Taming Her Italian Boss

by Unknown

  She was working on a drawing of a gondola floating in front of a palazzo. Her style was interesting. She often drew in black pen, but the lines were always fluid and emotive. It should have given a messy look to the sketch, but somehow she managed to get the shape and structures perfectly without making it look staid and formal, something he could never have done. And he could see she was growing, developing. There was a new confidence in her work that hadn’t been there when she’d arrived.

  That was the elusive ‘niche’ she’d been looking for, he was sure of it, but he sensed she lacked confidence to pursue it. He wondered what he could do to encourage her. She’d helped him rediscover the real excitement and passion that had been missing from his work for months now, and he’d like to return the favour.

  She started, suddenly realising he was close, jumped up and turned round, smiling. ‘Nosey,’ she said.

  The air crackled between them, and he bent down and stole a kiss. ‘Guilty as charged.’ He nodded at his niece, who’d almost finished obliterating her princess in a cloud of bright orange crayon so thick one could hardly see the black lines of Ruby’s pen underneath.

  Ruby chuckled. ‘She’s nothing if not thorough. I have no idea where she gets that from.’

  ‘Shut up,’ he said. ‘Are you ready to go?’

  She nodded. ‘We’re off to feed the pigeons in St Mark’s Square, right?’

  He didn’t answer. When he’d mentioned pigeons, it wasn’t necessarily feeding them he’d been thinking about, seeing as the city was trying to actively discourage it. Chasing them had been a much preferred boyhood pastime, one he thought Sofia would enjoy with equal relish, and almost verged on the side of civic duty these days, as the birds caused so much damage to the delicate buildings and statues.

  When Ruby stood back, he frowned. Something was different. Something was not quite right....

  And then he realised what it was. He’d seen that outfit before. It was the plain T-shirt and jeans she’d worn a couple of times before, but today it was unadorned. No loops of beaded necklaces, no vintage waistcoat, no floaty scarves. It was most odd. But since Ruby had always been one to defy expectation where her wardrobe was concerned, he supposed she was following true to form.

  It should have only taken ten minutes to walk to St Mark’s from Ca’ Damiani, but it took Max, Ruby and Sofia closer to twenty. Mostly because they didn’t bother with the buggy and had to accommodate Sofia’s tiny little legs. When they were there, Sofia delighted in chasing the pigeons, which flew up in clouds as she cut a path through them, but settled back down nearby only seconds later.

  He and Ruby watched on from the sidelines, smiling. He reached over and took her hand, relished the feel of her warm skin in his. She always felt that way, never cold, always soft and inviting.

  ‘That drawing you were doing this morning was very good,’ he told her. ‘I really think you should do something with it.’ He thought about the overpriced prints and postcards for the tourists, the sickly, sentimental paintings in some of the shops that sold carnival masks by the bucketload. ‘Your drawings of Venice are better than a lot of what’s out there.’

  He thought she’d be pleased at some encouraging words, but she pressed her lips together and stared out across the vast square with its arcades and hundreds of pillars. ‘Nah,’ she said, lifting just one shoulder in a little shrug. ‘I think it’s better if I keep it as a hobby for now.’

  His brows drew together as he waited for her to carry on, say something more cheery and upbeat, but she just let out a huge sigh. Something really was different, and it wasn’t just the wardrobe.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s walk a bit more.’

  She nodded and called for Sofia, who wasn’t that enthralled at the idea of leaving the pigeons alone, but she came without too much grizzling.

  It wasn’t just today, was it? This strange behaviour. There had been little things for the past few days. Tiny things he’d hardly noticed when they’d been random, individual occurrences, but now they were building to make something bigger, forming themselves into a pattern. She’d been quieter, more restrained. She’d laughed less. And there was something else, too, about the way she looked that was different. Something other than the lack of accessories. He just couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

  Was this connected to the drawing thing?

  She talked about passion, about wanting to find it. It was clear to him that drawing was what she really loved to do. She couldn’t not do it. He couldn’t count the number of scraps of paper, backs of receipts, paper napkins he’d seen her sketches on in the last couple of weeks. So why did she resist it? Why did she avoid it when the thing that tugged her heart most was under her nose?

  They walked out towards the Doge’s Palace. He’d been going to tell her some interesting facts about it, things linked to conversations they’d had earlier in the week, but now it just felt like the wrong thing to do, so they strolled in silence to the water’s edge and stared over to Isola di San Giorgio. Out on the lagoon, he could see the exact spot he’d cut the motor on their sunset trip, but there was no moonlight now, no gently flickering stars, just bright sun, beating down on them and bleaching all the shadows away.

  ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ she said, after they’d been staring at the water for a couple of minutes. ‘It’s really great news.’

  She twisted to look at him, but the smile she wore seemed hollow, like the trompe l’oeil in his mother’s salon. It had the appearance of reality, but there was no depth to it.

  ‘I’ve decided to take the job with my father’s production company.’ She looked at him, waiting for a response.

