Page 37 of My Fake Italian Marriage

Again, he hung up before she could change her mind.

The day had turned sultry-hot. For Cleo, acclimatised to London’s damp, chilly spring where it was still cold enough for a boiler, the heat was exhausting. As soon as they reached their villa’s shaded terrace, while Luca ordered room service, she sank into one of the chairs and slid gratefully out of her heels. Stretching out her legs, she rubbed ineffectually at a knot of tension in her shoulder. Luca returned with two glasses of chilled white wine, set them on the patio table and moved behind her, brushing aside her fingers to replace them with his own. As he kneaded away the stiffness in her neck and shoulders, she dropped her head forward, and moaned in pleasure. He really knew what to do with his hands. And with that thought, a fierce blush rose up her cheeks.

She was seriously in need of a cold shower. Or better yet… “Let’s take a swim.”

It was already dark inside the villa. Without switching on the bathroom lights, Cleo did a quick change into her swimsuit, but even so Luca beat her into the pool.

“The temperature’s perfect,” he called, waving her in.

She dove into the water, surfacing close to where he floated lazily on the water, spraying him with droplets as she emerged. With a gasp of mock outrage, he splashed her back, and she ducked away, laughing, feeling like the kid she’d once been, running beneath the spray of the sprinklers without the weight of the world on her shoulders.

As they splashed and laughed, London with its deadlines and commuter rush, dodgy boilers and jammed garbage disposals felt a world away. They were still in the pool, when the butler arrived, bringing a trolley laden with the dinner Luca had ordered. He set the patio table, complete with crisp white linen, citronella-scented candles, and chilled champagne.

“What’s the occasion?” Cleo arched an eyebrow in Luca’s direction as she wrapped herself in one of the hotel’s fluffy towels.

“Who needs an occasion to celebrate?” He grinned. “But if you need one, then tomorrow we return to Montalcino with eleven signed distribution agreements, and we no longer need to pretend to be married.”

She lifted the cloche covering the food and breathed in the magnificent aroma.

“I ordered from the bistro menu.” Luca paused beside her, so close she felt the heat of his skin. He’d wrapped a towel around his hips, over his swim shorts, but his chest was bare. A droplet of water snaked its way down between his pecs and she hurriedly returned her attention to the food.

He poured the champagne before moving to sit across from her. “Red tuna ravioli for the pasta course, followed by seared seabass with Swiss chard, and beef fillet with marinated asparagus.”

Her mouth watered. “It all sounds good.”

He grinned, dark eyes bright in the low, romantic light. “We can share.”

Long after they’d eaten, and the butler had removed the dishes and refreshed the champagne bucket, they lazed in the deep armchairs on the patio, enjoying the evening breeze and the muted music drifting over from the restaurant.

They didn’t talk, just sipped champagne as the sun dipped behind the mountains, turning them a deeper shade of blue. Lights twinkled on along the far shore, like stars against the dark slopes. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt this comfortable with a man she wasn’t related to. Certainly not with Evan. No, with him she’d always felt the need to be on her best behaviour. She’d never truly been herself, the way she was with Luca.

Beside her, Luca stretched out his long, bare legs. She watched out the corner of her eye, not wanting to feed his already sizeable ego by revealing her appreciation for any part of his anatomy. But she was, after all, only human and she’d have to be dead not to appreciate that physique. It was like looking at a work of art, wasn’t it?

She sighed and closed her eyes. Two weeks ago, who’d have thought she’d be here, enjoying one of Lake Como’s most luxurious hotels with a gorgeous man at her side? It was as if she’d woken up inside a Hollywood version of her life, where everything was glossier and more beautiful.

But tomorrow morning, when they drove out of here, the end titles would roll. Tomorrow they’d have to break the news to Giovanni that the bank was replacing him in his own vineyard, and she’d need to get down to the business of turning the vineyard around. With another, less happy, sigh, she rose. “I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day. Thank you for the wonderful meal.”Thank you for a wonderful few days. None of this might have been real, but it had been magical.

Luca nodded. His eyes were closed too, his head against the back of the armchair. He looked exhausted.

She moved towards the glass doors, pausing on the threshold as she caught sight of the too-hard, too-narrow sofa. “Since we have that long drive back to Montalcino tomorrow, you can sleep in the bed. It’s big enough and there’s enough space…”

And they were adults. Friends, even. It wasn’t an invitation, just a practical solution.

“But—”

“No buts. This doesn’t have to be complicated. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She changed as quickly as she could into her pyjamas, wishing she’d packed something that covered more skin, then brushed her teeth and hair, and slid beneath the luxurious down duvet. She usually slept with only one pillow, and tossed the rest of the mountain of pillows on the floor, but she’d noticed he slept with two, so she left a couple on his side of the bed. Then she set another two in the middle of the bed, creating a barrier between them. Okay, so that was totally obvious, but she needed to make it clear that sleeping was the only thing they’d be doing in this bed.

Despite the comfort of the ultra-soft bedding, she was too keyed up to sleep, and it seemed ages before Luca came inside. She pretended to sleep, listening as he headed into the bathroom, to the sound of running water and quiet movements, until he finally came into the bedroom. He closed the shutters, leaving the windows open for fresh air, slid into the bed and switched out the lights.

In the darkness, she was even more aware of every small sound; his breathing, the ever-present hum inside her own head, and every shift of the mattress as Luca settled in across the vast expanse from her.

She tried to keep her breathing deep and even, willing herself to give in to the darkness, but whether it was the champagne, or the excitement of the past few days, her mind would not settle.

Clearly, neither could Luca. He punched the pillows a few times, rolling over and shifting in an effort to get comfortable. Then, when she thought he’d finally settled, he pounded the pillows again.

“Do you do this every night?” she whispered.

---