by Jules Wake
Will thought he was probably the only person who detected the hint of acid in her voice. Her choice of words ratcheted up his incipient sense of guilt. She didn’t look at him once.
Franco clasped his hands together, his chubby face beaming. ‘I would be delighted to show you.’
Franco led them to the first section, expertly leading them through the busy rows, where other people, clipboards in hand, worked their way up and down. Olives, almond and orange scents filled the air. Hands were shaken, bread dipped, samples tried with slow nods of appreciative approval. Will itched to get started. He had a good idea of what he wanted, but every time he started to run through his mental checklist, he would hear Lisa’s light laugh bubbling out, her blonde head bobbing alongside Franco’s dark, and, Will was pleased to note, slightly thinning, hair.
Gisella threaded her hand through his arm and sidled closer, pressing her chest into him. If he looked down, he’d get an eyeful of magnificent cleavage. ‘I think Franco is rather taken with Lisa.’
‘Mmm,’ said Will, pulling out his battered notebook. He gave Franco’s hairline a second glance. Definitely the start of a monk’s tonsure there at the crown of his head.
‘Shall we go this way? We can catch up with them later.’ Her voice laden with unsubtle promise, Gisella steered him down the aisle in the opposite direction.
An hour in, Will found himself next to Lisa in front of a stall of infused balsamic vinegars.
‘It can’t possibly taste of chocolate and coffee,’ Lisa giggled, holding up a piece of bread.
‘Si, si. Try,’ said the young Italian behind the table.
Tentatively she dipped her bread in and nibbled at the edge.
‘Oh!’ she said and spotted Will. To his relief, she grinned at him, ‘OMG. Will, you’ve got to try this. It’s amazing. It really does taste of chocolate and coffee.’
She thrust the piece of bread his way and, as her fingers touched his mouth, almost in a slow-motion replay, she realised what she’d done. Her hand stalled, staying in contact with his mouth, fingers almost caressing his lips as their eyes met with an instant exchange of sizzling awareness.
The sound around him receded. There was a weird sensation in his chest, as if someone had kicked him square in the sternum.
Then she snatched her hand away.
‘You stupid girl. These are Armani,’ shrieked Gisella as dark spots of balsamic rained down her thighs, leaving the sort of healthy spatter enthused about in an episode of a crime investigation drama.
Somehow Gisella had tried to elbow her way between them at precisely the wrong moment and Lisa’s hand had hit the edge of one of the saucers on the table, sending it catapulting over and over in an elegant arc, descending through the air.
Oh shit. Why did he do this to himself? It was as if Gisella’s screech of alarm was a siren call to all his mistakes, which suddenly compounded themselves into one huge explosion of realisation. Inviting himself to Italy at the same time as Lisa had been the first in a growing catalogue of misjudgement.
Spending the day with her yesterday had simply confirmed what he’d known all along. The feelings he’d tried so hard to deny, burst into awareness, longing and desire overloading his system with a flood of adrenaline that made him feel sick with apprehension and hope.
‘Do something, Will!’ Gisella’s voice almost pierced his eardrum.
Like what?
The spilled vinegar bled into the fabric, blooming with determined intent like ink on blotting paper.
‘Don’t worry, Gisella,’ said Lisa, shooting him a look of exasperation, which he thought was a bit unfair. What did she expect him to do?
‘I’m sure it will wash out. But here, I have some wipes.’ She dug around inside the gingerbread-man tote bag like some modern-day Mary Poppins.
‘That will make it worse.’
‘No, they’re stain-remover wipes.’
‘Who carries stain-remover wipes?’ asked Will, disbelieving as Lisa did indeed whip out a tiny packet.
‘Someone who spends their life crawling around the floor with small children and everything from urine, poo, vomit, paint and glue,’ snapped Lisa, tossing her hair over her shoulder, looking so magnificent and gorgeous, he wanted to throw her down on the nearest table and ravish every last inch of her.
Will pushed a shaky hand through his hair. He was in so much trouble.