  Max froze as the vague feeling that had plagued him all morning solidified into something hard and nasty, turning his insides cold. This wasn’t her dream, her passion. In fact, it was the very opposite of what she’d said she’d wanted out of life.

  He shook his head. ‘Why?’

  Her smile disappeared. ‘Why? Not “well done, Ruby. Good on you for choosing something you’re going to stick to”?’

  His mouth moved. He had not seen that coming. ‘I thought it was the last thing you wanted.’

  She shrugged and bent to retie Sofia’s shoelace, which had come undone, then stood up again. ‘I thought about what you said about finding the perfect thing by doing the hard stuff. Maybe you’re right. And since my parents were both nuts about television and nature, maybe it’s in my genes. Who knows?’

  ‘Don’t do it,’ he said, and she turned to face him, shocked.

  ‘Max, you are making no sense. I thought you’d be overjoyed at this. I thought you’d understand.’

  He could tell she was hurt by the way she folded her arms across her middle, by the way she rubbed the toe of her shoe against the flagstones.

  ‘It’s too late, anyway’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve already formally accepted the offer.’

  ‘When?’

  The toe ground harder into the floor. ‘Two days ago.’

  He wanted to grab hold of her, to tell her not to turn her back on her dreams, to run with them and to hell with the consequences. He wanted to tell her to try every damn job in the universe if she liked, not to care what anybody else said, as long as she didn’t give up. This was worse. This was way worse than not finishing something. For some reason he sensed Ruby was waving the white flag of defeat.

  He wanted to tell her all of that and more. That he loved her. That he wanted her to brighten his day every day for the rest of his life. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. What if he got too intense too soon and scared her away? He didn’t think he could bear it.

  He opened his mouth, got ready to say something. Anything. He had to tell her something of how he felt, even if he only let a fraction of it slip, but then he realised what he’d been trying to put his finger on, what else had change
d about her. He closed his mouth again and stared.

  As she looked at her feet the sun glinted off her dark hair. It looked beautiful, shiny and thick, but not one hint of purple remained.

  * * *

  Ruby knocked softly on the library door. It was ten past ten and Max hadn’t turned up for their usual session with Sofia. The day was grey and drizzly, the mist hanging so low over the whole city that the tops of the buildings seemed to melt into the white sky. A castle-building session was much needed.

  ‘Yes?’ came his reply from behind the door.

  Ruby hesitated for a second. He didn’t sound angry exactly, but there was a definite edge to his voice. She pushed the door and leaned in, keeping her feet on the threshold. ‘It’s past ten.’

  He didn’t turn round for a moment, just kept making deft, straight lines on a piece of paper with a pencil. When he turned round a faint scowl marred his features. It was just the concentration of working on his plans, right? As far as she was aware she hadn’t done anything wrong in the last few days. In fact, she was doing her level best to do everything right, to prove to Max that she could be the kind of woman he could rely on.

  ‘I don’t think I’m going to be able to join you today,’ he said, his voice neutral.

  ‘Oh.’ It took Ruby a moment to adjust to that information. They’d got into such a rhythm that it felt as if they’d missed a step and everything had jarred. And then there was the fact that he hadn’t taken the opportunity to grab her, press her up against the wall and kiss her until she was breathless, a ritual she’d come to look forward to.

  ‘But you promised your mother—’

  ‘I promised my mother I’d stick to her terms for a week. I did that—and more. My agreement with her has ended, Ruby.’

  She frowned, then nodded. She hadn’t thought about it that way, but she supposed he was right. He hadn’t needed to come out with her and Sofia for the last week. It should have made her happy that he’d possibly done so in order to spend time with her, but the expression on his face stopped that. It was like glass. Hard, solid, reflecting everything back at her.

  He also hadn’t softened one iota with his mother. That scared her. And not just for Fina’s sake. Were those walls of his ever going to come fully down?

  ‘The deadline for getting the final plans into the National Institute of Fine Art is next week,’ he explained calmly. ‘I have to focus on that for a while.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said slowly. For some reason she felt she was missing something here. Something big. Or was she just being paranoid? ‘We’ll miss you.’

  Max just nodded. His body shifted, and she could tell he was itching to get back to his plans. She did her best not to take it personally, not to take it as a rejection.

  ‘Will we see you at dinner this evening?’

  A bit of the familiar, world-weary Max she’d met at the beginning of their trip returned. ‘My mother has insisted I take you out to eat. She told me in no uncertain terms that it’s a travesty that you’ve spent more than a fortnight in a city full of fabulous restaurants and haven’t sampled their food yet.’

  ‘Oh,’ Ruby said again. ‘That’s lovely.’

  Maybe Fina had decided she’d been wrong about what she’d said to her. Ruby had grown more and more suspicious that Fina’s evenings out visiting Renata had quickly become an excuse to give them time alone together. Maybe she thought there was hope for her and Max after all.

  Then why wasn’t Ruby happy about that? Why did her stomach feel as heavy as a bowling ball?

  Max just gave her a single nod.

  Silence filled the space between them.

