‘Matteo,’ she half whispered, half sighed and he wasn’t sure if she was urging him on or telling him to stop, but as he stilled, pulling back in question, the suite phone shrilled out and she stepped back, laughing shakily.
‘Wow, welcome to Rome indeed. Are you going to get that?’
‘It’ll be Reception telling us our car is here; are you ready?’
‘Give me five minutes.’ She paused, staring at him, and he could have sworn her heart was in her eyes as she raised one hand to his cheek before whirling round and disappearing into one of the bedrooms, leaving him standing there, alone but hopeful. The first steps had been taken. He could make this right.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ROME WAS AS beautiful and exciting and atmospheric as Charlie had always dreamt it would be. It was a short journey to the residential area near the Vatican where Natalia’s mother lived, but she took in every detail of the journey: the groups of tourists obediently following an upheld umbrella or flag, the snappily suited men and fashionable women of all ages, the small children clinging onto their parents’ hands—and all around beautiful buildings in golden stone, cafés and restaurants and shops and the ubiquitous coffee bars where men stood to drink their grappa or espressos to avoid the seat fee.
But even as she drank in the sights she was ultra-aware of Matteo next to her, the breadth of his shoulders, the flex of his wrists, the heat radiating from him despite the seat between them. The atmosphere between them had been charged ever since they’d left the hotel suite. Electricity sizzled almost tangibly between them every time they came within touching distance, with every darting glance.
How she’d missed the way she fitted exactly into him as if she had been made for him, the way a light kiss could make her forget her own name, the way he knew exactly how to touch her, the taste of him. Charlie quivered with the memory, as if he were touching her still.
It was a relief when the car pulled up outside the building where Natalia was staying and Charlie could turn her attention to the matter at hand. Natalia’s mother’s high-ceilinged apartment was elegantly furnished with antiques and Charlie felt out of place at first next to the sophisticated slim woman with hair swept up in an enviably chic chignon. Natalia seemed every inch the ballet teacher from her neat slippers to her wrap cardigan, and Charlie couldn’t help feeling gaudy with her own hair held back by a headband that matched her sixties-style pink shift dress. But Natalia soon put her at her ease, clearly delighted that Charlie was willing to take on the gala, and soon Charlie was perched on the narrow sofa with a coffee, discussing all the details.
There was definitely an element of interview about the whole process, on both sides. Charlie needed a clearer understanding of what she was proposing to undertake and was relieved to find out that all the choreography had not only been taught but recorded so she would have videos to help her with the final rehearsals. All the costumes had been ordered and should be with her in plenty of time and the tickets already sold and distributed.
‘It really is just a matter of putting them through their paces, making sure they know where they are when on stage and dealing with all last-minute panics and hitches,’ Natalia said in her beautifully accented English. ‘I very much hope my dear mamma will be better in time for me to come and see the performance at least, maybe even be there for the dress rehearsal, but there are no guarantees. She is still in hospital and she needs me here. But it will be much easier for me to manage, knowing that my girls and boys are being looked after.’
In her turn, Charlie was very politely grilled about her training, and found herself revealing that she too had once harboured dreams of being a ballerina. ‘I was too tall, and never had the right kind of turnout,’ she confessed. ‘I did audition for training at sixteen, even though I knew it was a long shot, but didn’t get a place. Instead I went to theatre school at eighteen and studied commercial and musical theatre, but soon found that I gravitated towards the teaching side. In the end I didn’t even try to perform as a career; instead I converted my degree into a full teaching qualification and never looked back. Now my stage career is confined to putting on school plays and teaching in the local village hall at evenings and weekends. At least it was before I married Matteo.’
Looking over to the other side of the room, she noted Matteo’s look of surprise. She’d never confided those early ambitions to him, a little embarrassed by her girlish dreams. He was a man who had always achieved everything he set out to achieve, and her change of direction, the crushing of her childish dreams didn’t seem like things that he would understand. Funny, she had never thought of herself as being the one who’d kept secrets in their marriage before. Their gazes caught and held and it was as if he could see through to the very soul of her.
It was so hard to remember that this feeling was just an illusion. That in the end he’d wanted her to change, to fit into his world, that all her differences had become a liability to him, no longer a refreshing change. And the opposite was true as well. She’d known of his ties and loyalty, applauded his steadfastness and commitment, but in the end hadn’t she wanted to change him just as much as he’d wanted to change her?
She dragged her attention back to the matter at hand and after an hour they both had everything they needed. Natalia wished her luck as she showed them to the door.
‘I’m here for anything you need, anything at all,’ she said. ‘You have my number. Please do use it. And Charlie, I can’t thank you enough. A couple of those girls are really talented and there is one boy for whom I have very high hopes. For them to have an experience like this, to dance with an artist like Violeta, is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. It would have broken my heart if the gala hadn’t gone ahead. I’m so glad that they are in your hands, with someone who isn’t just a teacher but someone who knows what it is to dream.’
