Page 68 of My Fake Italian Marriage

She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him, or herself. Luca merely raised an eyebrow, and she was reminded that he’d been on the receiving end of Sarah’s “bite” before; it was the reason the Fioravantis had lost half their vineyard to the bank.

Tommaso, big, bearded and shaggy-haired, greeted them at the front door, his excited Labrador jumping up to greet the visitors. Luca scratched the pup between its ears, and Buffy rubbed herself against his thigh, tail wagging madly.

“See, I told you there was nothing to worry about,” Cleo whispered. “Even Buffy approves of you.”

He grinned. “Of course she does. The Fioravanti Curse works on dogs too.”

Cleo just rolled her eyes.

Tommaso led them through the house, which smelled of flowers, wood polish, and fresh-baked bread. “Sarah’s in the kitchen,” he said to her, then he turned to Luca. “I have a wine I’d like your opinion on.”

Cleo sighed dramatically. “You’re not going to talk about wine all night, are you?”

Luca laughed. “Maybe notallnight.”

She left them to their shop talk and headed to the kitchen that was the heart of thecastello. She hoped her friend wasn’t about to subject her to the third degree about the change in her relationship with Luca. Despite the fact that Sarah had encouraged her to get wild, and to have fun with Luca, Cleo did not want to discuss it. This was nothing like her holiday romances of the past, something to gossip about over a glass of wine. She was dangerously close to feeling things for Luca she absolutely shouldn’t feel, because in one way he was exactly like those other men she’d fallen for before: emotionally unavailable.

Though he’d asked her to stay…

When she entered the big, high-ceilinged kitchen, she was hit by a heady mix of tangy garlic and citrusy sweetness. Sarah greeted her with a hug and a long, probing look, before turning back to the pot simmering on the antique, porcelain stove.

“What treats do you have in store for us tonight?” Cleo asked, bending over the pot. Whatever it was, it smelled infinitely more tempting than theribollitastew she’d made with Pierina the day before.

“That’s a pecorino and pistachio sauce for the pasta.” Sarah removed the pot from the heat, and Cleo pulled up a chair at the scuffed wooden kitchen table to watch as Sarah removed a tray of golden-brown pasta parcels from the oven. They were miniature works of art, triangular, with ornate scalloped edges, and Cleo’s mouth watered. “What are those?”

“Fagottini, filled with pecorino and pears.”

Cleo sighed. “I bet you made the pasta from scratch.”

“Of course.” Sarah smirked. “How are your cooking lessons coming along?”

Cleo pulled a face. “It’ll take way more than a few lessons for me to master the art. No matter how hard I try, I cannot make dough without lumps. And it takes so long! When I think of all the other things I could be doing… I don’t know how you do it every day.”

Sarah laughed. “Mixing, kneading, rolling, that’s my thinking time. It helps me process all the other noise that happens in the day so I’m less stressed.” She turned serious. “I want to ask you something.”

Uh-oh. Cleo braced herself for the oncoming interrogation. No matter how much Sarah begged, Cleo was not going to kiss and tell. Not this time.

“Do you know anything about this guy Moira is seeing?”

Cleo’s eyes widened. “What?”

Sarah sent her a far-too-knowing smile. “You expected me to ask something else?”

Heat rushed up Cleo’s cheeks, and Sarah laughed good-naturedly. “I don’t need to ask what’s going on with you, because it’s obvious. You look relaxed and contented, so I can only assume the sex is everything you needed, and more.”

“Let’s get back to Moira,” Cleo mumbled. “What makes you think she’s seeing someone?”

“I FaceTimed her the other night and she wouldn’t switch on the camera. I was sure there was someone with her. She hasn’t said anything to you?”

“We haven’t spoken since last week. She was headed out on a date and didn’t have time to talk.” And Cleo had been rather pre-occupied since then to call their friend. “I assumed it was a first date, but you think it’s more serious?”

Sarah nodded. “I’m concerned why she hasn’t been on the phone to either of us gushing about whoever she’s met.”

There was only one reason Moira wouldn’t tell them she’d met someone. “She doesn’t think we’ll approve,” Cleo guessed.

Sarah nodded again. “That’s what I think.”

Cleo tamped down a pang of guilt. “I’ll be back in London in less than a week. Please God, that whoever he is he doesn’t break her heart before then.”

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