‘They’re ruined.’ Gisella tossed her own mane of hair about, clearly aware that every head in the room had swivelled her way. ‘I hope you’re going to buy me a new pair, Will.’
‘I’d try washing them first,’ he said shortly, pursing his mouth, ashamed of himself, but revolted by her coy theatrics. Served him right for playing games.
Lisa shot him a scorn-laden scowl, which didn’t help.
‘Come on, Gisella, let’s go to the ladies. I’m sure we can do something.’
‘Hmph.’ Gisella glared at Lisa and then her whole demeanour suddenly brightened as she spotted a man working his way through the interested crowd. ‘Gino, tesoro.’
With a flurry of dramatic kisses and a torrent of fervent, passionate Italian, including a spate of what could have been recriminations, Gino of the Michelin two stars and errant knight on the side, thankfully scooped Gisella into his arms, explained he was taking her off to his nearby flat, and departed, leaving Will and Lisa staring wide-eyed after them.
‘I feel as if I had a bit part in an opera,’ said Lisa, with a disgusted sigh.
‘Yes.’ Will ran a hand through his hair. ‘She does have a flair for the dramatic.’
Lisa’s eyes flashed, with a look of pure fury.
‘You’re such a bastard,’ she spat and stormed out.
The worst thing was, she was absolutely right.
She could bloody throttle Will. Her hands tensed on the handles of her tote bag.
Slumping on a bench under a shady tree in the square opposite Virginnies, she glared across at the doorway, hoping he wouldn’t appear. If he came near her, she might give herself away and do something stupid like bursting into tears.
She was such a fool, letting herself get carried away yesterday. Underneath it all, he hadn’t changed one sodding bit. Yesterday she’d almost believed that he could be nice.
But he was the same old Will.
With an agonised groan of derision at her own stupidity, she dropped her head in her hands. Her fingers grazed a couple of tears that had committed the sneaky injustice of escaping. Yesterday had been perfect. Too bloody perfect. She was kidding herself if she thought they’d re-established that old flirty friendship. A line had been crossed. All the feelings she thought she’d successfully squashed had come roaring back. The minute he touched the dent of her spine while they were standing on the doorstep of the Vitelli family home, her heart had gone thunk. Bloody bastard had made her fall in love with him again.
Another couple of tears slipped out. Bastard traitors.
And, oh fuck!
Will’s feet had appeared in front of her.
‘Go away,’ she said, not looking up.
‘Lisa.’ The husky timbre of his voice tugged at her, hollowing out her stomach, but she kept her head down.
‘Please … leave me alone.’ Shit, her voice sounded all jerky and broken. Stiffening her spine, she froze as he sat down next to her.
‘Lisa.’
His fingers lifted her chin and turned her head towards him.
She blinked furiously. Shit, shit, shit. He’d see she’d been crying. Although the bastard must be used to women crying over him. He was such a turd. Except he wasn’t. He could be lovely. Charming. Caring. Yesterday, she thought he’d cared about her.
He leant forward and wiped away one of her stupid tears with his thumb. And then he leaned in, his arm sliding around her and, to her utter surprise, he kissed her.
The soft, unexpected touch of his lips on hers sent a frisson sizzling through her veins and she parted them in a silent ‘o’. Her heart hammered as th
eir mouths brushed in a tender, gentle kiss before he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers, their noses touching.
‘I’m sorry. You’re right. I am a bastard. But I think I might be a bastard who’s in love with you.’
Lisa’s heart flopped about in her chest, doing some sort of weird, almost painful, acrobatics and sending her pulse haywire. All she could do was stare at him. Someone seemed to have wiped her brain and nothing seemed to work: her voice, her tongue, even her face had gone numb and there was a rushing in her ears.
The watchful expression on his face didn’t falter as she stared back at him, looking for clues. He didn’t look the least bit cocky or self-satisfied, like a real bastard would. Worry filled his handsome face instead.
‘You’ve got a funny way of showing it,’ she said softly.
