Page 15 of My Fake Italian Marriage

(Those who have a good cellar at home do not go to the tavern for wine.)

Luca slept at his parents’ house that night, and met with his father the next morning. Giovanni was already sitting up in bed, a breakfast tray across his lap. With an imperious gesture, he sent the fussing nurse away, then turned to Luca. “Did it go well? Will she leave us alone? Or does the bank intend to foreclose?”

So his father was aware of the vineyard’s dire financial circumstances. Luca blew out a breath. The jury was still out on all those questions, and he suspected he’d blown it with Cleo in the grotto last night, though he wasn’t sure what he’d said or done to make her clam up. He would need to try a different tack to find out what she planned to do with the vineyard. Maybe even try that honesty thing she’d asked for.

He leaned over to steal a piece of Pierina’s home-cured crispy bacon off his father’s plate, but Giovanni swatted his hand away. Luca grinned unrepentantly. “You’ll be pleased to know that the bank doesn’t have any immediate plans to foreclose or force a sale, and we owe our neighbour at Castel Sant’Angelo for that.”

His father scowled. “Then the woman from the bank intends to take over running the vineyard?”

“Her name is Cleo, and she’s not here to take over. Though it wouldn’t be a bad thing if she did step in, at least until we get distribution back up and running.” Luca leaned back in the armchair beside the bed, crossing one leg over the other. “She’s sharp, and it doesn’t hurt that she’s pretty, in that girl-next-door way. She’ll be an asset at Lario.” He raised a mocking eyebrow at his father. “Don’t pretend you hadn’t noticed.”

A ghost of a smile flitted across Giovanni’s face, exactly the reaction Luca had hoped for.

“But we need to discuss what happens after Lario. And you need to plan for your succession. You cannot keep doing all the work alone. Surely you want to retire some day?”

Giovanni heaved out a sigh. “I will hire someone.”

“Or we could ask—”

“You don’t mention that name here! Not under this roof, and not to the banker. He is a traitor to this family.”

“All because he married someone you didn’t hand-pick for him? Surely it’s time to get over that?”

Giovanni dipped his cornetto so hard into his cappuccino that it sloshed over the sides of the cup. “Good sons obey their fathers. They stay home and do their duty to the family.”

Luca forbore to point out that his brother had only left the vineyard because he’d been forced to choose between the woman he loved and his father. He wasn’t entirely sure what choice he would make under the same circumstances. He liked his lifestyle, the freedom and the flashy car that his generous stipend from the family trust afforded him, and he’d never met a woman who’d tempted him enough to make him want to risk all of that.

Not that there would be much of a trust fund left if the vineyard failed. They needed Gio to take his rightful place at the vineyard, but it looked like it was going to take more time to make that possible. Time was one thing Cleo could buy for him.

“We need to persuade Cleo to stay until you get your strength back. We could do a lot worse. At least she seems to know what she’s doing, and I think she can be trusted.”

Giovanni shook his head. “I only trust family. You must keep an eye on her as long as she is here.”

Luca swallowed his frustration and kept his tone appeasing. “Alright. But we need the bank on our side, which means we need Cleo on our side, so please try to be more welcoming.”

“Fine.” His father dipped the cornetto in his cappuccino again, less violently this time, and, with a sigh, Luca left the room in search of his own breakfast.

* * *

Cleo’s feet hit the tar in a steady rhythm. Aside from the occasional car flying past on the motorway, and the tight knot of lycra-clad cyclists who passed her on the narrow farm road, she might have been alone in the world.

White fog clung to the valleys, burning away slowly as the sun rose. The landscape was impossibly green, that fresh, vivid green of spring, and flowers dotted the fields; scarlet poppies, white marguerites, and the yellow gorse flowers that edged the road. She set out in the direction she’d travelled in the taxi yesterday, towards the medieval Abbey of Sant’Antimo.

The rising sun turned the abbey’s alabaster walls to gold. Since it was still early, the church and its little shop specialising in herbal remedies were still locked and there was hardly anyone around. She wandered through the herb garden, enjoying the serenity of the birdsong and the hum of bees in the apiary as the morning sun stirred them to life. She breathed in the rich scents of freshly turned earth and aromatic herbs; lavender, rosemary, lemon balm and thyme.

It was only on her way back to the vineyard that she discovered how close Sarah’s farmhouse was to the Fioravanti estate. Since she was hot and sweaty, and Sarah had a houseful of guests, Cleo had no intention of dropping in unannounced, but it was nice to know that her friend was close at hand if needed.

She turned in through the high, wrought-iron gates of the Fioravanti estate and headed up the long, dappled drive lined with stately cypress trees. It was barely 7am on a Saturday morning. Hopefully, she’d be able to have a quick shower and make herself presentable before she had to face anyone. With a little luck, Luca would be a late riser and she could escape to the winery without seeing him. With even more luck, he’d be bored of hovering and would leave her to work in peace. It would be easier to figure out on her own how the vineyard worked, without having to maintain the pretence that she knew what she was doing.

The road in front of her split, the left fork heading to the cellar, the right fork to the mansion that sat atop its hill like a giant wedding cake topper. With a final burst of speed, she sprinted up the right fork, arriving at the bottom of the stairs leading to the front door panting for breath, legs burning. She jogged on the spot as she checked the heart rate monitor and pedometer on her smartwatch. Six miles. That ought to work off yesterday’s excesses.

The door opened as she reached it, but it wasn’t Pierina, nor any of the other servants, but Luca himself. She swallowed a groan.

Not only did he look much wider awake than she’d expected him to be at this hour, but he was immaculately dressed in tailored black chinos, a black polo shirt, and leather loafers. He looked as if he’d just stepped out of the pages of a fashion catalogue, while her shirt had sweat stains, her hair was plastered to her neck, and her face was no doubt an unattractive shade of fuchsia. He cast her an appreciative look, nevertheless. Clearly all a woman had to do to gain his interest was have a pulse.

He held out his hand. “We got off to a bad start yesterday. I think perhaps we should start over. Hello, my name is Luca Fioravanti. Welcome to our vineyard.”

Against her own wishes, she smiled. “Cleo Arendse. Pleased to meet you.” She shook his hand, and that same frisson of static awareness passed between them. “Are you going somewhere?”

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