Italian Escape with Her Fake Fiancé

by Sophie Pembroke

  ‘Well, then, if madam will follow me?’ He held out his arm, elbow crooked. Daisy rolled her eyes, but took it. ‘Through the authentically rustic front door we find the spacious living area. With—’ he whipped off a few dust sheets and tried not to succumb to the threatened coughing fit ‘—ample seating for the occupants and their friends. There are myriad entertainment options built in,’ he added as another dust sheet fell to reveal shelves of tatty paperbacks—all in Italian—two jigsaw puzzles and a Scrabble set in a beat up box. ‘And incredible views through the very clear windows.’ Clear in that half the glass was missing. The view part was true, though. From where the villa sat, they could look out of windows one side that showed them the rolling ocean, down below the cliff, and out over the hills and cypress trees on the other.

  Actually, if the place weren’t in such disrepair, it would be a fantastic little bolt-hole.

  Daisy was smiling now, even if she looked as if she was trying not to, so Jay swept her towards the kitchen to continue his tour.

  ‘In here we find a state-of-the-art kitchen, ideal for making, uh...’ He looked around him for inspiration but, quite honestly, he wasn’t even sure he’d know how to turn the stove on. At home he was an okay cook—he could keep himself fed, at least. But the range cooker here was a mystery to him. Then he spotted the answer. ‘Cocktails!’ he finished, whipping out a dusty bottle of limoncello from the back of the open shelving.

  ‘Well, thank God for that.’ Daisy grabbed the bottle from him and set about opening it. ‘Finally something is going right.’ She took a swig, pulled a face, and passed it to him.

  He copied the motion. ‘Sickly sweet.’ He pressed his lips together. ‘And sticky.’

  ‘Sounds like Milli Masters’ last tour,’ Daisy joked, then shot him an uncertain look, as if she wasn’t sure if he was ready to joke about her yet.

  He hadn’t been, Jay knew. But here, now, with Italian liquor, a wreck of a holiday villa, and Daisy, he thought he might be. Just.

  He grinned, to show her it was okay, and actually watched the tension leave her body. She was so slight, every movement showed in her stance—the stress and frustration in her jaw, the disappointment in her shoulders, the determination in her legs, planted firmly on the floor. She was fascinating to read, Jay realised. A whole story wrapped up in a woman.

  He wondered if he’d get to read it, this next few weeks.

  Stealing the bottle back, Daisy took another swig of limoncello. ‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Bedrooms next.’

  And for a flash of a second as she said the word ‘bedrooms’, Jay remembered her body against his in the car, and couldn’t help but think what a shame it was they needed two.

  Yep. Definitely getting over the whole Milli fiasco at last, it seemed. Harry would be so proud.

  Jay grabbed the limoncello, took one last gulp, swore, and followed her towards the other side of the villa.

  * * *

  Daisy woke up the next morning to a drip from the ceiling that landed right on her forehead, and the feeling that she should have known better. Yes, Jessica might get offered her dream job in New York, and Aubrey might get a life-changing amount of money to complete the bucket-list trip she’d had to cancel when she got sick—but that didn’t mean that she, Daisy Mulligan, screw-up extraordinaire, would actually get something good too.

  Things like just being given a holiday villa in Italy didn’t happen to people like her. In fact, she’d obviously used up her entire family’s share of good luck by getting signed to the label in the first place. Asking for anything more was just being greedy.

  And from that point of view, it was almost a relief that the cottage was a disaster zone. Because if it hadn’t been, she’d have spent the next three weeks waiting for the other shoe to drop. As it was, she could just accept that this was another episode in the entertaining but disastrous life of Daisy Mulligan, and spend three weeks swigging limoncello from the bottle and pretending it wasn’t happening.

  Or she could. If she hadn’t brought Jay along for the ride.

