d spoken to him in her faltering English. ‘We will make mistakes, Zach, and there will be days which are not easy but I vow that, whatever happens, I will hold you in my heart for ever.’

  He swallowed hard, pictured her face, the way she’d look at him with her sweet secret smile. He closed his eyes, listened to the sound of his own breathing and the sound of the leaves rustling in the breeze.

  And I’ll hold you in my heart for ever too, Izzy... I’m sorry we never got the chance to say goodbye, but I have to say it now. I’ve got to start again... I think I’ve been given a second chance, and I’ve got to find a way to take it.

  * * *

  ‘So, you think it’s an option?’

  ‘Definitely! It’s classy, well maintained, well situated and it’s completely different to what we’ve got so we’ll be widening our client base.’

  ‘I like the sound of that. What about the lemon grove, the potential?’

  ‘Forget it! If we’re selling weddings, the lemon grove’s an asset. It needs tidying up, but with some TLC it’ll give us another option for the ceremony. We can make all the outdoor spaces flow together. That means maximum flexibility in terms of what we can offer our clients.’

  ‘You don’t think guest chalets—?’

  ‘No, Dad! If we buy Villa Fiori, the lemon grove stays. It’s special! And we don’t need guest chalets—there are twenty-eight bedrooms!’

  ‘Okay.’ Cynical sigh. ‘If you say so. What about staff?’

  ‘The manager thinks the staff will stay.’

  ‘Will he stay?’

  ‘Yes. I spoke to him about that. He’s doing a great job there. He’s invaluable and he knows it. If we buy the place, I suggest we give him a salary increase to keep him sweet—I’d be in trouble if he decided to leave.’

  ‘Fine! Right then, I’ll instruct our people to make an offer and we’ll see what happens. Have a safe drive back, son!’

  ‘I will. Bye, Dad.’

  Zach stared at the phone in his hand, felt a little wash of relief. If the sale went through his father would get the business expansion he wanted, and if Lorenzo stayed on as manager his own role at Villa Fiori would be minor once the restructuring from hotel to wedding venue had been achieved. And he’d saved the lemon grove, at least for now.

  He rolled the phone around in his hands, then tapped the screen, opened his photos. Olivia on the boat. He felt his lips twitching upwards into a smile. Her face tense with concentration then laughing, clowning about, doing Jack Sparrow... They’d narrowly missed that marker but it had felt so great, just having fun, and he wanted to feel like that again, make things right somehow. If only there was a way to show her... He closed the screen, threw his phone onto the passenger seat and started the engine.

  The drive back to Ravello was slow. Outside Praiano, traffic was tailing back from the tunnel. He switched on the sound system, listened to Pablo Sáinz Villegas playing the adagio from Rodrigo’s Concierto de Aranjuez.

  He remembered an interview he’d seen, Pablo talking about music being an extension of his soul, an expression of his spirit, and he could hear it in every note Villegas was playing, could relate so strongly to that feeling. He shifted in his seat. What had Olivia said to him in Marcello’s bar? ‘I can see something in you when you’re playing that feels... I don’t know...like you’re at home in your skin.’

  He smiled, remembering the way she’d watched him playing in the bar that first time, tears welling in her eyes when he’d played Fauré’s Pavane...and afterwards on the street, her expression so soft and earnest... ‘I’m not qualified to know if you’re up to playing Carnegie Hall, but I can see how much you love music and I think that’s why you feel restless after a gig...’

  That she’d been moved by his playing had touched him deeply, had made him want to kiss her, fuse his spirit with hers. He shifted in his seat again, realised he was chewing his thumb nail. The way he felt on Thursday afternoons—looking forward to playing. It was only a little set in a little bar but playing freed him in a way that nothing else did, and she could see it, had seen in it in him straight away. ‘You should do more with it, chase the thing you love...’

