by Marinelli, Carol; Hayward, Jennifer; Stephens, Susan; Anderson, Natalie
‘Ha!’ Sophie said, turning around. ‘Until I came to Rome I used to work at a bakery.’
‘For how long?’
‘Seven years,’ Sophie said. ‘Since I left school.’
And it was very easy—too easy—to speak of home.
She missed it.
Oh, Sophie loved the life she had made here in Rome, but there was an ache for home at times, so for a moment they chatted, really just about the food and the stunning Strait of Sicily. He guessed that she was also from the west. He was about to ask her exactly where but then Sophie yawned.
‘Excuse me,’ Sophie said. ‘I really do have to go, all this talk of…’ And she stopped because he had invited her to eat already and it might seem that she was angling for him to ask her again if she said just how hungry she felt.
Maybe she was angling?
Later she would look back and try to remember exactly how she had felt at that moment.
Happy and relaxed. It felt nice to be in his company.
‘Have breakfast,’ Bastiano said.
There was no motive.
That in itself was beyond rare for Bastiano, for he lived by motive, he did nothing without motive, yet all he saw this morning was that she was tired and probably hungry after a long shift.
And she heard, absolutely, the kindness in his offer and so, with just the briefest hesitation, she nodded.
‘Thank you.’
Sophie could not know that kindness in Bastiano generally did not exist.
CHAPTER TWO
IT WAS AS natural as that.
The conversation between them came readily and it was simply pleasant to be with him. Sophie put her jacket on a chair and poured herself some chilled water and placed it on a tray. To that she added the plate of shakshuka and then looked around, wondering where she should take it to eat. First she glanced over at the chair where she had placed her jacket but it was rather full as his was there too. It was inside out so she could see the deep aubergine lining as well as a crumpled white shirt on the floor beside it. She looked at Bastiano, who was moving more to the centre of the bed, as if to make room for her to sit there, and so, instead of the chair, she made her way over to the bed.
Yes, it was as natural as that to walk over and sit on the edge of the huge bed, not too close, but alongside his thighs. She placed the tray on her lap.
The cloche had kept warm the eggs that were nestled in a rich-looking sauce, and she took her first tentative taste. It was a little spicier than expected and Sophie missed his smile as she reached for her water.
‘Nice?’ Bastiano asked.
She turned and looked at him and her eyes moved briefly to the scar on his cheek—Sophie would have loved to know its source—but then she looked back to his eyes. ‘You know when you have wanted to try something for a very long time and then finally you do…’
Her words were not meant as provocative and they were not taken as such, for he was waiting for her to screw up her nose and to say that it was not as nice as she had thought it would be, but then she smiled. ‘It is better than I expected.’
It was then that her words were provocative, though only to Sophie—for the pleasure of his company had her thoughts taking her mind to places they had never been.
He was stunningly attractive, yes, and she was no fool as to her situation, yet as Sophie looked at him her throat seemed to close in on itself and she could feel the pulse beat in her neck.
She was innocent from the lips down, and those lips had determinedly stayed as closed as they could when she had kissed her fiancé.
She had never shared a meal in a man’s bedroom, or sat on a bed with a man and chatted so easily.
And neither had she ever stared so readily into another’s eyes.
It truly was better than expected.
Was it the hot Baharat mix in the shakshuka that made her cheeks suddenly redden, or was it the first stirrings of desire?
Sophie did her best not to dwell on that thought. She tore her gaze from his and spoke on quickly. ‘Apparently Sultan Alim has put a lot of new things on the menu since he took over the hotel.’
‘Sultan?’ Bastiano asked. He and Alim were friends. The Grande Lucia was Bastiano’s favoured hotel when in Rome, and he and Alim often painted the town a rich shade of red but, despite lavish spending and wild ways, as far as Bastiano knew, Alim had always kept his royal status under wraps as best he could.
‘We only found out that he was royal a few months ago,’ Sophie revealed. ‘His family came to stay and so of course the desk staff soon worked it out.’ She thought for a moment. ‘He’s a good boss.’
‘In what way?’ Bastiano asked. He liked to hear the things that were important to staff, and knew that that sort of information could not readily be gleaned from a questionnaire or an appraisal. He didn’t want to admit it, but he also just liked hearing her thoughts.
‘He knows all of his staff by name,’ Sophie said. ‘And he is fair and kind. There was a Christmas meal and gift for all the staff who were working over the festive season.’ She was silent for a moment as she thought back to that lonely day—coming to work had been the brightest part.
‘How long have you worked here?’ Bastiano asked.
‘For nearly ten months. I’ve been in Rome for just over a year.’ Sophie thought back to when she had first arrived and how nervous she had been, for she had never spent so much as a night away from home until then. ‘It took a few weeks to find a job. I would have taken anything, but then I came for my interview and I wanted to work here so badly. I never thought I would get it as there was two months’ training involved, but Benita took me on.’
‘Benita?’
