I’m head over
I’m head over heels in love with you
I’m head over…
It can’t be?
As soon as I stepped inside, I heard the music blaring loudly from the kitchen. I’d recognise those lyrics anywhere. That’s ‘Head Over Heels’ by the Eclectic Detectives!
I peeked my head around the door and saw Lorenzo in front of the stove, strumming an air guitar to the thumping beat whilst belting out the chorus and clearly getting into it.
Wonders will never cease. He was rocking out to one of my favourite bands. If they were a famous, chart-topping group, it would be no big deal, but the Eclectic Detectives, who I’d discovered randomly on Spotify, were relatively new and definitely not well known. Certainly not amongst any of my friends. And yet, here was Lorenzo, the normally surly Italian chef, singing along to every word. Wow.
I pulled my head back, not wishing to disturb his moment. It was nice to see him in good spirits for a change. Music has the same effect on me too. Even if I’m feeling down, it always has a way of making me feel better and taking me to my happy place.
‘Lorenzo!’ Erica called out as she bounded into the kitchen. ‘Why so loud?’ she shouted! I then heard them engaging in a heated exchange in Italian, and seconds later, everything fell silent. Shame. I was really enjoying that.
‘Dinner we hope will be around eight or eight-fifteen,’ announced Erica as she stepped into the living room. ‘Is okay with you?’ We all nodded in agreement, then I headed upstairs to my room.
I caught up on WhatsApp, sending Roxy and Bella loads of pics of the dishes we’d cooked, which attracted lots of thumbs-up emojis, and after about an hour, I went back downstairs for dinner.
Well, he might be a moody arsehole who had developed a passion for critiquing my cookery skills (which, to be fair, was his job, so really I should stop taking it so personally…), but whilst I’m stating the obvious, he definitely did know how to cook. I tucked into a delicious mushroom risotto that he’d served us, and I could have sworn I’d died and gone to heaven.
I polished it off in no time and was desperate for seconds.
‘I have more,’ he said as if reading my mind. He picked up the pot on the table and tilted it so that we could see inside. ‘Anyone like?’
I stared around the table, politely waiting to see who would take him up on his offer.
‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly,’ said Fran, rubbing her stomach. ‘It was lovely, but I’m stuffed, thank you.’
‘I wouldn’t mind a little more, thank you,’ I said. ‘It was delicious.’ He nodded at me in acknowledgment.
‘Go on, then, Luciano. I’ll have a few more spoons,’ added Grace, giving him a wink.
‘Lovely woman!’ he exclaimed as he scooped out extra into her empty bowl. ‘I love that you like my cooking.’ He gave her a warm smile and then squeezed her shoulder.
Er, hello? Favouritism much? Did I not also say I liked his food and that I wanted more? FFS!
As he moved towards my chair, his smiley expression changed to stone and he spooned out an extra portion for me in silence, then returned to his seat on the opposite side of the table.
Wow. What a dickhead.
By the time we were tucking into the panna cotta for dessert, the wine and conversation began to flow. And after a couple of hours had elapsed, you could tell that everyone was feeling much more relaxed, including the surly chef.
Flirty and persistent Fran didn’t miss her opportunity to get some goss and went in for the kill.
‘So, Lorenzo,’ Fran said, smiling cheekily, ‘tell me. Is there a special woman or even women in your life?’
Go, Fran! Like a female Columbo, once she had her mind set on a line of enquiry, she didn’t give up.
Lorenzo started to blush and wriggle in his chair. ‘Um, is, it is complicated…’
Come on, Lorenzo. You know that Detective Fran won’t accept that as an answer.
Like a bulldozer, she continued: ‘In what way? Do you have a girlfriend, or multiple girlfriends? Have you just broken up with your girlfriend, or are you looking for a girlfriend?’ Bless Fran. She was about as subtle as a sledgehammer.
More blushing and chair shuffling ensued. Everyone’s eyes were now squarely focused on him, itching to hear his response.
You could tell he wasn’t at all comfortable with talking about himself or his love life to a bunch of nosey English people he barely knew. However, sensing correctly that Fran would keep probing until she received an acceptable reply, he relented.
