Page 27 of My Fake Italian Marriage

Luca grinned. “I’m sure it will be.”

As soon as the manager departed, Cleo threw her hands up in despair. “This is why I hate telling lies, even small ones. They always come back to bite. Now what do we do?”

“We say thank you and enjoy the upgrade?” Since her sense of humour hadn’t kicked in yet, he added, “I’ll sleep on a sofa.” Though neither of the two antique Chippendale-style sofas looked anything like the pull-out sofa bed in the suite he’d booked. These didn’t look big enough to have fitted him when he was twelve, let alone now.

“Damn right you will.”

ChapterEleven

Gli amori nuovi fanno dimenticare i vecchi.

(New love drives out the old.)

“Let’s go to dinner,” Luca suggested when Cleo emerged from the bathroom. “I’m starved.”

“Do you think the restaurant will be open for dinner this early?” She looked decidedly unenthusiastic about the prospect of dining at the hotel, and he didn’t blame her. They were hardly going to enjoy their meal if they were looking over their shoulders for her ex all evening.

He shook his head. “I’m taking you to my favourite restaurant in one of the mountain villages.”

He gestured for her to precede him out the door, enjoying the view of her shapely legs and the soft sway of her hips, before he closed the door and followed her.

“Do you know this area well?” she asked as they headed back to the parked car.

“Well enough. We spent holidays here when I was a teenager, and in the early days of the wine show I sometimes came with my father.” He smiled. “When I was sixteen, this was where I had my first summer romance.” And lost his virginity. “It’s still my favourite holiday spot.”

She laughed, shooting him a coy look. “And every year another summer romance?”

“Of course!” When she looked as if she was about to roll her eyes, he laughed. “You did ask that I be honest with you.”

“Thank heavens it’s still only spring,” she muttered.

Spring, summer, winter. Romance didn’t have a season. If he’d learned anything today, it was that Cleo Arendse needed to be romanced. She needed to banish the ghost of The Arse from her life and to feel valued. She needed the kind of flirtation he excelled at—a little wining and dining, and lots of attention.

The restaurant was a chalet set atop a slope forested with chestnut trees. A cool Alpine breeze blew in from the north, taking the edge off the heat of the day. A Sunday buffet had already been spread out on the enclosed porch which offered glimpses of the distant lake; roast beef, the rich local polenta uncia, oven-roasted lamb with potatoes, fresh breads, and enough grilled vegetables and salad to make Cleo happy.

Luca ordered a bottle of Franciacorta, a silky-smooth sparkling wine with a strong Chardonnay flavour. “To celebrate our marriage.” He raised his glass to her. “Salute!”

Cleo sighed. “Our firm still does business with Evan’s, so eventually he’ll find out we lied and I’ll probably live to regret it.” Her eyes twinkled. “But that one moment was worth it. I don’t want to be the pitiful ex-girlfriend still pining for him while he’s moved on.”

“You’re not really pining for him, I hope.” Luca wrinkled his nose. “What did you see in him?”

“I’ve always been attracted to confident men, and we had great chemistry.” She bit her lip. “But I think it was theideaof him I fell in love with. That someone like him would be interested in someone like me…”

He laid his hand over hers where it rested on the table. Evan Courtenay deserved a lifetime of unhappiness for making her believe she was less than him. How could Cleo not see what she had going for her?

Though, sadly, he’d met far too many women who believed they didn’t measure up to some impossible standard. Maybe the Fioravanti charm wasn’t a curse but a gift, a talent for making women feel desired and appreciated, helping them to heal from past hurts and reclaim their power.

He brushed his thumb across her palm before releasing her hand. Unconsciously, she curled her hand into a fist, as if holding on to the touch.

Throughout the meal, he employed his talent to keep her smiling, encouraging her to trade stories about their university years, or memories of living on a wine farm. Though they’d grown up in different cultures on opposite sides of the world, they had a surprising amount in common.

His effort was rewarded. As she relaxed, her smile came easily and more often.Dio, but she had the most beautiful smile, so wide and bright that it was as if she poured all of herself into it. Her full lips, painted their usual bright red, parted to reveal the small, endearing gap between her front teeth.

By the time they shared a dessert of early summer strawberries and creamy vanillagelato, the sun was setting behind the mountains, turning the sky to dark pinks and blues. A waiter set candle-lamps on the tables.

“We should get back to the hotel.” Cleo stretched, and, unable to help himself, his gaze flitted over her curves, his body tightening again with desire. There it was: the familiar genetic impulse that made him want every beautiful woman he met, but unable to settle with just one.

He gestured for the waiter to bring coffee. “Why leave so soon? You are surely not going to work tonight?”

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