‘The head of housekeeping,’ Sophie explained. ‘It is so much better than my old job.’
‘I guess working at a bakery would have meant many early starts?’
‘So early!’ Sophie nodded and rolled her eyes. ‘The shifts here are much better and the staff are really friendly. Well,’ she added, thinking of Inga, ‘most of them are.’
‘Most?’
‘There is always the odd person that you don’t get on with in any workplace.’ Sophie shrugged. ‘I enjoy working here; I can’t believe my luck really. It is, for me, the perfect job.’
‘Why?’
‘I like order,’ Sophie said. ‘I like things to be neat and tidy. When I see a suite such as yours, I itch to have it back as it should be.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’ She nodded her head in the direction of the chair. ‘I would have that jacket hanging up and that shirt put away.’ Then she looked back at him. ‘I would have that bed made, even with you in it…’ And she hesitated. It was something that she often said as a joke to guests, usually the ones on the twelfth floor when she shooed them out to service their room.
It was not something that would ever be said to a guest such as Bastiano; he would never be shooed out, even jokingly.
It was not just that thought that had her pause, it was more a sudden awareness of their situation that silenced her.
Yet she had let the words out, and they were how she felt.
Not so much a neat bed, of course, more the thoughts that were there—an emerging awareness that made the room feel a little warmer.
Bastiano said nothing, just held her unblinking gaze until she spoke on.
‘It really is the perfect job. Sometimes people ask me what I want to be, or they ask if I am working while studying, but I want only this—I’m happy now.’
‘That’s a very good place to be,’ Bastiano said, though he couldn’t fathom it for himself. The more he had the more he wanted, the more he achieved the further the goal seemed to stretch. ‘Do you miss your family and friends?’
‘I’ve made some friends�
��’ She thought of her flatmates and though they were not particularly close she got on well with them. And Sophie thought of Gabi, a wedding planner, who she had met on her first weekend here and had got on with straight away.
Usually Bastiano would leave it there. In fact, usually it would never have reached this point, for sitting in bed and chatting with a woman was not something Bastiano did regularly.
Regularly? Ha! Ever.
Yet he found he wanted to know her better.
‘Do you miss home?’ Bastiano asked, carefully rewording his question.
‘Sometimes,’ she admitted. ‘But if I was still there…’ Sophie stopped what she was about to say and put down her cutlery, even though her meal was not finished. The conversation was edging towards topics that she usually kept closed.
Her newly made friends knew little about her. To them she was Sophie, twenty-four years old and happily single.
They had no idea how hard she had fought and how much she had given up to achieve such a small victory.
‘If you were there?’ Bastiano pushed, and now he was fishing—he really did want to know more about her.
She was about to stand, to end the conversation and get on with her day. Return to the real world.
Surprisingly, she found she liked this one.
Sophie liked the peace in his bedroom and the ease with which she spoke with this man.
She thought of his kind smile when she had realised he’d heard her swear. It had been a smile that had spoken of mutual understanding and a familiarity with the ways back home.
Something told her that he would…understand.
And though she had in the main been happy, it had also been a lonely twelve months.
‘I was engaged to be married,’ Sophie admitted. ‘Had I stayed, tomorrow would have been my first wedding anniversary.’
‘Had you stayed?’ Bastiano verified. ‘So it was you who ended it?’
‘In a very mature and thoughtful way.’ Sophie nodded and then she gave a small laugh that told him she was joking about handling things in an adult fashion. ‘I ran away, if it is possible to run away from home when you are twenty-three. A month before the wedding I took a train to Rome and when I got here I called my parents and told them that I would not be marrying Luigi.’
He laughed at her explanation, although not unkindly—it was a deep, low laugh that was almost enough reward in itself for that awful phone call she had made to her parents.
Something told Sophie that he did not laugh easily, that what was happening this morning between them was both delicious and rare.
And then that low laugh faded, like a roll of soft thunder moving through her.
Lightning had already struck, Sophie realised.
She was here alone in his room and it was exactly where she wanted to be.
‘Have you been back home since?’ he asked, seemingly unaware of the dance in her mind. Sophie was terribly grateful for the resumption of conversation, and answered hurriedly for her thoughts were all over the place.
‘No, it was a big disgrace. I expected them to be cross but when it came to my birthday and my mother would not even come to the phone I realised just how bad things were.’
‘When was your birthday?’ he asked.
‘A few months after I ran away.’ She told him the date. ‘It was pretty miserable.’
Birthdays had always been about family and standing around a cake while having a hundred photos taken.
Not this time.
It had been the same at Christmas—and the reason she had been so grateful that Alim ensured his staff celebrated also. Her flatmates had all gone home to be with their families and so the meal and gift from work had been the only Christmas that Sophie had had.
‘They must miss you,’ Bastiano said, but Sophie shook her head.
‘I’m not sure that they do. I come from a big family; they wanted me married so that there would be one less. You know how things are back home.’
