Page 91 of My Fake Italian Marriage

“And you’re not worried about the Fioravanti Curse?”

He pressed his lips together, as if swallowing a smile. “I thought about that a lot after I left my parents’ party, and I finally reached a realisation: if you know the old fairy tales, then you know that love is stronger than any curse. It just takes a kiss from the right person to break it.”

Cleo laughed. “I guess that makes me the princess and you the frog.” She slid off the sofa, into Luca’s lap. “So how soon can you take me home?”

He wrapped an arm around her waist to hold her close, chest-to-chest, with her straddling him. “What about your job here? And your house?”

“As it happens, I quit my job yesterday. And I think I may have a buyer for the house.” Moira couldn’t afford to buy it, but Kevin could, and he’d practically moved in already. And it was in an excellent school district.

“In the interests of full disclosure,” Luca said, “I should tell you that I’ve never been in a real relationship before. I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

She smiled. “Me either. But we’ll figure it out. After all, together we can achieve anything. So far, we’ve rescued a failing vineyard, reunited an estranged father and son, and broken a curse. There’s nothing we can’t do.” She cupped his face. “I love you, too, Luca Fioravanti.”

Then she kissed him, hungrily, offering everything she had to give, and more. His hand slid up her back, to cradle her neck, angling her head to deepen the kiss.

This was better than any dream.

The door opened and someone gasped. Reluctantly, Cleo broke away from Luca’s kiss to look at Moira framed in the doorway. Her friend’s eyebrows couldn’t go any higher.

“Brunch is ready,” Moira announced.

Cleo smiled. “I’m not hungry.” At least, not for food.

She was wrong: Moira’s eyebrows could go higher. “But Kevin made your favourite: Belgian waffles with mascarpone and fresh strawberries.”

Cleo looked back at Luca, and smiled. “I’ve found something even better.”

ChapterThirty-Nine

Dulcis in fundo (Latin) / Il dolce viene in fondo (It)

(The sweet comes at the end.)

It was early afternoon when they landed in Florence, so they stopped for lunch in the city before starting the long drive home to Montalcino. Luca took her to a trattoria on Piazza della Signoria, with a view across the square to the Palazzo Vecchio. The restaurant was simply decorated, with wooden tables and chequered tablecloths and the most heavenly smells drifting from the kitchen. They ordered antipasti, prosciutto with pecorino cheese, pears and honey, followed by a main meal ofpolpette, Italian meatballs in a simple but mouth-watering tomato sauce, accompanied by roasted vegetables and a rich Chianti.

“I suppose we should get on the road,” Cleo said, without enthusiasm. Between the soporific effects of the wine, and the perfect summery day, the thought of spending the rest of the afternoon in a car held little appeal.

“There’s no need to hurry. Dario can manage things at the vineyard a while longer.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “We can stay and enjoy the city; perhaps even stay overnight.”

In those first weeks, she would have rolled her eyes and thought he simply wanted to shirk work. Now, she smiled. With Luca, life would always be an adventure. He’d shown her that work was important, but living was even more important.

So they lingered over a dessert of strawberry gelato, and Cleo relaxed back in her chair, breathing out a sigh of contentment. Who could have guessed, back in the spring when Kevin called her into his office, that she would end up here, with a whole new life?

She caught Luca watching her, his eyes warm with a look that would never get old, and her heart swelled. If this was going to be the rest of her life, fantastic food, stunning backdrops, surrounded by people who welcomed her as one of their own, and with a man who looked at her with stars in his eyes, then she’d struck the jackpot.

She glanced around the piazza, at the steady stream of tourists flowing in and out of the Uffizi gallery. There was a steady stream of brides, too, posing for photographs on the edge of Neptune’s fountain or beneath the arches of the Loggia dei Lanzi. She smiled dreamily at a young couple laughing and pressing their cheeks together for the cameras. Soon, she would be one of them.

Then the dream bubble burst, and she grimaced.

“What is wrong?” Luca asked, looking concerned.

This time, her sigh was resigned. “If we’re going to get married for real, we’ll have to confess to your parents we aren’t yet married.” She dreaded that conversation even more than she’d dreaded telling Giovanni she was firing him from his own vineyard.

A devilish glint sparked in Luca’s eyes. “Or we could do exactly as we said we did, and get married without telling anyone.”

“Right here in the Sala Rossa?”

He shrugged. “Why not? Unless you would prefer a big wedding, with both our families present, and the church and everything that goes with it? Or would you prefer a destination wedding on a beach somewhere? Whatever you want, that’s what we’ll do.”

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