‘I am in a…I have been in a relationship a long time, but it is not working. I know things are not right, but it is…difficult.’
‘Tell me about it!’ screamed Dan. ‘Women are just a complete mystery, aren’t they!’
‘I beg your pardon, Dan. We are very simple creatures,’ protested Fran. ‘Well, Lorenzo, you’re a young man in your prime, so if something isn’t working, don’t waste your life. Get back out there. I’m sure there’d be women queuing around the block to get a piece of a hot man like you!’
He frowned, not initially understanding what she said, and then as the penny appeared to drop, he blushed.
‘Grazie, Francesca.’
‘Prego, Lorenzo. It’s a bit like Sophia,’ she added slyly.
What? Why is she bringing me into this?
‘You know, she’s newly single and totally gorgeous, so Grace and I were telling her yesterday that she needs to get herself out there more. There’s a lot of guys that would love to spend an evening with her too.’
‘Fran!’ I exclaimed. What was she doing? This wasn’t bloody Take Me Out. Her attempt to matchmake à la Paddy McGuiness made me feel awkward. Particularly when it was so obvious he wasn’t remotely interested. It was safe to say that if I was the last woman on earth, he wouldn’t even spit on me, never mind snog me.
Seems like I wasn’t the only one feeling uncomfortable, as Lorenzo started squirming in his chair again and then jumped up.
‘It is getting late,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘I must go and tidy the kitchen.’
Wow, I hadn’t realised that the prospect of spending some sexy time with me would cause him to leave the room so quickly. As much as it shouldn’t bother me, no one likes to be considered undesirable, which is exactly how he made me feel.
‘Ah, yes,’ said Erica, glancing at her watch, clearly not enthralled about the suggestion of the man she obviously fancied potentially being paired up with another woman.
‘Tomorrow we visit Florence, so we leave early to make the most of the day. Perhaps it is better that we go to bed now. We have breakfast at eight and then leave by eight forty-five. Is fine with you?’ Everyone nodded in unison and also looked at their phones to check the time. It was fast approaching midnight. The evening had flown by.
We said our goodnights and headed up to our room. I avoided Lorenzo in the kitchen to prevent any further awkwardness. Yes, it was good to know that he was on the verge of singledom (well, good for everyone except his girlfriend). But at the same time, it was pointless even considering it could go any further.
He’d made it very clear that he didn’t fancy me. I just had to realise that I couldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea and get used to the fact that this was going to be a man-free, romance-free holiday.
What a damn shame.
Chapter Eleven
Hard to believe it, but today was our last full day here.
I felt so relaxed. The combination of the idyllic surroundings, great company, fantastic food and learning new skills (although Lorenzo would say not quickly enough) made it a great getaway. Albert was surely presiding over everything to help me enjoy myself.
Monday was a working day, which meant I should be checking my emails… no. Stop! The deal was 11 a.m., wasn’t it? And it was only seven. With breakfast at eight, that gave me a full hour to get ready.
I’d enjoyed being more low-key with my dress sense, wearing less make-up and, as we were work
ing with food, putting my hair up in a loose, ‘undone’ ponytail these past few days—something I’d try to do more often when I was back. However, because we’d be venturing outside of our cosy group to Florence, and it was our last full twenty-four hours together, I decided there was no harm in making a bit more of an effort on the appearance front today.
After my shower, I painted my toes so that they could dry whilst I was brushing my teeth. I applied my make-up, then smoothed out my hair with my hairdryer so I could have it down.
What to wear? I wanted to keep the clothing comfortable, but I was sure I had a little something more smart casual.
I opened the wardrobe and sifted through the rail of clothes I’d neatly hung up when we’d arrived to ensure they didn’t get creased. Starting from the left, I pulled out a black slogan t-shirt. Nah.
Next I came to a black Karen Millen jumper, which I’d packed to look more high street and less Bond Street. Nope.
I continued trawling through the hangers. Ah yes. This could work. I pulled out a vibrant orange mini dress—one of the items that mum had given me for my birthday. Whilst she comes across as regal and always looks immaculate, she loves nothing more than a good rummage at TK Maxx and refuses to spend lots of money on clothes. And she thinks the amounts I pay are ridiculous.