He nodded. Bastiano did know how things were for many but then he looked at Sophie and was still sure of one thing—they must miss her, because from the moment she had opened the drapes it had been as if an extra ray of sunshine had been let in. ‘Will you go back?’
‘I’m their only daughter…’ She shrugged but it belied the pain behind the inevitable decision. ‘If I return then I am to abide by their rules. I don’t know what will happen. For now, though, I live my dream.’
Even if it was lonely at times.
‘What about you?’ she asked.
‘I don’t have any family.’
‘None?’
He shook his head and he saw that she waited for him to elaborate. ‘I was raised by my mother’s brother and his wife.’
‘What about your mother?’
‘She died.’
‘How old were you?’
He didn’t answer.
‘What about your father?’
‘You know as much about him as I do—nothing.’
‘Not quite.’ Sophie smiled. ‘I know that he was good looking.’
Yes, she was like sunlight because until now, when he had revealed that his father was unknown, it had either terminated the conversation or resulted in averted eyes or a derisive comment. Not with Sophie, for she turned the awkwardness around as she smiled—and possibly flirted—and the conversation was far from closed.
‘What happened with your zia and zio?’ she asked.
‘I see them on occasion but we don’t really speak,’ Bastiano said, peeling off some brioche and handing it to her to mop up the last of the spicy sauce. ‘They threw me out when I was seventeen.’ He thought of the row they had had after the affair had been exposed and it had come to light that he had slept with the enemy—a Di Savo. ‘Deservedly so.’
‘So what are you doing here in Rome?’ Sophie asked. ‘Business?’
‘In part,’ Bastiano said, but knew that he was being evasive. Sophie obviously had no clue that he was considering purchasing the hotel. He didn’t want to enlighten her for he knew that it would put a wedge between them. So to avoid speaking of work he told her something rather personal. ‘I got dumped last night.’
‘Oh!’ She smiled at his revelation. ‘I cannot imagine anyone dumping you.’
‘Neither could my ego,’ Bastiano admitted, and then he told her a bit more. ‘She’s English and lives in a castle.’
‘Nice,’ Sophie said, and he shrugged.
‘It would have been a lot of work.’
Sophie frowned, not sure what he meant by that.
‘What was your fiancé like?’ he asked, curious about the man she had left behind.
‘He was a lot older than me, more than forty years old,’ Sophie said, and screwed up her face.
‘Is that why you ended it?’
‘Not really.’ She shook her head. Looking back at that time, she remembered that moment when she had felt as if she could see her life spreading out before her, and not liking what she saw.
Sophie had never discussed it with anyone and perhaps she should not now but there was nothing regular about this morning. She had never met anyone who felt less like a stranger before. Bastiano knew more about her than her flatmates and she had lived with them for a year. More about her than Gabi, for she had been a touch elusive of late and their catch-ups had petered out. And he knew more about her than her parents, for they had never once asked for her take on things.
‘Luigi came over to my parents’ for dinner, as he often did…’
Bastiano said nothing, he even fought a slight eye rise, but at forty shouldn’t the guy have at least been entertaining her?
Sophie glanced at him—the truth was a touch personal, but his eyes were patient and finally there was a person to whom she co
uld speak her truth.
‘That night I felt a little sick and didn’t really eat much. When my mother took away the plates and my brothers and father left us alone he asked what was wrong with me. I told him that I had gone on the Pill.’ She blushed just a little as she said it but far less than she had when she had told her fiancé. In fact, Bastiano seemed completely at ease with the sensitive topic.
Unlike Luigi.
It hadn’t been up for discussion. Sophie had had to find everything out for herself. Even the village doctor hadn’t been particularly friendly. In the end, it had been her friend at the bakery who had told her that she could skip her period entirely if she chose.
‘What was his reaction?’ Bastiano asked.
‘He seemed cross. He said, “Why would you go on that?” Then he told me that he wanted children straight away and a lot of them!’
She pulled such a horrified face that Bastiano laughed.
And there was that thunder again, only this time she was counting the minutes, for the delicious storm drew closer with each revelation and with each passing word.
‘I said that we needed my wage from the bakery and my mother came in from the kitchen. She didn’t hear the part about the Pill, of course, just me saying I would put off having children so I could work, and she said she would look after them. It’s not that I don’t want children…’
He halted her when she tried to further explain for there was no need.
‘Sophie,’ he said in that rich voice of his, ‘well done for running away.’
Bastiano was the first person she had really told about it and his reaction made her feel warm with pride for her choice, rather than sick with shame as her family had. ‘Thank you.’
Oh, they were as natural as that, for Bastiano, who rarely bothered with conversation, was telling her some more about himself.
‘I flew Lydia over from England with her stepfather, Maurice, under the guise of business. We were supposed to be meeting in the bar and then going out for dinner but when she turned up she said that she was going out with friends instead.’
Sophie gave him a quizzical look, because she really couldn’t imagine declining dinner with him, but Bastiano read her frown as curiosity.