Page 64 of My Fake Italian Marriage

It didn’t have to be. The future could take her anywhere. But she couldn’t stay because staying would mean seeing Luca all the time; in town, at the vineyard. Once they made their “divorce” public, that would be decidedly uncomfortable. He wasn’t the kind of man to stay celibate… He’d move on to another woman, or maybe back to his other women, women far more suited to him, like the stunning and stylish Sofia. Or even worse, what if Sarah was right? What if he did one day meet the right woman, a woman who made him want more, and what if he married for real, like Hannes and like Evan? Nope. As much as Cleo wanted him to be happy, no way would she hang around to be a third wheel inthatrelationship.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and reached for her wine glass, taking a sip of the ruby-red wine. It tasted vaguely of wild blackberries. “But can I ask you to promise me something?”

His bushy eyebrows pulled into a frown.

“Please promise me that when I leave you don’t take the blame of our break-up onto yourself. We can tell your parents that I changed my mind and want to go back to England.” After all, wasn’t it supposed to be a woman’s prerogative to change her mind?

Luca shook his head. “It is the most logical solution if they think I have cheated on you. Everyone expects it of me.”

And that was exactly why she couldn’t let him shoulder the blame and be the bad guy in their break-up. “Promise me.”

He huffed out a breath. “Fine. I will find another way for us to end it.”

She smiled. “Tell me about this wine.”

As she’d expected, the change of topic diverted his attention. He lifted his glass to the light to admire the colours. “This is from one of the artisanal estates north of Montalcino. Those vineyards are at higher elevations, and the soil is dominated by limestone and clay, which creates aromatic wines with ripe fruit flavours.”

She closed her eyes and breathed in the bouquet, then took another sip, and pictured the vineyards north of town that she’d run through, until she could smell the earth and taste the ripening fruit.

Luca cleared his throat, but his voice still came out husky. “I am jealous of that wine, that it can put such a look of pleasure on your face.”

Yes, this was how things needed to be between them. Not soul-searching, not heavy with bitter-sweet memories, not weighed down by impossible dreams, but seductive and teasing and uncomplicated. That was what she needed from him. She held out her hand to him across the table, smiling flirtatiously. “I’m pretty sure you can put a look of pleasure on my face too.”

His dimple flashed as he grinned, rising to take her hand and pull her to her feet. “Onlyprettysure?”

“You’re going to need to be very persuasive to convince me.”

His lips collided with hers, hot and hungry and demanding, and she opened her mouth to the invasion, drowning in the taste and feel of him.

He smiled against her mouth. “This trattoria makes an excellent panna cotta. Or we can skip dessert and go home?”

“Home. Definitely home.”

Yes, keeping it light between them was simple and easy, and she intended to make the most of every minute left with Luca, not waste it with maybes and what ifs.

ChapterTwenty-Seven

Chi ama il suo lavoro lo fa bene.

(Those who love their work do it well.)

Dio, but it felt good to be outdoors with the sun on his face. So much better than being cooped up in an office all day. Not that he ever stayed behind a desk all day, not since he’d opened his practice and become his own boss. Luca closed his eyes, stretched, and breathed in deeply. Since his father’s stroke, he’d worked harder and longer than he had since he’d left that job in Florence, and yet he’d never been happier.

The yellow and pink sentinel roses planted at the ends of the rows of vines were in full bloom, their sweet scent rising in the May heat to join the familiar summer smells of dry, sun-baked earth and the fruity aroma of ripening grapes. Smells that reminded him of joy and innocence, of the urge to run, barefoot, with the wind in his face. He wasn’t ten anymore and the heavy work boots he was wearing weren’t conducive to running, so instead he settled for striding at a steady pace uphill back towards the winery.

He hummed as he walked. Life was good today. The intermittent rain had finally stopped, and he and Silvio had checked the vines to assure themselves that the weekend’s rain hadn’t caused mildew. It was no wonder his father was stressed; there was always something new to worry about on a wine farm: too much rain or too little, too much sun or too little, drought or flood, frost, hail, fungi, aphids, birds, boar … and that was before the grapes were even harvested and brought to the cellar.

But on a day like today, with the sun warm on his shoulders, the grapes growing as they should, last year’s harvest fermenting as it should, and enough money in the bank to cover today’s bills, it was impossible not to feel happy.

Even better, ahead of him waited a woman who made being indoors on such a glorious day something to look forward to. He grinned. Their “marriage of convenience” had brought some unexpected bonuses, aside from the boost to his father’s health.

He had never lived with a woman before, beyond the occasional overnight stay or weekend away, but it was surprisingly enjoyable to wake beside the same person each morning, to settle into a familiar routine with someone he could relax and be himself with, someone he could watch football with in his sweatpants. Cleo had seen him first thing in the morning, unshaved and with morning breath, she’d seen him hot, sweaty and dirty at the end of football practice, and she’d seen him grumpy and tired and even hangry—things he usually hid from the rest of the world—and she hadn’t run away yet.

Though perhaps the bigger miracle was that, after more than two weeks of being together every day,hehadn’t yet grown bored or felt the temptation to run away. His suggestion that Cleo stay in Tuscany had been a crazy impulse, but it hadn’t been only his dick doing the urging. He wanted more of this, and the few days they had left did not seem enough.

He reached the building, waving a greeting to the workers repairing a tractor in the garage, and stepped through the wide-open doors of the loading bays into the cool darkness of the cellar. He didn’t need to wait for his eyes to adjust to the sudden change. Without breaking stride, he headed upstairs to the offices.

He wasn’t the only one humming today. He paused in the doorway to enjoy the sight of Cleo behind his father’s desk, humming as she worked at the computer. When she looked up and smiled her usual wide, bright smile, her eyes lighting up, an unfamiliar feeling leapt in his chest. He’d been told that part of his gift was that he made women feel as if he was overjoyed to see them – and he usually was – but Cleo was the first woman who had givenhimthat feeling. He understood now how addictive the sensation could be.

---