Page 23 of My Fake Italian Marriage

She cupped her chin in her hand and contemplated Luca, trying to puzzle him out. “You do everything else your parents want of you, including dropping your own business to help the vineyard, so why not give your mother what she wants? It can’t bethathard to find a woman willing to marry you.”

“There are many things I would do for my parents, but I will not intentionally cause hurt to someone else.” He stared out of the window at the stream of cars passing by on the highway beneath them. “I have inherited the Fioravanti Curse.”

What was the Fioravanti Curse? A genetic disorder, perhaps? But he’d said hewouldn’tmarry and have children. Notcouldn’t.

One corner of Luca’s mouth kicked up in a self-mocking grin. “In every generation, there’s a son who inherits the curse. Women find us irresistible, but it’s a double-edged sword: we are unable to settle down with just one woman, and we break the heart of any woman who loves us.”

He had to be kidding. He couldn’t seriously believe he was that irresistible? “And you’re the only son, so you assume it has to be you?”

“Something like that.”

“I hate to be the one to break it to you, but that’s not a curse. It’s a cop out.”

He looked perplexed, so she added: “You’re using it as an excuse to play into the stereotype of the unfaithful Italian Casanova.”

He laughed. “I have the family history to prove it. Are you ready to get back on the road?”

They headed outside to the car. “The brakes are very responsive.” Luca tossed her the keys, and she nearly let them drop in her surprise.

“You’re really going to let me drive your car?”

“You had such a hungry look in your eyes when you asked, how could I not?” His eyes twinkled suggestively. “I like that look in your eyes.”

Since he was making one of her Bucket List dreams come true, she gave him a pass on the obvious flirtation—which was definitely playing into the Casanova stereotype.

Before they could resume their journey, she first needed a quick lesson in all the fancy toggles on the steering wheel, including the gear shift. Everything was opposite to what she was used to, and though she’d driven in Europe before, it took a little time to adjust to looking right for the rear-view mirror instead of left.

The Ferrari was indeed a dream come true to drive. The engine purred, and it wasn’t just the brakes that were responsive. The lightest touch on the wheel or the accelerator, and the car reacted. She allowed herself to let go, to push the car to a speed she’d never before dreamed of reaching. Adrenalin raced through her, and she laughed with exhilaration. Her brothers were going to be green with envy when she told them about this.

ChapterTen

Il destino da le carte, ma chi le deve giocare siamo noi.

(Fate deals the cards, but we must play them.)

At Piacenza they swapped seats again, though Luca would happily have let Cleo drive all the way to Como just to enjoy the way her cheeks flushed and her eyes lit up. Gone was the practical, conscientious businesswoman who’d spent the past two weeks frowning at him across his father’s desk. This new Cleo looked younger, lighter. Though maybe that was because she’d dispensed with the contact lenses she wore most days, and today she wore the cute glasses.

When they reached Milan, instead of skirting around the town, he drove into the city centre.

“We don’t need to stop again,” Cleo protested. “We can have lunch when we reach our hotel.”

“You need new clothes.”

“What’s wrong with the way I dress?” she protested, indignant.

He flicked his gaze over the maxi-dress she wore, a sleeveless, high-necked creation in canary-yellow patterned with big white daisies. Her dress style was as sassy as she was, bright colours and bold patterns that were unlike the simpler, darker clothes most British women wore, in his experience. “Nothing at all. But since you didn’t pack for a long stay, I thought you might like a few extra items.”

She groaned. “I loathe clothes shopping, but you’re right.”

He took her to the cobble-stoned fashion district where he guided her to the less touristy boutiques in the side-streets. Shopping was in Luca’s DNA, and he’d always had a good eye for clothes, but what he enjoyed most was pushing Cleo out of her comfort zone, to try styles she’d never consider for herself, to bring out the innate sexuality she hid beneath her girl-next-door exterior.

“Isn’t this too sexy for a trade show?” She twirled in front of the mirror to inspect the teal-coloured wrap dress he’d suggested.

“No, it is perfect.Sei bellissima.”

She blushed. “Do I look less like an English banker and more like an Italian winemaker now?”

She’d never looked like a banker, and she certainly would turn heads at the wine show … but not because of her looks or her clothes. It was her vivacity and her wide, engaging smile that made people look twice.

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