  The traffic was moving now and as the car crawled through the tunnel he was breathing in fumes and Pablo’s haunting guitar was echoing all around him and thoughts were flying through his head so fast that he almost couldn’t keep up. As he drove out of the tunnel into the fresh air and blinding sunshine everything fell into place.

  Liv wanted commitment, but she wanted something for him too. He could see it now—what she’d been trying to say. ‘I’m talking about being true to yourself...’

  She wanted him to free himself—through his music. Not because she wanted him to forget Izzy or the past, but because she felt the greatest connection with him when he was playing—that was where she wanted them to begin. He’d been so blind. In Marcello’s bar she’d even suggested he could run a similar place and he’d dismissed the idea out of hand. He’d upset her! That was why she’d left so suddenly.

  This was something he could fix but words wouldn’t be enough. He needed to make her feel it, needed to make a grand gesture...and then suddenly he couldn’t stop himself from smiling because he knew exactly what he was going to do.

  * * *

  Olivia stared at the cardboard box on her bed. It had arrived a couple of days ago. She knew what was inside but she hadn’t been able to face opening it until now. She cut through the plastic binder and slid the inner box from its cardboard sleeve. Slowly, she lifted the lid, felt a little gasp escaping from her lips. It was perfect. A whitewashed oak frame, four photographs side by side in sequence. Zach and Alessia singing the ant song! Animated faces, shining eyes and, in the last photo, eyes half-closed, both of them laughing hard. Just one of many happy memories of her Italian summer.

  She closed the box, pressed her palms to her eyes. She hadn’t seen much of him since their sightseeing day in Ravello. Instead of bringing them closer together, their talk in the gardens had driven a wedge between them. She’d been over their conversation a hundred times in her head, realised how intractable she’d sounded, as if she was delivering an ultimatum. She hadn’t meant to sound that way. When she’d said that she couldn’t build a new life with him if he was hanging onto the old one it had been more a statement of fact than anything else, but he’d clammed up after that and they’d driven home nursing a troubled silence.

  In the house he’d taken her hands in his, kissed her on the cheek then walked down the hallway towards his apartment. There’d been finality in that kiss, the sense of a wall between them that she couldn’t breach. She’d turned and walked down the opposite hallway to her own rooms, crying the whole way.

  East. West. The house in between.

  When she’d cried herself out, it came to her that at least she’d spoken her mind, told Zach what she needed, and there was something in that realisation that gave her strength. Whatever happened next would be down to him, and in the meantime there was work to do.

  But work didn’t stop her heart aching, didn’t stop her missing his smile. She took to meandering around the house, hoping to run into him, but he was never around. In a bolder moment she’d run upstairs to his office, was about to knock on his door when she’d heard his voice and realised that he was on the phone. She’d retreated, taken herself for a walk in the garden and bumped into Lucia. Lucia had told her he was busy making plans for a new wedding venue and the news had lowered her spirits.

  Perhaps she’d got him all wrong! Maybe he was a businessman above everything else and she’d been reading things into his music because it was the only toehold she could find, the only piece of him that didn’t belong to Isabella.

  If he was going ahead with a new wedding venue it meant he was choosing business over music; it meant that i
f she wanted to be part of his world she would have to fit in. She tried to imagine it but drew a blank. She would never be happy, never feel important enough if she was just another card slotted into the pack.

  She picked up the cardboard box. The walls in his apartment were bare, pictures waiting to be hung. Perhaps he would put this one up at least. She’d take it to him. If he was there, maybe they could mend their fences, agree to be friends.

  There was a heavy stillness in the house. A hush in the hallway. She tuned in to a far-off noise in the garden—a wheelbarrow moving over gravel. She could feel her heart drumming against her ribs, her stomach churning. If she was resigned to being just friends, then why was her heart beating double time at the thought of seeing him?

  She stopped at his door, swallowed hard and knocked. She heard a door bang somewhere but it hadn’t come from inside. The apartment was deadly quiet. She licked her lips and knocked again, harder this time, straining to hear any movement inside, but there was nothing. Deflated, she turned around and froze.