  Now, she had to make this work. Otherwise, Jay would drag her back Stateside to parade her around as his girlfriend, and she knew how that would end. She’d screw it up. She’d lose her temper, say the wrong thing to the wrong person, get filmed doing something stupid. When it was just her, no one much cared what idiocy she got up to, or how much trouble her sharp mouth got her into. But if she were Jay Barwell’s fiancée...a whole different level of scrutiny and interest and expectation followed.

  Which meant she had to find a way to make this cottage habitable for the next three weeks.

  They’d found the bedrooms easily enough the night before—they just followed the scent of mildew. There were four of them, tucked away at the back of the cottage. Two with double beds, one with a twin, and one with a very saggy set of bunk beds. Jay had chivalrously insisted on her taking the one with the biggest bed—and actual windows. He’d taken the other double, using one of the dust sheets to cover over a missing pane.

  Her head spinning from the limoncello and the journey, Daisy had collapsed into bed, grateful that at least the bed linens had been packed away in plastic covers that didn’t seem to have been eaten by mice or anything. But she hadn’t slept, not for hours, her brain spinning as she tried to understand why Viv—if it was Viv—would have left her this wreck of a place.

  This morning, however, she knew there was somewhere more important to focus her attention. She had the villa, so now she had to make it liveable. Which meant she needed help, because the last time she’d held a hammer she’d almost lost a finger. And that would be very bad for her future as a guitarist.

  She couldn’t imagine that Jay was any handier with power tools, so that meant finding someone who was. She just hoped that the people in the village at the bottom of the hill spoke English, because her Italian was non-existent.

  The plumbing had proved as erratic as the rest of the place the night before, so Daisy skipped a shower in favour of a quick wash, dressed in jeans and a flowy tunic top that she thought would suit the weather, and headed out. Creeping past Jay’s room, she heard his familiar snores, and figured she had some time to figure this all out before he inevitably woke up and demanded to be returned to civilisation.

  At the worst, Daisy reasoned as she headed down the steep hill towards the village, nestled in the valley, there might be a hotel or something they could check into for a couple of weeks. Or Jay could, anyway. All the way out here it was unlikely that Kevin was going to stop by and check they really were fake loved up in Italy, wasn’t it?

  But the closer she got to the village, the more her hotel dreams started to fade. It was definitely more of a hamlet than a village, she decided—just a cluster of houses scattered in between the trees and scrub. Did it even have any shops? There was no food at the villa, just that rogue bottle of lemon liquor. If there wasn’t a shop nearby they were really going to have to find some way to hire a car or something. Or decamp to the nearest city and admit defeat.

  No. Daisy couldn’t quite explain the defiance that rose up in her at the idea, but she knew it was about more than not wanting to have to pretend to be Jay’s girlfriend in public for the next three weeks.

  Maybe it was just her natural stubbornness rising to the fore. She’d been given a house and she was damn well going to live in it. Or perhaps it was the feeling that this was some kind of test—one she was expected to fail. And while she’d never been a grade A student, if someone—even herself—told Daisy she couldn’t do something, she would bloody well do it. She’d seen the disbelief in the taxi driver’s eyes when they actually got out of the car and went into the villa. And she knew that Jay was just waiting for her to come to her senses and retreat to a hotel or something.

  Well, he’d be waiting a long time for that. Her grandmother always said she didn’t have any sense, anyway.

  But she did
have an appetite. Her stomach gave a loud growl as she reached the edge of the hamlet, and she hoped against hope there’d be a café or something.

  It was still quite early, but the place was starting to come to life. People chatted on the street, kids raced past. And actually, now she was down there in the midst of it, it seemed bigger than it had from the top of the hill. More vibrant.

  Spotting a few café tables set out on the pavement, Daisy made a beeline for them, grateful for Jay remembering that they needed to change dollars for euros at the airport. She had a feeling that this place wouldn’t take cards.

  The café, if she could call it that, seemed to be someone’s front room. It was set into a traditionally built house in a row of identical ones, the only difference being that this house had the front windows thrown open and a temporary counter balanced on the sill. Presumably it was anchored somehow, although Daisy couldn’t see how, as it was laden with pastries and cakes. Behind the counter stood a beautiful, curvy brunette woman in a red dress, laughing as she prepared espressos and handed over plates loaded with bread and jam, or filled pastries or biscuits.

