by Liz Fielding
‘I’ve been keeping you from your work?’
‘I’d stopped to eat. That’s why I was in the bar when you arrived. You know where everything is. Please...make yourself at home.’
‘Dante...’ He waited, hand on the door. ‘Thank you.’
He responded with the briefest of nods. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
Geli didn’t move until she heard the door to the flat close and then her shoulders slumped. How on earth had they come from the promise of a searing kiss to such awkwardness in the space of an hour, two at the most?
Halfway between the two, she discovered when she checked her watch, and that was the answer. Too much had happened too quickly.
If the kitten hadn’t made such a dramatic appearance they would have been able to sit quietly over supper. Dante would have explained about the flat, helped her find a room for the night and then tomorrow she’d have come by to thank him and maybe, hopefully, pick up on the fizz of attraction that had sizzled between them.
Instead, they’d veered between meltdown lust and awkwardness and in an effort to cover that she’d revealed way too much about herself.
Her mother, black hats—where on earth had all that come from? And that pheasant... She hadn’t talked about that since her sisters had arrived home on the school bus to find her and Grandma singing a heartfelt All Things Bright and Beautiful over its resting place beneath a climbing rose.
* * *
‘Dio...’ Dante, the image of Angelica with her hands pressed against the window burning a hole in his brain, pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk and took out a bottle of grappa.
He poured himself a shot, tossed it back and for a moment he let the heat of it seep through his veins.
Close. He’d been within a whisper of touching her, had almost felt the down on her cheek rising to meet him as, lips softened, eyes closed, she’d anticipated a rerun of that kiss. He clenched his hand in an attempt to eradicate the memory.
He might have stepped back, walked out of the apartment before he did something unforgivable, but it hadn’t stopped his imagination reacting to what had been a non-stop blast to his senses ever since she’d walked into his bar and stopped the conversation dead. The steely fresh air smell of her hair, snowflakes melting on her cheek, on crimson lips, she’d looked like something from a fairy tale. A lost princess stumbling out of the darkness.
He’d turned, their eyes had met and in that first look he’d forgotten the pain. The heartache...
And then she’d said, ‘Via Pepone.’
He should have let Lisa deal with her because by then the complications were piling up, but that first look had fired a lightning charge through his senses, jump-starting them from hibernation as she walked towards him. As he’d touched her hand. As she’d removed her glove, removed her coat in a slow, tantalising reveal of the briefest little black dress.
His hand at her waist as he’d swept her out of the bar had sent a shock wave of heat surging through him and he hadn’t been able to let it go.
He’d wanted to know how her cheek would feel beneath his fingers, wanted to taste her. He wanted to undress her, hold her against his naked skin, bury himself in her until he felt warm again.
What she’d said, how she’d looked at him when she’d stood by the window had been an invitation to take it all. Not a lost princess stumbling out of the night but something darker—an enchantress, a sorceress and if this had been a fairy tale he would already be doomed.
He shook his head.
Angelica Amery was simply a woman in need and that was the problem.
The spontaneity of that fall-into-bed moment had been real enough but Lisa’s terrible—or possibly perfect—timing had wrecked that. They’d both had time to think about it and they’d lost the moment when a simple, unplanned elemental explosion of lust might have led anywhere or nowhere.
Worse, because she didn’t know him, Angelica might well have thought he expected to share the bed he’d offered her.
Anything now would be tainted by that uncertainty and while his body, jolted out of stasis, might be giving him hell for walking away, he had to face himself in the shaving mirror in the morning.
Work. That had been the answer when Valentina had demanded that he forget Isola, that he walk away from what he couldn’t change because, sooner or later, the old houses would come down and his father, or someone like him, would replace them with high-rise flats and office blocks. Work had been the answer when he’d allowed himself to be seduced by her sensual inducement to change his mind when he’d known in his heart that it was already over.
He called up the paper he’d been working on, his plan for the future of Isola, but the words on the screen kept dissolving into images that had nothing to do with preservation orders or affordable housing.