Matteo was quiet as they made their way down the steep stone staircase, through the foyer and out into the busy street below. He’d sent the car away, suggesting to Charlie that they walk back to the hotel, picking up dinner on the way. ‘Rome is very walkable,’ he’d said. ‘And, of course, there is the Metro if you do get tired.’
After an afternoon of travelling, Charlie had relished the thought of a walk. Besides, her parents always said that you only ever got to know a city by walking through it. But the silence was so charged she almost wished for a car and the presence of a driver to dispel it.
‘We need to cross the Tiber,’ Matteo said after they’d walked a block in silence. ‘We’re heading towards the Piazza Navona. It’s tourist central but the place we’re looking for is around there.’
‘Great!’ she said brightly. He half smiled but said nothing else, his expression hidden by his sunglasses.
‘Natalia seems nice,’ she said after a while.
‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘I didn’t know you wanted to be a ballet dancer.’
‘It’s all such a long time ago now,’ she said. ‘To be honest, I only really auditioned because I felt like I should. I knew even then that it’s one thing to be the very best in your own dance school, one thing to be good enough to go to elite weekend classes in London, but it’s quite another to get a place to train. It’s not easy to be so very close but in the end just not good enough. It’s not something I like to dwell on so I put it behind me. And I love teaching. I wouldn’t change how things worked out if I could.’
‘But you’re not teaching now?’
She looked at him in surprise and he shrugged. ‘It’s still term time in the UK, isn’t it? And you haven’t mentioned having to contact your job so I assume you’re not working.’
‘No,’ she said slowly, trying to figure out how to answer his question without volunteering any extra information about their life together as she had promised ‘I meant to, but things were so hectic when we got back from our honeymoon I put it off and ended up volunteering at the local community centre as a stopgap. Soon th
e centre seemed to take up all my time and of course money wasn’t actually an issue. You had more than enough for both of us and didn’t mind if I worked for a salary or not.’ She paused, trying to find the courage to say the words she’d never actually said to him before. ‘What I didn’t expect was how much I disliked being dependent on anyone, even someone as generous as you. I think maybe not working was a mistake.’ She bit her lip as she realised she was speaking in the past tense, but he didn’t seem to notice.
‘Do you resent me for it?’
‘No, of course not.’ It was true that financially at least, Matteo was generous to a fault. He’d presented her with a credit card and her bank account was topped up weekly; she’d had more money than she knew what to do with. But it wasn’t hers. And so when she had rushed home triumphantly brandishing a dress from a new designer she’d found in Dalston and he’d suggested she choose something less eccentric for the ball she’d bought it for she’d felt obliged to. After all, he’d paid for it. Just as he’d paid for her hairdressing appointments, the food they ate, her activities. It had become harder and harder to assert her independence when their tastes were so different. But when she had casually suggested looking for a teaching position Matteo had tried to put her off. It was such a demanding, time-consuming job, he had said. It would make it even harder for them to spend time together, he needed her to help him entertain business contacts too.
And, blinded by love and wanting their marriage to be a success, she had agreed. She should have known better than to go against her instincts like that. ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘But it was the wrong choice for me, for now at least. I love my job; it’s part of who I am.’
‘Then,’ he said, taking her hand, ‘when we get home let’s find you the perfect job.’
‘When we get home. Yes.’ But where was her home? Not in London and she couldn’t stay with her grandmother for ever. She’d planned to visit her parents in Malaysia as part of her trip but, much as they would welcome her, she wouldn’t want to stay with them for more than a few weeks. She’d lived all over the globe and yet still didn’t have a home of her own. She’d thought it would be wherever Matteo was. How she wished that was true.
* * *
Matteo was unsure why Charlie’s confession of her youthful wish to be a dancer had struck him so hard. Of course it was impossible to know everything about a person, especially after just a year of actually knowing each other, but he had told her more about himself than he had told any other living person and had thought the opposite was true. She knew how hard it had been when his grandfather had insisted he spent his summer working and not at the villa in Ravello with his Italian family. He’d told her about a boyhood dream to be a pilot, and the lessons he had taken, but how he had never had the time to get in the hours of flying needed to get his licence. He’d even told her about his university band days, although he hadn’t inflicted any of their music on her. She had kept something that was clearly very important to her from him, not on purpose, but it still stung.
For so much of his life he had been the lonely outsider looking in, although he had hidden it well with a veneer of confidence polished by his boarding school and his grandfather’s expectations. Charlie had made him feel alive, really, truly alive, for the first time in his entire life. It was shaming how quickly he had taken that for granted, to remember that when she’d left he had told himself that they were too different after all, that for her living in his world was like imprisoning some beautiful wild bird in a cage, a gilded luxurious cage but a cage nonetheless.
He shook himself impatiently. One comment, one surprise from her past and he was immediately dwelling on all the things that had gone wrong, all the things he’d done wrong, all his fears. This trip to Rome was about making new memories, about reminding her how good it could be between them, about starting the process of winning her back, and that wasn’t going to happen while he strode along brooding as if he should be on a windswept Yorkshire moor instead of on the streets of one of the world’s most enticing—and romantic—cities.
