Page 29 of My Fake Italian Marriage

Outside, the town was quiet, the air rich with the scent of summer, the alien feeling of a foreign place a world away from the rut she’d become stuck in. She paused to breathe it in, spinning slowly to soak in the sensation.

“It’s such a beautiful night. Let’s take a walk before we drive back to the hotel,” she suggested. She’d never been to Lake Como before, and maybe never would again, and she didn’t want to waste a moment. And yes, maybe a small, cowardly part of her wasn’t yet ready to face returning to that romantic honeymoon suite with only one bed.

“Good idea. I should sober up more before I drive.” He took her hand as they ambled down the narrow, cobbled street to the lakefront, and this time she didn’t pull away.

They wandered along the water’s edge, looking at the twinkling lights of the villages and villas dotting the darkened mountain slopes and reflecting in the inky-black water, then stopped to lean against a stone balustrade where the water lapped beneath their feet.

Cleo closed her eyes and heaved out a sigh, indulging in a brief fantasy that the warmth spreading through her from the point where his strong fingers wove through hers, wasn’t just a chimera, but something real and lasting. She opened her eyes, needing to banish the fantasy and replace it with cold, hard reality.

She released Luca’s hand and swung herself up to sit on the balustrade. “To be absolutely clear: there can be nothing between us … romantically, I mean. I work for the company that owns part of your family’s business, and apart from anything else, it would be improper.”

He nodded, and for a moment his eyes were serious. “Agreed. Work and play do not mix.” Then the mischievous twinkle was back. “But for the record, had I met you in any other circumstance, I would absolutely want to seduce you.”

Well, a girl couldn’t be anything but flattered by that, right? She blew out a long breath and changed the subject. “I told you mine, so it’s fair you tell me yours: what did you want for your life that you didn’t get?”

He sat astride the balustrade, facing her. “I have everything I want. I have a job that serves my community, without being too demanding and preventing me from enjoying life. I have friends, and I love my home.”

Another of those glib answers she was sure was a lie. “I call bullshit.”

He frowned, his eyebrows pulling together. “Since when do you talk like that?”

“Since I have three brothers who swear like troopers, and since I don’t believe you’re being honest with me. What did you want in life that you didn’t get? There must be something. No one gets to our age without having at least one regret.”

Luca looked out over the moonlit lake, his eyes narrowed and his dimple noticeably absent.

He blew out a long, slow breath and met her gaze again. “I wanted my parents to see me as a worthy heir. Not as a screw-up like my uncles.” As soon as he said it, he regretted being so honest—she read it in the way his expression immediately shut down, replaced by a smooth mask. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I gave it up as a lost cause years ago.”

A strange feeling tugged in her chest. Had no one ever shown faith in him that he could be more?

All her life she’d tried to live up to her parents’ high expectations. They’d told her she could be anything she wanted, achieve anything she wanted, and she’d worked hard to prove them right. She could have told them she wanted to be an astronaut or Olympic field hockey player, and they’d have supported her. But Luca had grown up with the complete opposite. She’d thought him indulged and entitled, like Evan, but instead he was just living down to the low expectations everyone had of him.

He hopped off the balustrade and held his hand out to her. “On that far-too-serious note, I know I am now definitely sober enough to drive back to the hotel.”

* * *

In their suite, rose-petals had been strewn across the bed, the lights were dimmed, and a bottle of French champagne lay in a silver bucket of half-melted ice.

Coming out of the bathroom, Luca batted his wasted-on-a-man eyelashes at her. “You aren’t really going to make me sleep on the sofa? This bed is big enough for three people. I’m sure we can keep to our own sides.”

She threw one of the pillows at him. “Not. Going. To. Happen.”

But as she lay alone between the silky-soft sheets, hearing him tossing and turning uncomfortably on the too-small sofa, she almost changed her mind. Almost. Because despite their agreement, after the bottle of Franciacorta and the negroni cocktails, and the not-date that had been one of the best dates she’d ever had, she didn’t trust his judgment. And she certainly didn’t trust her own.

Nope. Temptation was best avoided when it came to men like Luca Fioravanti.

She had no doubt he’d make a great lover. Maybe even a good friend. But a partner she could trust? Nope. No trifecta here. And she was too old and too sensible to mess up another business relationship for anything less.

ChapterTwelve

Roma non fu fatta in un giorno.

(Rome was not built in a day.)

Luca woke to the aroma of coffee. His back ached, his neck had a crick in it, and his eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. He swung his cramped legs off the sofa and sat up, rubbing his face. This elaborate antique sofa was definitely designed for style over comfort.

“This might help.” An arm appeared in his line of vision, holding a mug of steaming black coffee.

He grasped it, breathing in the aroma of rich, roasted coffee, and grunted his thanks.

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