Angelica’s hands—tapping the map with a blood-red nail...slowly unfastening tiny buttons...a fingertip stroking the head of the kitten.
Angelica’s mouth lifted to kiss him, the black lace choker emphasising the length of her white neck.
Angelica’s face as she stood beside him at the window watching the snow blanketing the city—as she turned to him and he knew that all he had to do was reach out, touch her cheek and, for tonight at least, the dark emptiness of the void would be banished.
CHAPTER SIX
‘In the winter dip your ice cream in sparkly rose-pink sprinkles.’
—from Rosie’s Little Book of Ice Cream
CAFÉ ROSA WAS buzzing with morning activity. Men in working clothes were standing at the bar, a pastry in one hand, an espresso at their elbow. She was in Italy, where it cost more to sit down.
With so much whirling around in her mind Geli hadn’t anticipated much sleep, but a soak in that huge bathtub with a splash of Lisa’s luxurious lavender-scented bubbles and she’d gone out like a light the minute her head hit the pillow.
She’d taken the kitten’s box into the bedroom with her in case it woke, hungry, in the night but it had been the sound of a distant door closing that woke her.
For a moment she hadn’t known where she was but then the kitten had mewed and it had all come flooding back to her. The delayed flight, the non-existent apartment, Rattino. Dante...
She shook her head. Her life was complicated enough right now, without what might have become an awkward one-night stand. She might have inherited her mother’s ‘seize the day’ genes—that she was feeling regret, the loss of something special missed, instead of relief proved that—but she’d had more sense.
She wrapped herself in her dressing gown, crossed to the window, rubbed the mist away with the edge of her hand. The early-morning sun was slanting across the city, lighting up colourful buildings—deep rose-pink, pale green, yellow; spotlighting a Madonna painted on a wall; glittering off the glass towers of high-rise blocks and snow-covered roofs.
Below her the pristine white of the snow had already been mashed to dirty slush by trucks bringing produce to the market stalls that had been erected along the street opposite. Everywhere there was colour, people wrapped up in thick coats and bright scarves, out and about getting on with their lives, and her heart gave a little skip of anticipation.
There was nothing like a good market to put a spring in the step!
She opened the bedroom door and stuck her head out.
‘Dante?’
No response. Maybe he’d woken her when he’d left the flat. Not sure whether she was relieved or disappointed, she headed for the kitchen where she found a note pinned to the fridge door with a magnet.
Kitty comfort station in the utility room. Coffee and breakfast downstairs whenever you’re ready. Lisa.
There was a litter tray ready and waiting for Rattino in the utility room, as well as two little plastic dishes filled with fresh minced chicken and milk and Geli found herself blinking rather rapidly at such thoughtfulness, such kindness. She’d read that in Isola she’d find the truest, most generous spirit of old Milan.
C
learly it was a fact.
She introduced Rattino to the first and watched as he dived into the second and then set his box on its side so that he could eat, sleep and do what came naturally at his leisure. Then she closed the door so that he couldn’t wander and put the kettle on.
She found tea bags and dropped one in a mug and topped it up with boiling water. She found milk in the fridge and carried her must-have morning mug through to the bathroom. Hair dry, make-up in place, she layered herself in clothes that would see her through the day. A fine polo neck sweater, a narrow, high-waisted ankle-length skirt, stout Victorian-style lace-up boots, all black, which she topped with a rich burgundy velvet cut-away jacket that exactly matched her lipstick. She chose a steampunk-inspired pendant she’d made from the skeleton of a broken watch and, after a spin in front of the mirror to check that she was fluff-free, she went downstairs.
‘Ciao, Geli!’ Lisa called out as she spotted her. ‘Come sta?’
The men standing at the bar turned as one and stared.
‘Ciao, Lisa! Molto bene, grazie. And Rattino thanks you for the litter tray. What do I owe you?’
She waved the offer away. ‘Tell him to thank Dan. He called and asked me to pick it up on my way to work. Now, what can I get you? A latte? Cappuccino? Or will you go hardcore with an espresso?’