He squeezed her hand. ‘Are you hungry? Do you want to head straight for dinner or get a drink first?’
Charlie bit her lip thoughtfully. ‘I am hungry,’ she said. ‘But I wouldn’t mind walking around for a little bit first. Maybe we could have a wander, stop for a drink and maybe some olives and then go and eat?’
‘Excellent idea,’ he said as they reached the bridge that took them over the Tiber River. It was early evening now and, although the city was still busy, it was less hurried, with a relaxed meandering air as people headed out for an evening of pleasure, not the buzzing busyness of work or tourists ticking another thing off their must-see list.
The route Matteo chose took them to the busy, bustling Piazza Navona and onto Campo di Fiori, where all the market traders had packed away, their colourful wares sold out long before. Now the graceful old square was filled with tables and chairs and so they stopped for beers and delicious bread dipped in fresh olive oil, watching the world wander by.
‘Show me the sights,’ Charlie said and so he did, taking her to the Pantheon and then the Trevi Fountain, where she insisted on throwing in a coin to ensure her return. Rome was as beguiling as ever. One moment they were on a wide paved street full of designer shops, the next in a twisting alleyway emerging into a square filled with people, full of cafés and gelaterias and shops selling everything from one-euro souvenirs to handbags costing thousands.
He’d planned a circuitous route, so they ended up back near the Piazza Navona again. This time Matteo led them through the bustling square to a side street where a group of people were queueing to get through the door of a small, unpretentious café.
‘What’s this?’ Charlie asked, and he smiled.
‘Dinner.’
‘Here?’ She looked through the window at the long oilcloth-covered tables in surprise.
‘This is one of the most famous pizzerias in Rome,’ he told her. ‘A real local hotspot, as well as a destination for thousands of tourists in the know. But most will pass it by, not knowing that inside this very unassuming place is the best pizza in Rome. So good that there is nearly always a queue.’
It wasn’t too long before they reached the front and were soon sitting at one of the long tables alongside other patrons to enjoy the most delicious pizza Rome had to offer. It was the kind of place Matteo would never usually choose for a romantic date, wanting to impress with an expensive, exclusive restaurant, all hushed voices and fine dining, but he knew Charlie would be charmed with this slice of Roman life and he was right. She quickly struck up a conversation with the family next to them, and then when the Americans left did her best to practice her new Italian phrases on the young fashionable couple who took their places.
‘That was amazing,’ she said, practically skipping as they left the restaurant. ‘I’ve never eaten anything so perfect in all my life. I’m spoilt for all other pizza now for ever.’
Pizza was followed by gelato from one of Rome’s oldest and most celebrated ice-cream shops and they wandered through the streets, eating the deliciously cold dessert. ‘I love Rome,’ Charlie said, her eyes filled with dreams and stars. ‘I always knew I would. Have we got time to visit the cat sanctuary? Oh, and Shelley’s grave?’
‘If we don’t then we’ll come back.’
‘Promise?’
‘Yes.’ The words felt like a renewal, a promise of a future. Matteo looked down at Charlie and his heart beat painfully as he saw the hope written all over her face, mirroring his own hope, love and desire for this vibrant, beautiful, caring girl.
The past wasn’t a prophecy for the future. He had messed up, he knew that, but things could be different, they would be different, he vowed. Taking her hand, he drew her to him, slipping one arm around her waist and tilting her chin up to look down into the beloved heart-shaped face he knew better than his own, drinking in every detail from t
he smattering of freckles on her nose to the fullness of her mouth before losing himself in the blue of her long-lashed eyes. Matteo forgot where he was, who he thought he had to be, all the events of the last year. All he knew was her. And what could he do but bend his head and kiss her, a sweet, lingering kiss?
There was no hesitation as Charlie kissed him back, her own hands resting on the nape of his neck, holding him tight as if she didn’t want to let go. All the sounds faded away and all he knew was them, just two lovers in the Eternal City. Matteo lost track of time, lost in the feel of her, the taste of her, this kiss and this moment. They could have been there for seconds, minutes or hours until the sounds of a large group walking past made them both jump and they drew apart a little shakily.
‘Come on,’ Matteo said unsteadily. ‘Let’s go back.’
Charlie didn’t demur, her fingers laced in his as they swiftly walked the half mile or so back to the Spanish Steps and their hotel. They didn’t stop for selfies or to admire the view as they walked up the famous steps, darting around groups of teenagers and families enjoying the warm summer evening, climbing in silence.
It seemed to take an eternity to reach the top, walk through the lobby of their hotel and take the lift to the top floor but finally they were back in the penthouse suite and Matteo drew Charlie out to the terrace. For a long moment they stood looking out over the city, her hand still in his as she leaned against him, her head on his shoulder.
‘This has been a wonderful day, thank you.’
‘It’s not over yet...’ he teased and kissed her once again. Her response was no less immediate, no less passionate than it had been on the street, but she drew away much more quickly this time and looked up at him, framing his face with her hands.
Winning Back His Runaway Bride Page 8