Once, when she spotted the price tag on my Victoria Beckham V-neck dress whilst she was nosing through my dressing room, she almost fainted. ‘How much?’ she’d shouted. ‘You could buy three hundred dresses in Primark for that—literally a new one for every day of the year!’ As well as trying to encourage me to look more relaxed, I think she’s convinced that if she keeps giving me high street clothes, I’ll realise the error of my ways and stop buying designer altogether.
I held the orange mini dress up to the light and checked the label. Top Shop? I’d always considered them as a younger brand, but it still looked good. Yep. This was the one.
I took a fresh pair of leggings off the hanger to wear underneath. Yet another gift from Mum. Leggings were not something I’d normally wear unless it was for Pilates. I checked the label. Atmosphere? Hadn’t heard of them. The tag was still on. £2.50 from Primark! That’s practically the same price as a coffee at Pret. Wow. I knew Mum had always gone on about it being cheap, but that was crazy. This would be at least £60 in Whistles or Joseph. It’d be more stylish, but you can’t argue when something’s that inexpensive.
Right, footwear: now my toes had been painted, I could wear my sandals. A lot more feminine than the pair of white Converse I’d been living in for the past few days. I grabbed my phone and checked the weather. A quick search for Florence revealed that it would be a sunny eighteen degrees until 6 p.m., when it would become cloudy, followed by heavy rain at eight. That was fine. We had our last cookery lesson later this afternoon, so we’d be back before then. Black and gold sandals it was.
I stood in front of the long mirror on the wardrobe door. That’s better.
I’d scrubbed up okay. It wasn’t full-on work-mode scrubbing up—just a more comfortable version. How I’d wanted to feel when I went out, but I’d always been paranoid about bumping into clients without heels or being completely done up to the nines.
As a beauty PR, I felt that I need to look glam at all times. That I’d be misrepresenting my brands or letting them down if I wasn’t a walking advert for their products. But today I was off-duty, so I decided to wear make-up, but nowhere near as much as normal. No primer, concealer, blusher, highlighter, lip liner or eyeshadow. Just eyeliner, mascara, a bit of eyebrow pencil, a little base and a nude lipstick with a slick of pink gloss on top.
I was ready for action. Well, not quite action, as we’d established that I didn’t have a cat in hell’s chance of that happening, but I was ready to face the day. Whether that involved more criticism and scornful looks from Lorenzo, I didn’t care. I was feeling great, so screw him (if only…).
I walked downstairs and glanced in the kitchen. Mr Moody was there, making coffee.
‘Buongiorno,’ I said cheerily.
He looked up, and maybe it was just me, but I could have sworn that his eyes momentarily popped out of his head. Okay, maybe they stayed in their sockets and didn’t extend all the way, but there was definitely a hint of surprise in his eyes. Perhaps even pleasant surprise tinged with a touch of desire?
‘Buon–buongiorno,’ he stuttered. And, wait: I think he just strained a smile.
No way. Either that or he had wind? Wonders will never cease.
‘Buongiorno, Sophia. Wow!’ said Erica as she bounded into the kitchen, heading for the fridge. ‘Che bellezza! You look very beautiful today!’
‘Grazie, Erica,’ I said graciously.
Well, that’s a promising start isn’t it? Lorenzo had actually spoken to me and even tried to smile, which was probably such a painful experience that he might shortly need medical attention. Erica said I looked nice too. I know as a confident thirty-nine-year-old woman, I shouldn’t need validation from others, but hell, I’m human, and who doesn’t like to be complimented?
After a quick breakfast, we all bundled into the people carrier and nattered the whole way to Florence. It dawned on me as we arrived that it was now approaching 11 a.m.—email checking was on the schedule.
Fuck it! I’m on holiday. For once in my life, I would not be checking my messages. Time for a mini digital detox. Whatever it is could wait until I got back.
Even more progress.
The driver dropped us off just outside the perimeter of the centre, so within minutes of walking, we were at the Piazza del Duomo. The Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore was breathtaking. The exterior was a decorative mix of pink, white and green marble. I’m not the most cultured person and was never one to do the whole museum/monument sightseeing thing when I went away (I’m more of a beach holiday kind of girl—well, I would be, if I actually took proper breaks), but even I could appreciate the beauty of this city.
