Page 35 of My Fake Italian Marriage

He wasn’t entirely sure if his cold sweat was caused by his inadvertent slip, or by the sudden surge of emotion he’d experienced with her body pressed against his. It was an unfamiliar feeling, so much more than desire. Desire was an easy emotion to control, but what he’d felt with his arms wrapped around her and her face tilted to his, was far more complicated and far more dangerous.

He drew in a deep breath, steadied himself, and slowly turned to look at her. Her expression was set in a concerned frown, her hazel eyes darker in the moonlight.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head. “We have another long day tomorrow. We should get some sleep.”

“You haven’t had much sleep the last few nights, have you?”

She was no doubt thinking of the too-short, too-hard sofa, but that was only part of the reason he hadn’t slept in days, and only part of the reason why he wouldn’t sleep well tonight. The main reason stood far too close for comfort, her subtle, sweet peach scent testing his resolve.

She bit her lip. “I’ll take the sofa tonight.”

He managed a careless grin. “That’s the wine talking.” Then, because she expected it, he added, “We could share the bed?”

Dio, please don’t let her say yes. There was only so much temptation a man could handle.

“I’ll take the sofa,” she repeated, voice firm.

If she expected him to be a gentleman and insist she take the bed, he wasn’t about to oblige her. If what he suspected came true tomorrow, she would not be so willing to let him have the bed again, and he wanted to get at least one decent night’s sleep before all hell broke loose.

* * *

By the early hours, Cleo understood why Luca had so readily accepted her offer. The sofa was not only far too short, it was also very hard. Between the summery warmth and her pretzeled-position, she barely slept all night.

At dawn, she gave up any attempt at sleep, slipped passed Luca, who was snoring like a muted foghorn, into the bathroom to pull on her running clothes, then headed across the hotel’s lush green lawn at a jog. The air was fresh, with a light mist rolling off the lake. She followed the stone wall that separated the obsessively neat garden from the lake, slipping out the pedestrian gate and onto the wide promenade leading into the town. The picture-postcard town caught the first rays of the morning sun, glowing with the colours of yellow and pink azaleas, bright purple bougainvillea, white walls and red roofs.

She filled her lungs with the crisp Alpine air and set a steady pace, following the curve of the bay into the still-sleeping town where she slowed to take in the window displays of the handful of quaint shops, and the gleaming white bell tower of the local church. By the time she returned to the hotel, the gardeners and kitchen staff were stirring, and her back no longer ached as if it had been wrung through an old-fashioned mangle. She couldn’t imagine how Luca, a head taller and a good deal broader, had managed to fit on the sofa. She couldn’t let him sleep there again.

The rich aroma of coffee greeted her. Luca was awake and in the villa’s kitchenette, with sexy bed-head hair and day-old stubble. He wore a pair of loose-fitting, grey sweatpants that hung on his hips—and he was shirtless. She sucked in a breath, choked, and turned it into a cough to hide her sudden hot flush. Really, it was unfair that one man could be so perfect. There wasn’t an ounce of belly fat on him, and his six-pack had just the right amount of definition to say “athlete” rather than “body builder”.

“Tea?” He held out a steaming mug to her.

She took the mug and quickly turned away.Get a grip.She was a mature woman in her mid-thirties and far too old to be behaving like a teenager with her first crush because he’d brewed her a cup of tea just the way she liked it.

Though it was kind of nice to feel the flutter of butterflies in her stomach and the breathless tightening in her chest. It reminded her she could still feel these emotions and wasn’t quite over the hill yet.

* * *

They were so early that they were the only guests in the breakfast room, then they took the ferry across the lake to the exhibition hall. Their early start was rewarded. Even before the show opened to the public, the first of their distributors visited the stand to renew his contract.

“Congratulazioni!” He pumped Luca’s hand. “I was sorry to hear your father is indisposed, but then I heard your good news. He must be so proud of you, settling down and taking up your family responsibilities. The dawn of a new era at Fioravanti Vineyards, eh?”

Luca murmured a response, looking less enthusiastic than he had the previous day. Once the man had signed and left, Cleo turned on him, hands on hips. “I’m not letting you take the bed again if it’s going to make you this grumpy. That was a really big order he placed. You should be celebrating, not looking like your dog just died.”

He didn’t meet her gaze. “He signed because he thinks I’m taking my father’s place.”

“Yesterday we also let everyone think you were working with your father at the vineyard, so what’s changed?”

He pressed his lips together, saying nothing. Perplexed, she turned away to greet another visitor to their stand.

The next distributor who stopped by to sign his contract greeted Cleo with effusive kisses and compliments.

“Wow! Everyone’s much friendlier today,” she commented when he left. “Do you think word is getting out that there are positive changes coming to the vineyard?”

Luca ducked his head guiltily, and she narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”

“I did nothing! It was Vincenzo.”

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