Page 88 of My Fake Italian Marriage

As she headed out the kitchen, Moira hurried to catch her arm. “I don’t expect you to believe this, especially as it also took me by surprise, but he really is the full trifecta, just like you said. Kevin was my friend first, then a lover and partner. And you were right: it was worth waiting for.”

Cleo smiled, though every word was a stake through her heart. She was happy for her friend—for both her friends—really, she was, but just once it would be nice to be the one getting the Happy Ever After.

ChapterThirty-Seven

Solo gli sciocchi non cambiano idea.

(Only a fool never changes his mind.)

Luca woke with a crick in his neck and a numb arm, despite the fact that the upholstered, sectional sofa in his office was a great deal more comfortable than the one in the Blevio honeymoon suite had been. He sat up, groggily rubbing first his arm back to life, then his bleary eyes. A pounding sounded on the outer door of the office; that must be what had woken him from his uncomfortable sleep. What time was it? He’d fallen asleep as the first light of dawn had started to creep between the slats of the shutters, but now it was broad daylight outside.

He stumbled from his private office, through the reception area, to unlock the outer door, his heart sinking as Babbo shouldered past him into the room.

“Why are you not answering your phone?” his father demanded.

Luca spread his hands wide. “I don’t have it with me.” He’d left his mobile in his bedroom at the villa, before the party. He glanced at the office landline, where the message light blinked furiously. “Is there an emergency? Is everyone okay?”

His father shook his head impatiently. “Of course everyone is not okay. Your wife is gone.”

Cleo had told his parents already? Why hadn’t she waited until they could both…? His father’s words registered. Notgoing, butgone.

He patted his pockets for his car keys. “Did she say where?” If she was at Castel Sant’Angelo, he could still catch her…

His father laid a hand on his shoulder. “She took the morning flight to London. We already checked with Sarah.”

Luca sank down onto the corner of his assistant’s desk, realising a moment too late that he’d sat on her ball of glittery stress putty. Still, a sparkling oil patch on his dress suit trousers was the least of his worries.

He was too late. He’d thought he had at least one more day to convince her to stay. Instead, she’d left without even saying goodbye. No, that wasn’t quite true. She’d told him goodbye last night in the rose garden, hadn’t she? And he, trying as always to be noble, to do the right thing, to keep everyone else happy, hadn’t understood it for what it was.

“I am so sorry.”

Luca shrugged away from his father’s sympathy and moved back into his office to his own desk. A quick glance at his laptop showed he’d already received replies to some of the emails he’d sent in the middle of the night. He closed the email app without reading them and sank into his leather chair. “So we go back to the way we were before?”

The question was for himself more than for his father, but Babbo answered. “Is that what you want?”

“Does it matter what I want?” Luca didn’t intend to sound bitter, but the words came out that way. His ability to cover his feelings with a quick, easy smile had deserted him.

“Yes, it matters. And it occurs to me that it has been a very long time since I asked whatyouwant.”

Luca looked at his father in surprise. “Are you sure you’re all right?” This did not sound like Babbo at all.

His father moved to sit on the charcoal-coloured sofa, facing him. “Your whole life I’ve been so focused on ensuring you did not grow up like my brother that I missed that you were your own man.” He rubbed his neck. “I loved my brother; who didn’t? But he was also selfish and he hurt a lot of people.”

“I know,” Luca said impatiently. “You’ve told me before.” He didn’t usually talk back to his father this way, but it seemed his filter had left along with Cleo.

Babbo shook his head. “I was so focused on what Ididn’twant you to be, that I never paid any attention to the man youcouldbe. You know, of course, that you were named after my uncle Luciano?”

Luca had to make a concerted effort to curb his impatience. He didn’t have time for this. “I know. The other family screw-up.”

His father shook his head again. “He was my favourite uncle. He waseveryone’s favourite uncle. Maybe you were too young to remember, but both Luciano and Enrico were so full of joy and energy. They grabbed life with both hands and made the most of every moment.” He smiled wistfully. “It is only in these last few weeks, seeing you with Cleo, that I realised that’s what you had been missing before, and that’s who you could be. Since she arrived here, you have reminded me more and more of Enrico, of his passion for life and the way he enjoyed everything he did.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “That is the man you should be, the man you are with her. So, I ask you again: what do you want for your life?”

He met Babbo’s direct, probing gaze with one of his own. “I want to run the vineyard.” No, he should rephrase that, because there would be no going back to the way things were before. He was done with wanting and with dreaming; it was time now to make it happen. “Iwillrun the Fioravanti Vineyard.”

“What will you do with you practice? You cannot continue to run both.”

Luca had already that figured out. “I will bring in a partner to help with the practice.” Last night he’d emailed his former colleagues in Florence to put out feelers for young lawyers he could bring into the business.

His father nodded slowly. “That will be good. I have faith in you that the Fioravanti legacy will be safe in your hands.”

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