Page 33 of My Fake Italian Marriage

She arched an eyebrow. “That’s the best compliment you can manage? You really should up your game.”

By the end of the first day, as the crowds finally dwindled and they secured their stand for the night, they had three signed contracts, and Cleo couldn’t remember the last time she’d stood for so long or talked so much.

As soon as the ferry moved away from the dock, she sank into a cushioned seat. “Three signed contracts are good, but it’s not enough to keep the vineyard afloat.” She slipped off her heels and wiggled her toes in relief.

Luca shrugged. “We still have tomorrow.” Though he looked away, he couldn’t hide the worry lines on his forehead or the way his brows pulled together. This year’s show was clearly not “business as usual”.

ChapterThirteen

Vedere e non toccare è un bello spasimare.

(To see and not touch is a beautiful agony.)

When Luca offered Cleo his hand to help her off the ferry, blue shadows were already lengthening across the valley.

“We should make an appearance in the restaurant tonight. There are some influential people in the wine business staying here, and we need to show them that the Fioravantis are still alive and kicking.”

“If it’ll get the remaining distributors to sign on the dotted line, I’ll dance on the tables.”

He laughed. “No dancing required. Just dinner.”

While she showered and changed, he phoned reception, relieved when the desk clerk confirmed that Mr. Evan Courtenay had checked out.

“We’re in the clear,” he told Cleo when she emerged from the bathroom dressed in the teal wrap dress that displayed her curves. She’d replaced her usual bold jewellery with a sedate pendant, a dragonfly to match the ring she always wore. “No exes on the horizon.”

“You must be relieved you no longer need to pretend to be married.”

“As marriages go, I’d say ours was the best kind.”

“Over before it began?”

“All honeymoon, and no expensive wedding.”

She laughed. “You’re such a romantic.”

It was a balmy evening and the white-shirtedmaître d’escorted them to a table on the restaurant’s outdoor deck which hung out over the water, and was lit by fairy lights and flickering candles. Sedate piano music drifted through the background speakers, barely audible over the hum of voices.

They were greeted by a number of guests as they passed by, people they’d met at the show, and a few Luca did not know whose acknowledging nods showed they recognised him as Giovanni’s son.

They shared the appetisers, lobster salad and chilled artichoke soup, accompanied by lemon-garnished martinis. As it was too beautiful an evening to waste on work, he led the conversation away from business. They chatted easily, flirted a little, laughed a lot. When he’d promised his father he would attend the wine show,thiswas how he’d imagined he’d spend the time. But though he’d worked harder today than he’d expected to, he couldn’t remember ever enjoying himself this much.

For the main course, Cleo ordered Veal Rossini with its delicate flavouring offoie grasand black truffle—no carbs, he noted—and he chose the wild mushroom risotto with shavings of Pecorino Romano cheese. He paired this course with a red blend from Puglia. “Lighter and fruitier than our northern Sangiovese wines.” He swirled the wine in his glass and breathed it in. “Can you taste the blackberry flavour?”

“Wow, I can!” She sipped again, licking her full lips, dusky-pink tonight instead of her usual fire-engine red, and his body tightened with familiar desire, that constant low-level hum of awareness between them flaring into full-blown lust.

She took another slow sip, caught him staring, and frowned. “Do I have food on my chin?”

She didn’t, but he couldn’t resist taking advantage of the opportunity. He leaned forward, brushing his thumb lightly over her lips as if brushing away a crumb, and the air between them thickened with desire. Her pupils dilated, her breath hitched, and her chest rose and fell, all tell-tale signs that this desire was indeed very mutual. What would happen if they stopped resisting the undeniable chemistry between them? She would be leaving in a few days, so would it be so terrible if they gave in to it?

A voice cleared beside them. “Buonasera, Luca.”

Luca dropped his hand, his head whipping around so quickly he nearly dislocated his neck. “Vincenzo!Buonasera.” The Piedmontese vintner. Luca shook the hand offered to him, and the older man smirked. “You didn’t introduce me to your lovely bride the other day.” Damn. He’d spoken in English.

Luca didn’t look at Cleo. He didn’t need to; he could imagine her thunderous expression. He was going to kill Graziano for gossiping. “We’re not—”

Vincenzo tapped the side of his nose in the age-old gesture for keeping a secret. “Now I understand why your father brought you into the family business at last.” He turned to Cleo. “It is a pleasure to meet the woman who has tamed this wild one.”

With a courtly bow to her, and a clap on Luca’s back, he strolled away. Luca risked a glance at Cleo, and there it was, the thunder in her eyes.

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