Erica was the perfect tour guide, taking us to all the famous sites including the Ponte Vecchio old bridge, the Palazzo Vecchio town hall with the copy of the David sculpture and lots of other butt-naked statues in questionable poses (is it just me who wonders why some of them are in such compromising positions? Sorry, I told you I wasn’t very cultured).
As we wandered around the busy streets, Fran disappeared ahead with Erica. She was up to something…
Moments later I heard her exclaim, ‘No! Really?’
What were they talking about? Not long afterwards, Erica stopped and turned around to check that we were all visible and that no one had got lost whilst Fran had distracted her. Then Erica took her phone out of her bag.
‘I will just call the restaurant to check that they are ready for us to come for lunch. Un momento.’
Fran rushed over to me, eyes wide, and pulled me to one side.
‘You’ll never guess what? I knew it!’ she yelped. She was trying to whisper, but she couldn’t contain herself. Any minute now she was about to spontaneously combust with excitement.
‘What?’ I asked. ‘What did you know?’
‘Erica and Lorenzo. I knew they had history! Like brother and sister my arse! It took some digging, but I was determined to get to the bottom of it! She was always complaining far too much about what a womaniser he is and how he doesn’t do this and doesn’t do that. Those are the words of a woman scorned. I know the signs, my friend,’ she said gleefully like a detective who’d just cracked a ten-year case.
There was no point in denying it, though; I was desperate to know more.
‘So are they together now?’ I asked eagerly.
‘No!’ Fran said, eyes widening. ‘That’s the thing. Apparently, they had a night of passion years ago. She was all loved up, hastily planning marriage and the fairy-tale ending, but a week later, he slept with one of the guests! Can you believe it? And not a pretty young thing, either. The word is, she was a very average-looking, generously proportioned fifty-two-year-old. Get in! It seems he likes old
er women!’ She fluttered her eyelashes flirtatiously.
‘Fran!’ I said. ‘You’re a married lady!’
‘I know. Doesn’t stop me from ogling, though, does it!’ She let out a raucous laugh. I raised my eyebrows and tried to signal with my eyes that Erica was now approaching and we needed to cut the conversation or change the subject. Shame, really, as it was getting kind of interesting.
So Lorenzo had slept with a guest…hmm.
We walked to the restaurant and had a beautiful lunch. After a few hours of sightseeing, it was also a relief to take the weight off my feet for a while.
Erica explained that we could now split up and have free time on our own. I could tell by the fire in Fran’s eyes, she was not even going to think about shopping when there was more gossip to be gleaned.
As Dan and Grace filtered off separately into the centre, Fran said, ‘Erica, why don’t you walk around with Sophia and me? Unless, of course, you want to be on your own.’
‘Oh, yes,’ replied Erica. ‘Grazie, that will be nice. I have done this tour millions of times, so I am very happy to walk with you both.’
‘Wonderful!’ said Fran, clapping her hands together with glee. She wasted no time getting back to delving deeper into the story.
‘So…you were telling me all about Lorenzo,’ said Fran.
Erica looked a little startled. You could tell she was a professional and took her job seriously, so she didn’t want to be seen to gossip. But at the same time, I got the sense she enjoyed having some girl-talk time and the chance to vent.
As if sensing her trepidation, Fran assured her, ‘Don’t worry—Sophia’s fine. We’re amongst friends here. So,’ she said, resuming her line of questioning, ‘Lorenzo slept with a fifty-two-year-old guest a week after you’d been together. How awful!’
‘I know,’ said Erica, bowing her head. ‘I was heartbroken. I thought we could have a real future together. We are similar age. I am thirty-four, he is forty. We have similar background and job. We could have been perfect, but he ruined everything. He is just a sex addict. If he wanted more sex, he could have just asked me. I would have given to him. But instead he went with her. And she is not the first. There have been others. He just cannot help himself. Some of them are not even special. If they are female, are breathing and they let him know they are interested, he does not hesitate.’
The Middle-Aged Virgin_A Chick Lit, Romantic Comedy Novel_Newly Single And Seeking Spine-Tingles... Page 10