  ‘Well...I’ll just go and...’ Ruby gestured in the direction of the salon. ‘I’ll see you this evening.’

  ‘This evening,’ Max echoed, but he’d already turned and started making swift lines on his plans.

  Ruby slid her body from the space between door and frame and closed it softly behind her.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  WHEN IT WAS TIME to leave that evening, instead of jumping in the launch via the boat door Max lead Ruby out of Ca’ Damiani’s tiny, almost dowdy street entrance, through a little, high-walled courtyard and out of a nondescript wooden door. There, the narrow calle opened onto a wider one, and within five minutes they had entered a secluded little square with a few restaurants and shops that were closed for the night.

  They headed for an unremarkable-looking restaurant almost in the corner of the campo, with a dull, cappuccino-coloured awning and a few tables and chairs outside. The inside, however, was always a surprise after the mundane exterior. There were whitewashed brick walls and dark wood panelling. A counter stretched down one side, full of doors and drawers, reminiscent of an old-fashioned haberdashery shop. A gramophone perched on a table in the corner and glasses and bottles of wine filled what looked like a bookshelf at the far end of the space.

  Ruby turned to him and grinned. He’d guessed she’d like this place. It was quirky and unique, as she was. And it didn’t hurt that it served some of the best seafood in Venice.

  They sat at a small table in the corner, overlooking the square, decked out in thick white linen and spotlessly shiny silverware.

  It should have been romantic.

  It was.

  Well, it would have been, but for the conversation he knew had to come. One neither of them would like, but was totally, totally necessary. His plan to work on his designs that morning had been shot to pieces after Ruby’s visit, and he’d spent the couple of hours until lunchtime mulling their situation over and over.

  Ruby was changing herself. For him. He’d finally realised that when he’d noticed she’d dyed her hair. The clothes, the more sedate version of Ruby who’d appeared over the last couple of days...it all made sense now. And he hated himself for it.

  He needed her to be the Ruby he’d fallen in love with, couldn’t settle for anything less. Drastic action was needed.

  He wanted to tell her that over dinner, as they ate their marinated raw fish starters, but it was as if there were a glass wall between them. Not a thin sliver, either, that could have been shattered with a ball or a fist, but one ten inches thick that repelled his words, weighed him down.

  Was this what his father had felt when he’d looked at his mother? Everything swirling inside so hard and so fast he thought it might consume him with no way to let it out? He feared it was.

  Geoffrey Martin had loved his vibrant Italian wife so much. Max had always known that, always respected it. But now he saw that maybe his father had grasped too hard and given too little back. Serafina had been what he’d needed to bring him out of his shell, balance him out, but he hadn’t been what she’d needed. Or had chosen not to be. For the first time in his life, Max realised his father had been selfish, and that had created an imbalance in the relationship that had ultimately doomed it to failure.

  The same kind of imbalance he was aware of when he thought about himself and the petite, vibrant woman sitting opposite him, eating her blackened sea bass.

  He would not make the same mistake. He would not be a coward and make Ruby pay for his weakness. He wouldn’t let her crush her spirit for him, deny everything she was and wanted to be. It was too high a price to pay. But there was only one way he could think of preventing that, even if it meant a colourless, bleak future ahead for himself. But he’d do it—for her.

  He took a deep breath, hoping she’d answer differently this time, hoping she’d spare them both. ‘Are you still determined to take that job with your father?’

  Ruby looked up from her fish and met Max’s gaze. When he’d mentioned going out to dinner this evening, she’d thought the conversation might have been a little more...intimate. This was a wonderful chance for them to be away from the palazzo, to be romantic with each other, and yet he wanted to talk about he
r father? Talk about a passion killer.

  ‘Yes.’ She was determined to show him she could stick at something, think about the big picture rather than just the details of the here and now.

  He sighed. ‘I wish you wouldn’t.’

  She put her knife and fork down and looked at him helplessly. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s not your passion.’

  She reached for her wine glass. ‘It could be my passion. Like you said, how do I know if I don’t try?’

  To be honest, she didn’t care about the job. It was just a means to an end. What she was really passionate about was being with Max. But in his current strange mood, she wasn’t sure he was ready to hear that. She’d do anything it took. Anything. Even taking that job with her father.

  ‘And I can’t say anything to change your mind?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’ Max wanted to see if she could stick to something? Well, she wasn’t budging on this, even if it killed her.

  He went back to eating his food, his expression grim. What had she said now?

  They finished their meals, only punctuating the silence with odd snatches of meaningless conversation, until their espressos came, then Max sat up straighter and looked her in the eye. ‘I need to talk to you about something...something important.’

  His expression was so serious, but instead of making her jittery, it melted her heart. He was so earnest, so full of wanting to do the right thing, and she loved him for it. When Max’s heart was in something, it was all-in, and she could allow him a little severity in return for that. She reached out and covered his hand with hers across the table. His skin felt cool and smooth.

  ‘I told you when I hired you that this was going to be a two-week job at most and we’ve exceeded that now.’