Page 63 of My Fake Italian Marriage

Every time Cleo broached the subject, Luca shrugged and told her not to worry. “It will take care of itself,” he said, with that annoying, easy-going smile that did nothing to ease her anxiety. What was he waiting for? It was the logical solution. Not only was he the natural Fioravanti heir, but he had the passion and drive to make wine, and as a lawyer he had the ability to handle the business side too. He could dobothjobs, and no one would work harder to turn the vineyard around than someone with a vested interest in it, someone who loved it, as he did.

She pushed away from the desk, rubbing her neck, and glanced toward the window. After days of rain, the sun had finally emerged, but the combination of wet earth and hot sun had turned the air muggy. She sank back in her chair as Luca entered the office with two steaming mugs. He set a mug of tea before her and frowned, concerned. “You look tired.”

“That’s hardly surprising since I haven’t been sleeping much lately.”

He grinned, looking smug. “I didn’t hear you complaining about that last night.”

“That’s because you were snoring so loud you wouldn’t have heard a plane landing on the roof.”

“I do not snore!”

Cleo laughed. “Wanna bet?” Though she’d discovered, out of sheer desperation in the early hours of the morning, that nudging him over onto his side was an effective cure.

Luca leaned over her, bracing himself on the arms of her chair, to plant a most definitely not-safe-for-work kiss on her. “Let me make it up to you by taking you to see the sunset from Sant’Angelo in Colle. It should be magnificent tonight.”

* * *

It came as no surprise to Cleo that even an outing as simple as viewing the sunset would be accompanied by food and wine. In the medieval village of Sant’Angelo in Colle, Luca guided her to atrattoriawhich welcomed them with the scents of grilling meat and burning firewood. Inside, the rustic, cluttered restaurant was filled with locals standing at the counter to enjoy their after-work drinks, but Luca led her through the restaurant to a belvedere terrace offering a panoramic view of the Maremma side of Montalcino. A light, cool breeze wrapped around them, and the bell in the ancient clock tower chimed as they took their seats.

The sunset did not disappoint, washing the sky with a brilliant display of colours. The food did not disappoint either. They started with an appetiser of zucchini in a tomato and basil sauce, followed bybistecca alla Fiorentina, succulent T-bone steaks grilled over a wood fire and finished with coarse salt, served with green asparagus and chard, and—naturally—a local Brunello wine.

At last, the sun dipped beneath the horizon and night settled around them. The crowd inside the trattoria dispersed, and the other party on the terrace, a group of tourists, departed, leaving them alone with the silent hills and the stars emerging in the moonless sky above. Cleo reclined in her seat to enjoy a view that she would most definitely not see again after she returned to light-polluted London. “This feels like a dream I don’t want to wake from.”

“You could stay.” The light falling out the open doors to the restaurant threw Luca’s face into stark angles of light and shadow and made his expression inscrutable.

Cleo laughed. “And do what? Not much call for a tech analyst here in Montalcino. Especially one who doesn’t speak the language.”

“I know a vineyard that needs a manager.”

She experienced a surge of hope, that was all too quickly drowned out as disappointment welled up, like a spilling wave cresting and breaking onto the beach, then dragging back, leaving her feeling empty. Had she really imagined that he would ask her to stay forhim? She should know better.

But managing a vineyard… If these past weeks had taught her anything, it was that she could indeed do the job. Sure, it had been a steep learning curve at first, but it had been fun to learn new skills, even to learn a new language. And she would miss this; not only the slower-paced lifestyle of Tuscany, or the gorgeous scenery and food, but being emotionally invested in turning a business around. She’d miss the people too. Gigi, the twins at the bakery, Silvio, and even Pierina, the battle-axe dressed like a cuddly grandmother.

She leaned her head back against the chair and looked at the stars emerging in the night sky. A long, long time ago, under a very different sky, she’d dreamed of running a vineyard. For so many years, she hadn’t allowed herself to remember, but the floodgate was well and truly open now, and the memories tumbled out.

Those last months in South Africa, between finishing high school and starting university in England, she and Hannes had spent many evenings just like this, under the stars, spinning out their dreams for the future. He’d been in his third year at Stellenbosch University, studying viticulture and oenology. Once she earned enough for tuition, she planned to study business, so that together they could one day run his family wine farm, after his father retired. Hannes would make the wine, and she would manage the business. They would live happily ever after in the big house on the hill, and their children would grow up on the farm, as they had…

She sighed. It had been years since she’d allowed herself to remember that time. The happier memories had been obliterated by what followed, when Hannes’ parents learned he wanted to marry an ordinary farmworker’s daughter. That cold, formal dinner where his parents made it abundantly clear how far beneath them she was, and that their beloved son and heir was destined for far greater things. She’d never encountered snobbery like that before, had been bewildered when they’d asked what it would take to make her go away, to put a price on her future.

In the end, the decision had been made for her. Hannes hadn’t wanted her enough to go against his parents’ wishes. So she’d made the best of the hand she’d been dealt and accepted his parents’ offer. In return for her promise to disappear from his life, they’d financed her studies. And to ensure she could no longer tempt their precious son, they’d bought her a place in a university halfway around the world. With hindsight, it was laughable to imagine her freckled, tousle-haired, nineteen-year-old self as a wicked temptress who had to be bought off.

What hadn’t been laughable was that, barely six months after she’d flown on an aeroplane for the first time in her life, Hannes had announced his engagement to the heiress of a neighbouring vineyard, a tall, leggy blonde with a pedigree going back generations.

Just as Evan had done.

She’d wasted a lifetime making the same mistake over and over again, falling for the same type of man and hoping each time that the outcome would be different, that this time she would be seen as good enough to wed, not just good enough to bed.

Until now.

The Fioravantis had broken that cycle. They hadn’t taken one look and decided that their son could do better. They’d welcomed her as Hannes’ family never had. She owed them for that, and she’d repay them in the way best way she knew how: she would do everything in her power to ensure that the Fioravanti legacy continued into the future.

But staying to do it herself… That old dream would have to remain in the past. Unlike Sarah, she couldn’t stay in Tuscany and re-invent herself, no matter how much she wanted to.

Luca was watching her, his expression still obscured by shadows, waiting for her response.

She sighed. “I can’t.”

He nodded slowly, eyes hooded. “I understand. Your life is back in London.”

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