‘I know. I’m an idiot.’ He touched her face, soothing away the earlier tear tracks. ‘I’m sorry. Gisella was a …’ he shook his head, his mouth twisting in self-deprecation, ‘one of my master-strokes in self-deception. I panicked …’
Lisa raised an incredulous eyebrow and straightened, moving away from him.
They’d been here before. She couldn’t do it again.
‘Is that what happened last time as well?’ Her words tumbled out, quick and accusing.
His mouth opened and closed.
‘Er … Um.’
‘Lost for words? That’s not like you, Will.’ Disappointment reared, hard and fast. Will would never change.
‘There were reasons.’ He pulled at her hand. ‘And that sounds crap. I know it does. Even saying it now sounds rubbish, but there was a very good reason.’
A pigeon fluttered near her foot and she jerked it away, grateful for the excuse to look away from Will’s sincere expression, which did strange things to her insides, making her forget what he was really like.
‘Yeah it does. As crap as you saying you’d call me and you never did.’
Will let out a quiet sigh. ‘There was a …’ Then he frowned, as if something checked him and instead he said, ‘The truth is, I chickened out.’
He slumped on the bench, his elbows resting on his legs. ‘With all those other women, I kept it light, which was pretty easy. Working in a pub you pull the unsociable hours’ card to head someone off at the pass – if they start getting too close or too interested.’
She’d never thought of his working hours as being an impediment to a relationship. Working part time in the pub at the weekends, it had been easy to stay for a drink with Marcus, Al, Will and the other waitresses. Some of them went on clubbing after that, but she was always too knackered to join them.
‘I’ve never done commitment. I’m not even sure how to.’ His voice sounded hollow.
Everything about his slumped posture suggested defeat. ‘Most women want that in the end and I’m a pretty bad bet. My parents made a complete mess of their marriage. On the surface it was all glamour and glitz, but neither of them were faithful. Both had a string of affairs they used to taunt each other with.’ With a scowl, he pushed his hair from his face, a sudden surge of anger in his voice. ‘I’ve no bloody idea why they are still together. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out I’ve got a dozen half-siblings tucked away somewhere. I don’t want to be like that but … I’m … I’m not sure. Bad blood? I’ve avoided finding out.’
Shocked, she didn’t say anything. His childhood sounded hellish. She wanted to tuck her hand into his, give him comfort to ease the sense of pain she heard in his words. This was the Will she’d spent the night with all those months ago. Not the cocky, superior, cynical Will that he presented to the world. It was a defence mechanism. And suddenly she felt bad for not seeing it before. As a child visiting his house, with her grandmother, his glamorous, sophisticated, sociable, party-going parents, always darting here there and everywhere, had been utterly bewildering, but she’d had no idea about the affairs or the effect of their parenting on him and his sister.
‘It’s far easier to play a game than take anyone seriously.’ He rubbed at a patch on his shorts, his head turned away from her. ‘But it was different with you.
‘After that night. I was scared.’
‘But …’ she interrupted. ‘I don’t understand. Scared of what? Commitment? I thought I’d made it clear that I don’t ever want to rely on anyone, or not a man, anyway. My mum, my nan, they’d managed without a man in their lives. I’m not looking for someone to look after me.’
‘But what about family?’
‘I don’t need one.’
His eyebrows drew together, punctuating his expression with a sharp slash of puzzlement. ‘What about your father?’
She stiffened at the implication. ‘That’s about knowing where I come from. I want to know I have family out there, but I don’t want to rely on anyone. I know that sounds contrary, but it makes sense to me.’
‘And I always thought I didn’t want to look after anyone. But you …’ He shrugged, ‘I want to be with you.’
His confession, along with the intensity of his gaze roving over her face as if memorising each feature, had her heart turning. It unnerved her but also sparked a sense of excitement at the same time.
‘Ironic, then, that I don’t want family either, well, my parents at any rate. I’d love to escape them. Despite that, I think perhaps we’re two of a kind.’
‘I think perhaps we are but,’ she fixed him with a candid stare, ‘I don’t want to be just another one of a long line of women.’