  There were a couple of empty tables in amongst the occupied ones, but most people seemed happiest standing up at the counter chatting, espressos in hand. Looking at the beautiful, laughing woman, Daisy supposed she didn’t blame them. She seemed warm and welcoming in a way that, so far, Italy really hadn’t been. All the things that no one would ever call Daisy. Also, she was hot as hell—even Daisy could appreciate that.

  She just hoped she spoke English.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JAY AWOKE ALONE, which was not unusual, and to silence, which was. After months on tour he was used to the everyday sounds of the tour bus, or the rare hotel they got to spend the night in. To Harry banging on his bunk to wake him up, or room service arriving with breakfast. Or even his own fast breathing after another alcohol-induced nightmare. Never silence, though.

  Then he opened his eyes fully, took in the disaster of a bedroom he was sleeping in, and remembered everything. Especially the limoncello, as his head began to pound.

  Daisy was nowhere to be found, so he washed up as best as he could with the creaking plumbing, pulled on some clean clothes, and headed out in search of her—and breakfast.

  Outside, the day was already warm and sultry, the sort of heat that made his muscles lazy and his brain switch off. He ambled down the hill towards the village, his hands in his pockets, the start of something that might be a melody humming in his head, just out of reach. He knew better than to try and catch it, though. Any time he tried to force the music, or lyrics, it always fell apart on paper. If he just waited, let his subconscious develop it without any interference from him, eventually it would be ready for him to take and make into something real.

  Something he could sing, and play. Maybe even with Daisy.

  The village itself seemed bustling with activity, and Jay followed his nose towards a café serving espresso—clearly what he needed to kick-start his day. Conveniently, it also led him to Daisy, who appeared to be having a very convoluted conversation in sign language and one-syllable words with the confused-looking woman behind the counter.

  Jay had assumed that the ability to order coffee in any language was a prerequisite for a touring musician, but apparently not.

  ‘Need some help? What do you want?’ he asked, sliding in beside Daisy at the counter and flashing the Italian woman serving a smile. ‘Cappuccino? Espresso?’

  Daisy just glared at him, so he decided to just make the call. He was pretty sure he’d seen her drinking black coffee on tour, so he went with that.

  ‘Un Americano e un cappuccino, per favore,’ he said, and the café owner smiled and nodded with obvious relief, and headed off to make their coffees.

  Jay turned to Daisy, who raised her coffee cup and drank from it ostentatiously.

  ‘You...already had coffee. So what was the problem?’

  ‘I was trying to ask her if she knew any tradespeople who might be able to help me fix up the villa.’ Her eyebrows lowered over her coffee cup as she glared at him again. ‘Until you bumbled in here trying to save me or whatever.’

  ‘Help,’ Jay countered. ‘I was trying to help. Which I see you do not actually need in respect of coffee. But I’ll see what I can do with the other stuff, too.’

  ‘You speak Italian?’ Daisy asked disbelievingly. ‘Like, not just ordering-coffee Italian?’

  ‘Your faith in me is astounding,’ he muttered as he tried to call up his very rusty language skills. ‘I actually lived in Italy for a few months on my gap year, working in a pizzeria. Had to pick up at least some of the language.’ But that had been a good few years ago now, and even then it had been more to do with getting paid on time and spending his money on beers, not home repairs.

  Daisy was staring at him as if he’d come down from another planet, although he had no idea why.

  The barista returned with their coffees, and Jay took his cappuccino gratefully. Then, in halting Italian, he asked her about local builders or tradespeople, hoping he hadn’t mangled the words too badly.

  She looked puzzled for a moment, then her face cleared. She pointed up to the hill where Daisy’s villa sat, and spoke in a torrent of fast-flowing Italian. Jay clung onto any words he recognised, nodding along as he tried to make sense of it all. He’d told Daisy he could speak Italian, and he was damned if he was going to be proven wrong now.