‘Vorrei un cappuccino, grazie,’ she replied, testing her phrasebook Italian.
‘Buona sceita!’
She called out the order to someone behind her, piled pastries on a plate and came out from behind the bar and headed for a table in the centre of the room.
‘How are you this morning, Geli?’
‘Pretty good, all things considered. I thought I’d be tossing and turning all night, but I’d be lying if I said I remember a thing after I closed my eyes.’ She couldn’t say the same about Lisa who, up close, looked as if she’d had a sleepless one. ‘Thanks so much for offering me your spare room. It was a lifesaver.’
‘No point in paying for a hotel room when there’s an empty one going begging,’ she said, pushing the pastries towards her. ‘La prima colazione,’ she said, taking one. ‘Otherwise known as cornettos. The perfect breakfast food.’
‘Thanks.’ Geli took one and her mouth was filled with crisp pastry and cream. ‘Oh, good grief,’ she spluttered. ‘That’s sinful.’
Lisa grinned. ‘Start the day the way you mean to go on,’ she said then called out something in Italian to the men at the bar. They grinned, put down the empty cups they’d been nursing and made a move to go.
‘What did you say to them?’ Geli asked.
‘To close their mouths before they catch flies.’ She shook her head. ‘You are going to be so good for business. Your make-up, your clothes—everything is perfect. Do you always make this much effort?’
‘It goes with the territory. When you’re a designer, you have to be your own walking advertisement.’
‘It works for me. I’m no Milan fashionista, but I’d give my eye teeth for a jacket like yours.’
‘I’ll design a Dark Angel original for you when you come back from Australia. A very small thank you for being such a friend in need.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘It will be a totally selfish gift,’ she assured her. ‘You’ll wear it and with those elegant shoulders you’ll look fabulous.’ She lifted her hands in a job done gesture.
‘You’re telling me that I’m going to be a walking shop dummy,’ she said, grinning broadly.
‘Walking and talking.’
‘Oh, right. Everyone will want to know—’ She stopped as Dante pulled out a chair and joined them.
Geli had wondered, as she’d taken her wake-up shower, if she’d imagined the attraction, or if it had simply been heightened by the drama of her arrival. A combination of being in Isola, being lost, the weather. Could anyone really hit all her hot buttons with no more than a look?
Apparently they could, even if it was a slightly crumpled, unsmiling version this morning.
‘Buongiorno, Angelica,’ he said. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Buongiorno, Dante,’ she replied, her voice remarkably steady. It was the rest of her that felt as if it was shaking like a leaf. ‘I slept amazingly well, under the circumstances.’
Dante, on the other hand, looked as if he’d been working all night and the urge to reach out and smooth the creases from his face was almost overwhelming. Fortunately, before she could do anything that idiotic he turned to Lisa.
‘What will everyone want to know?’ he asked.
‘How on earth you managed to convince Geli that she should work for you,’ she replied without a blush.
‘Oh? And what is the answer?’
‘You’ll know that when you’ve persuaded her,’ she said, getting to her feet. ‘Off you go.’
‘Lisa,’ Angelica protested. ‘My Italian is on the basic side of basic.’
‘No problema. I might have an Italian father but I could barely utter a word when I arrived. Tell her, Dante,’ she urged, turning a smile on her cousin that was so sweet it would give you toothache. ‘There’ll be a queue of regulars lining up to help her with the language and anything else she needs to make her stay in Isola a memorable experience before she can say ciao. Isn’t that so?’
Geli, who had two older sisters, recognised one of those exchanges which, on the surface were exquisitely polite, while underneath there were seething undercurrents of hidden meaning.
‘But you’re family,’ Geli protested, not sure what was going on, but not wanting to be in the middle of it.