  He was walking along the hallway towards her. He was wearing jeans and the tee shirt she liked and—he was smiling. ‘I’ve been looking for you!’

  She felt her heart exploding softly in her chest. She shifted on her feet, tried to breathe calmly. ‘I was looking for you too...obviously...since I’m standing outside your door.’ She gave a little shrug, held the box out towards him. ‘I’ve got this. It’s for you...and Alessia.’

  His eyes were so full of light and warmth that it was hard to hold his gaze. ‘A present? I’m excited—can I open it now?’

  She couldn’t help smiling. ‘Of course.’ She stepped aside so he could unlock the door then she followed him inside.

  Alessia’s doll’s house was spread open on the sitting room floor, a clutter of miniature chairs and beds and dolls strewn around. Still no pictures on the walls. His guitar wasn’t on its stand.

  ‘Mind your feet. Tiny dolls are the choice weapon of any self-respecting three-year-old!’ He flashed her a smile, put the box down onto the sofa. ‘Now, what have we got here?’ He seemed ridiculously happy. Surely it couldn’t be just her present... Maybe he’d pulled off some big business deal.

  She watched him lifting the lid, heard him catch his breath, watched his eyes flit along the row of pictures, and then he was turning to her, the look in his eyes making her dizzy.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ His voice sounded hoarse. He cleared his throat. ‘I never expected...’ He lifted the frame out of the box, held it at arm’s length, looking at the pictures, smiling, just smiling.

  She struggled to find her own voice. ‘I’m glad you like it. I hope Alessia likes it too.’

  ‘She’ll love it, I know she will.’ He put it down on the sofa. ‘Thank you, Liv. It’s such a lovely gift. We don’t have many pictures taken together.’ He looked around the room. ‘You’ll have to tell me where to hang it. I’m useless at things like that—it’s why the walls are bare.’

  She didn’t need him to say the rest, that Isabella would have known where to hang their pictures, which light fittings would have looked best on the walls.

  He ran a hand through his hair and stepped towards her. ‘I was looking for you because I wanted to say sorry about the other day...’

  ‘You don’t have to be sorry.’ She shrugged. ‘We had to talk it out...’ She felt his hands closing around hers, warm and tight. It wasn’t what she was expecting.

  ‘Sometimes words mess things up, don’t you think?’

  There was a mischievous glint in his eyes, something that was making her feel tingly inside. ‘I suppose, but sometimes—’ She felt his finger on her lips, a little warm pressure. She stopped talking, fought the urge to kiss his finger. He was looking at her and she could see a secret burning in his eyes, a little smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

  ‘I want to show you something and, until I’ve shown you, will you promise not to say a word?’

  The way he was looking at her was turning her inside out. She couldn’t have said a word even if she’d wanted to. She nodded.

  He smiled. ‘Okay then... Let’s go.’

  * * *

  As he drove she found it hard not to stare at him. She could feel the energy thrumming through him, see it in the way he was holding himself and in the way he moved. Shifting through the gears, steering around the bends. He was on fire and she was beside herself with curiosity, tingling from head to toe.

  In Ravello he parked the car and took her hand. He led her through the narrow alley where she’d seen the lemons, past the tourist shops with their racks of postcards and shelves bursting with limoncello bottles. He sidestepped tourists, not hurrying, not dawdling but pulling her onwards. In the piazza someone stopped them to ask for directions and she caught herself chewing her bottom lip with frustration.

  ‘Good luck. I hope you find it,’ Zach was saying and then he looked at her, a twinkle in his eyes. ‘Sorry about that...’ His hand closed around hers again and he pulled her on across the piazza, then turned left, striding up a familiar road. Where the road forked, he led her onto the narrow walkway, the one next to the gardens where they’d had their talk and then a little distance beyond that he stopped. He was smiling at her, a little glint in his eye. She looked around, not sure what she was supposed to be looking for, and then she noticed a pair of heavy doors with a canopy above, folded back. She stepped closer. It looked like Marcello’s bar, all closed up. She turned to face him, felt a frown creasing her forehead. Why had he brought her here?