‘You never were.’ He touched her face. ‘I was an idiot.’ His fingers traced along her jawline and round to the back of her neck, where they remained.
The rush of feeling bursting out at that moment made her positively light-headed.
‘You’re still an idiot,’ she smiled.
‘I’m sorry about Gisella.’
‘What sorry that you invited her or sorry that she turned out to be a pain in the arse?’
His lips twitched. ‘Both. When I got a text from her last night, at the time it seemed like a good idea to invite her along today.’
‘Did you sleep with her the other night?’ Lisa gave him a hard stare.
‘No! I’m not that bloody fickle. Although I suspect she wasn’t averse to the idea.’
‘You were out very late.’ Damn, that made it sound as if she were jealous. That she cared.
Which judging by Will’s sudden smug beam was exactly what he thought.
‘She left me at the farm. I stayed and had dinner with the family. Grandma, who would probably win Glamorous Granny of the World, taught me to make home-made pasta. And no Gisella.’
‘Until this morning.’
‘Which I now know was a really, really bad idea.’ He picked up her hand and laced his fingers through hers. ‘Actually, I knew when I texted her last night it was a bad idea, but I panicked. Yesterday, there were a hundred times I wanted to kiss you.’
Lisa blushed.
‘I was worried you might slap me.’
‘There have been a couple of times I’ve been very tempted to do that,’ she said firmly and then lowered her voice to add, ‘but not yesterday.’
He scooted closer so that they were thigh to thigh.
‘So.’
She turned to him. ‘So?’
‘We’ve wasted a hell of a lot of time.’
‘You’ve wasted a lot of time.’
‘Okay, I’ll take that. How about we spend the rest of our time in Rome making up for it? And this time, see where things go properly.’ Although his words might have sounded flippant, the look that he gave her was anything but. The import of the words hung between them.
‘Okay, then.’ Her husky, tentative words brought a gentle satisfied curve to his lips.
‘Mind if I kiss you now?’
With a smile that seemed to take on a life of its own, she shook her head. ‘Not at all.’
Chapter 20
‘Wow. That is one hell of a view.’ Will pulled her closer to him as they surveye
d the panorama spread out below them, his arm comfortably resting across her shoulders, as if they’d been together for months rather than a few scant hours.
After finishing at Virginnies, where Will had placed a few orders for the restaurant, he’d reissued his invitation for her to come along with him to the winery. It had been a most un-Will like moment when he’d rather shyly asked if she would like to stay the night as well.
With an equally shy yes, she’d agreed and they’d nipped back to the apartment to grab a change of clothes before picking up a hire car – a rather nice sporty little BMW.
‘It’s such a beautiful city,’ said Lisa, drinking it in, taking care not to look directly over the low wall in front of them. ‘Coin in the fountain or not, I hope I get to come back one day.’ She sighed with pleasure, but that had a lot to do with the rather lovely weight of Will’s arm and the squirmy feelings of anticipation and excitement dancing low in her belly.
The spectacular view offered a rainbow of terracotta, umbers, washed-out peaches and distressed golden yellows, along with the faded verdigris of domed roofs and the hazy blue shadows reminiscent of an impressionist painting. They had stopped at Gianicolo Hill, a popular viewing spot on the edge of the city.
‘I wonder what that building is?’ As he turned, Will dropped a quick kiss in the sensitive dip between her neck and collarbone, which set her skin tingling, before pointing to a prominent building on the skyline with two towers topped by statuesque winged creatures driving chariots, looking as if they might take flight at any moment,
‘Ah, that,’ said Lisa, a touch of smugness in her voice, which had as much to do with the feminine satisfaction that came from knowing someone couldn’t seem to keep their hands off you, as being in the know, ‘is the Altare della Patria, completed in 1925 and built in honour of Victor Emmanuel, the first king of Italy to unite the country.’
Will stepped back. ‘I’m impressed. And no guide book.’
‘You pick these things up,’ said Lisa, with a nonchalant lift of her shoulder.
‘Really?’ asked Will, scepticism written all over his face.