Page 21 of My Fake Italian Marriage

“You can work here full-time for a few years after you matriculate,” Aunty Rolene had said. “Until you’ve earned enough to pay for ’Varsity.”

Ifshe earned enough, and if she didn’t get stuck in a rut, tied to that paycheck, the way her parents were. When she did finally earn enough to pay tuition, she’d be older than all the other students, excluded from the fun social side of being a student.

Fate had intervened, and she had indeed managed to go straight to university after matriculating. Not just any university but one of England’s finest, and all on someone else’s dime. But despite that twist of luck – if she could call it that – she’d been destined to re-live that same experience over and over. Always the outsider trying to fit in, first as a foreigner in a British university, then as a woman in a male-dominated work environment, then the girlfriend who couldn’t be brought home and introduced to the parents…

She snapped shut the file in front of her harder than she intended. “I’ve sent you the last invoice. You can forward them to the right people.”

Did it count as career progress that these invoices were in Italian rather than in Afrikaans? She still couldn’t do more than order herself a cup of coffee in Italian, but over the past week she’d learned to recognise a few Italian words, namelyin ritardo(overdue),il credito(credit),tasso d’interesse(interest rate), andtariffa doganale(export tariffs).

She blew out an exasperated breath. “Surely your father doesn’t manage all this day-to-day admin on his own? Why doesn’t he have an assistant?”

Luca didn’t even look away from his screen. Cleo suspected he was playing solitaire instead of working, since he seldom showed that degree of focus when there was real work to be done. They’d spent enough time sharing this office over the past week that she’d learned his “tells”.

“He had an admin clerk until she retired last year,” Luca said.

“Lastyear? When was he planning to hire a replacement?”

Maybe that was why Signor Fioravanti’d had the stroke: he wasn’t young, and he was doing the work of an entire team of people. Not only was he the winemaker and cellar supervisor, but he was handling sales, accounting and admin too.

At last, Luca looked up, rocking his chair on its back legs. “This is a family business. Most of the people who work here have been here all their lives, following in the footsteps of their parents and grandparents. But today…” Luca shrugged. “Today the younger generations don’t want to work on the farm anymore. Those who get a good education want to live in Rome, or Florence, or Milan.”

“You’re still here,” she pointed out.

He grinned. “I tried it for a few years. Went to university in Rome, then worked for a law firm in Florence. But when my Nonna died and I was far away in Florence, I realised that I needed to come home. This is my community, my family, my home.” He caught her surprised look and laughed. “You thought I was a small-town hick who had never been outside Tuscany?”

Not quite. The picture she’d built up in her head was one of a lazy rich kid who’d taken the easy way in life, not one of someone who would voluntarily choose his community over material success. Maybe he wasn’t like either of those other two men after all…

She sighed and rubbed her neck. For someone who lived in the present and seldom wasted time looking back, this trip was making her remember things from the past she’d long ago buried.

Luca rocked back on his chair again. “You look like you need a day off. You work too hard. When we are at Lake Como, I will show you the sights.”

“We’re going there to work, not to play.”

His mouth ticked up into a grin. “Why not do both? We can go a day early and spend a day as tourists.”

Sarah had warned her that this was Luca’s MO. When she had first arrived in Tuscany, Luca had played tour guide and escorted her all over the countryside in an attempt to sweep her off her feet. He might have succeeded if she hadn’t fallen for Tommaso instead.

Cleo blew out a breath. “Actually, it’s not a bad idea to go a day early. We can use the time to interview prospective business managers and vintners.”

He pulled a face, and she narrowed her eyes. “If you don’t want to work, then you can go play tourist and I’ll do the interviews alone.” All the candidates she’d shortlisted spoke English, so she wouldn’t need Luca to translate, and she could get some time away from him. Spending more than eight hours with Luca, every day for a full week, had not been good for her mood or her stress levels. He never took anything seriously, and was always trying to make her smile and relax. It was downright annoying, especially since that was usuallyherrole at work. She didn’t much like not being the fun one anymore.

At least his parents had thawed towards her. Their evening dinners were less stiff and formal. They ate early each evening in the private family dining room instead of the formal dining room, and his parents made an effort to be friendly, even if she’d probably never be on first name terms with them. Luca seldom stayed for dinner, returning to his apartment in town most evenings, but Signor Fioravanti’s nurse usually joined them. Though Stoyan was Bulgarian and spoke no English, they managed to communicate using very basic Italian and a lot of hand gestures. And the food was divine. Pierina could have earned a Michelin star for her food; it was simple, yet packed full of the most delicious flavours. If it weren’t for Cleo’s daily runs, she would outgrow the limited wardrobe she’d brought with her from London before they even reached Lake Como.

She blew out a breath now and pulled the stack of shortlisted CVs closer. “Is your father aware yet that we’re appointing new staff, and they won’t just be temporary?”

Giovanni still spoke as if he intended to resume full control of the vineyard as soon as he recovered, though he’d made little progress in the time she’d been here.

Luca’s chair squeaked as he rocked back again. “Not yet.”

“We have to tell him. I don’t like going behind his back.”

Luca’s eyebrows drew together in an uncharacteristic frown. Since he seldom looked worried about anything, the expression unnerved her. “Can we delay until after Lario? Then hopefully we will have good news to soften the blow.” He pressed his lips together. “And give him more time to recover his strength before we tell him that he is fired from running his own vineyard. Please?”

When he put it that way… “Okay. But only until after the wine show. He needs to know our plan for the vineyard’s future before I return to London.”

Luca nodded, and she returned to rifling through the CVs, sorting them into piles. Luca was right. They should travel to Como early to meet the potential candidates, most of whom would be attending the wine show. “I’ll set up the interviews if you can reserve an extra night at the hotel.” She glanced at Luca. “You did book an extra room for me, didn’t you?”

“Of course.” But he averted his gaze, and her irritation levels kicked up another notch. That was another of his “tells”.

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