‘Unfortunately,’ Dante said, his face expressionless. ‘You can’t fire family. It wasn’t just the language; it was weeks before she could get an order straight or produce a decent espresso without me standing over her—’
Lisa snorted derisively and when he looked up she lifted an eyebrow a mocking fraction right back at him. ‘I’m sure Geli is much smarter than me.’
He looked thoughtful. ‘But nowhere near as devious, it would seem.’
‘It runs in the family,’ Lisa replied, moving aside as the waiter arrived with a tray containing her cappuccino, an espresso for Dante and two bowls of something pale and creamy. ‘I’ll walk you through the job when you come back from the commissariato, Geli. Buon appetito.’
‘Sì...grazie...’ she said, then, unsure what to say to Dante, she indicated the bowl in front of her. ‘What is this?’
‘Zabaglione. Whipped eggs, cream, sugar, a little Marsala. I usually leave out the wine before midday,’ he added, ‘but it’s bitter outside.’
‘So this is antifreeze?’
He laughed and the tension, awkwardness was defused. ‘Let’s hope so.’
She dipped in her spoon and let a mouthful, sweet and warming, dissolve on her tongue. ‘Oh, yum. Pastries and pudding for breakfast. My mother would have so approved.’ He looked up. ‘When anything bad happened she’d make us cupcakes for breakfast. With pink frosting and gold stars.’
‘Pink?’ His brow kinked in amusement. ‘Really?’
‘Black frosting is just creepy.’ She shrugged. ‘Except at Halloween.’
Dante looked as if he was about to say something but the bleep of an incoming text distracted her and she searched in her bag for her phone. ‘Oh, no... ’
‘Problema?’
‘You could say that. I shipped my heavy stuff before I left. Who knew it would get here so quickly?’ She showed him the phone. ‘I think the driver is trying to the find the non-existent address I gave them.’
Dante read the text then replied to it before handing it back. ‘I told him to bring it here.’
‘Oh... This is so embarrassing.’
‘Why?’
‘This was supposed to be me standing on my own two feet. Being grown-up. Self-sufficient.’
‘Would you like me to tell them to leave it on the pavement?’ he asked.
‘No!’ She shook her head. ‘No... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound
ungrateful but this is my first excursion into the unknown, the first time I’ve ever done anything totally on my own and it’s all going wrong.’
‘It’s hardly your fault,’ he assured her. ‘And it’s just until Monday.’
Monday? ‘Yes, absolutely. I’ll have found a room by then.’
‘That’s Monday, when you can move into the apartment I’ve found for you. I’m afraid that, like the job, it is only temporary, but it will give you a little breathing space while you get yourself sorted out.’
‘You see? Like that,’ Geli said and then swallowed. ‘I’m sorry. That sounded so ungrateful.’
‘Yes, it did.’
She groaned. ‘I bet you wish you’d listened to the weather forecast and closed an hour earlier last night.’ He didn’t answer and she said, ‘You’re supposed to say no.’
The creases bracketing his mouth deepened slightly in what might just have been the promise of a smile. ‘I’m thinking about it.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, how much is this temporary apartment you’ve found to go with my temporary job?’
‘Just the utilities. It’s only for a month while Lisa and Giovanni are at the wedding, but it will give you time to look around.’
‘Lisa and Giovanni?’ She frowned. ‘But I thought—’
‘She wants me to give you a job so I offered her a deal. You get the job if she takes Giovanni as her plus one to her sister’s wedding. They will need someone responsible to keep the pipes from freezing, make the place look lived in and feed the goldfish,’ he added matter-of-factly. As if it was nothing. ‘You are responsible, aren’t you?’
‘No goldfish has ever gone hungry on my watch,’ she said, ‘but why didn’t Lisa tell me herself?’
‘Because she wants you to stay here.’
‘So that she doesn’t have to take Giovanni?’
‘No. His flight is booked.’
She went back over the conversation then shook her head. ‘I seem to be missing something.’
‘Lis believes that if we share the same apartment we’ll inevitably fall into the same bed.’
The zabaglione took a diversion down her nose and Dante calmly handed her a paper napkin from the tray.