  He held her gaze, then slowly he pulled a key from his pocket and stepped towards the door. For some reason she was starting to cry and then she was laughing, and she wanted to say something but the words wouldn’t come out, so she let him lead her inside and, inside, she could hardly believe her eyes. Thousands of tea lights were flickering on the tables in the dark recesses of the bar, and in the centre of the room, under the dome, there was a single chair, a microphone stand and his guitar.

  He seated her at a table, touched her face gently. ‘Don’t say a word, remember,’ and then he was settling himself onto the chair, lifting the guitar onto his lap. He plucked the strings softly, strummed a chord, then lifted his eyes to hers.

  ‘Olivia Gardner, in this bar, which I now own jointly with Marcello Moretti, I am literally going to play my heart out for you.’

  As his fingers moved over the strings, as she heard the first notes of Fauré’s Pavane, she felt goosebumps rising on her arms and a hot thick mess of tears behind her eyes and she could hardly breathe because the music was so beautiful, and because her heart was so full of love for him.

  * * *

  As he played he was picturing her face the first time he’d seen it. She’d been looking down at him from the balcony at Kensall Manor. He could see in his mind the way her cheeks had lifted into a smile, that little blush, the way her eyes had glowed. Trapped in her gaze he’d felt at home, would have happily stayed there in the hall, just looking at her, and then he remembered her face as she got off the bus in Ravello, excited eyes, wide smile...running her hand over the wing of his car, mischievous...and their water fight, that demon glint in her eye as she’d stepped towards him with the brimming plastic teapot, Alessia’s throaty laughter echoing off the walls. The way she’d looked on the boat, hair blowing, her eyes laying him bare...their first kiss.

  He put it all into the music, felt as if he was playing his own heartstrings, and he wanted her to feel it in the depth of her soul because the music could say it so much better than his words ever could. When he played the final note and lifted his eyes, her hands were pressed to her face, which was wet with tears. Perhaps she’d heard every word he’d been playing. He put the guitar down and stood up.

  She was getting to her feet, wiping her eyes with her hands, smiling through a fresh wave of tears. ‘I don’t know what to say, Zach. That was so beautiful—all of thi
s is beautiful.’ She stepped closer, looked around then turned back to him. ‘You actually bought the bar?’

  ‘Half of it, strictly speaking—Marcello’s brother’s share.’

  ‘When?’

  He smiled. ‘The day before yesterday.’ She started to speak, seemed to be struggling to find words so he carried on. ‘It took me a while to work everything out—but what you said to me in the gardens, about running a wedding empire... Well, you were right! It doesn’t excite me—’

  ‘But... Lucia said you’ve bought another wedding venue!’

  ‘We are—in the process of, anyway, but if the sale goes through there’s a manager in place. My involvement will be minimal.’ He took a step towards her. ‘I was on my way back from the viewing when I started thinking about music and all the things you said—and all the things I said—and I started to see that maybe there was a way to have it all.’ He closed the distance between them and took her hands in his. ‘You reminded me how alive I feel when I’m playing. It’s a feeling I don’t get from running the business, but I’m never going to play Carnegie Hall and I wouldn’t want to anyway. I like my life here.’

  He felt a smile tugging at his lips. ‘But Ravello is the city of music—and, as I was driving home, I remembered Marcello saying he might have to give this place up—and suddenly I had this crazy idea. So I stopped in to have a chat with him and, before I knew it, we were planning a guest list of musicians, talking about adding a mezzanine floor. With such extensive plans in place, it seemed only proper to make him an offer for his brother’s half.’

  ‘Zach, please tell me that you haven’t done all this for me.’