  Then the woman beckoned to a couple of men sipping espressos at a table nearby, and they stood and moved closer, joining in the rapid-fire conversation. Beside him, Daisy’s eyes were wider than he’d ever seen them, and he could tell she liked not knowing what was going on as little as she’d enjoyed him playing male saviour for her over the coffee.

  Finally, one of the burly guys that had joined them turned to Jay. ‘You are English?’ he asked, thankfully in English. ‘You own the villa on the hill?’

  ‘She does,’ Jay answered, pointing to Daisy. ‘Do you think you could help us fix it up?’

  The men looked doubtfully at each other, then shrugged. ‘Maybe. We will see.’

  Then they put down their empty coffee cups and walked away.

  Jay scraped together enough of his Italian to ask the barista, ‘Where are they going?’

  She shrugged, too, as she cleared the empty cups. ‘To work,’ she replied, in Italian. ‘They will come to the villa when they are done.’

  ‘Right. Okay, then.’ He relayed the information to Daisy, who looked as doubtful about this method of hiring contractors as he was. Still, it didn’t look as if they had a lot of choice but to wait.

  ‘In that case, I guess we might as well look at finding some food?’ she suggested as they finished their coffees and waved goodbye to the barista. ‘Also, you know, thanks for sorting that.’

  Jay barked a laugh. ‘I’m not sure I’d call it exactly sorted. Besides, I’m staying in that villa too, remember? I want to get it fixed up as badly as you do.’

  Daisy gave him a sideways look as they strolled along the streets of the village. ‘I kind of expected you to demand we move to a hotel.’

  He almost missed a step as he realised that had never crossed his mind since he’d woken up that morning. Why not? It was the obvious solution to the problem of the crumbling villa.

  Except...he knew hotels. He’d spent half his life in them, it felt like. And this...hanging out with Daisy, ordering coffees and sipping them in the square, knowing that no one knew or cared who they were, or if they were really together or just faking...he liked that.

  He wasn’t ready to give that up just yet.

  ‘This is more of an adventure,’ he said eventually. ‘Come on. Let’s find a shop and stock up. I’m starving, and I don’t want to have to walk up and down that hill every time I fancy a coffee.’

  After a little more wandering between the houses
, they found a row of old-fashioned shops selling variously fruit and veg, deli meats and sausages, and freshly baked bread that smelled divine. Along with a more familiar convenience store to provide butter, milk and eggs—plus a couple of bottles of wine—they were able to stock up on pretty much all the essentials of life, and stuff them into the backpack Daisy had brought along, plus a couple of extra shopping bags.

  The walk back up the hill was rather less relaxing than the walk down it had been, and conversation was little between them as they fought the incline. How was it he could jump around onstage singing until his lungs screamed, six nights a week for months on end, without feeling this out of shape?

  At the top of the hill, they paused to catch their breath for a minute, before continuing towards the villa.

  ‘We should make a list,’ Daisy said suddenly as they approached the front door. ‘Of everything that needs doing to the villa, in case those builders really do come up here.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Jay pushed open the peeling front door and stared at the sight before him. A goat—brown and white and with tiny little horns—stood in the middle of the living area, staring back at him. He swung the door open a little wider so Daisy could see. ‘We can start with whichever broken door or window let the damn goat in.’

  * * *

  The list—written after they’d chased the goat outside by first roaring at it, then laughing hysterically, which it seemed to find much scarier—was seven pages long. Seven pages of things that were wrong with this inheritance of hers.

  Why had Viv given the others perfect, no-strings gifts—and lumbered her with a money pit? Daisy couldn’t figure it out. But at the same time, it seemed perfectly in keeping with what she expected from her life.

  Things didn’t come for free. Fairy godmothers didn’t just shower people with gifts—at least, not people like Daisy. She had to fight and scratch for everything she wanted in this life, and even then she had to cling onto it with a death grip, or else it would just melt away.