Page 3 of My Fake Italian Marriage

Her heart jumped into her throat. “Italy?” she managed in a scratchy voice. Her BFF and former colleague, Sarah, had been unceremoniously shipped off to Italy for a “vacation” after she’d hit burnout and made a mistake that nearly cost their firm its most lucrative client. “Have I done something wrong?”

Kevin chuckled. “No, nothing like that! I have a favour to ask of you. Remember the vineyard Sarah asked us to invest in, to get them off her back?”

Cleo nodded.

“The owner, Giovanni Fioravanti, has had a stroke. No one will tell me how serious it is. I need to know if he’s going to recover and who’s running the business in his absence—a quick in-and-out to check that the company is operational in his absence.” Kevin leaned forward, elbows on his desk, his fingers entwined. “I need to send someone I can trust. I went out on a limb with this one.”

Their department dealt with mergers and acquisitions. They absolutely never got involved in their clients’ day-to-day business. But the Fioravanti Vineyard in Tuscany wasn’t just any client; Kevin had only invested because it was Sarah who asked. Because he’d felt guilty for how he’d behaved when they were a couple. Because he still felt guilty, despite the fact that she’d landed on her feet and couldn’t be happier in her new life.

Cleo appreciated the bind he’d find himself in with senior management if the investment was compromised, but a vineyard … that was so far outside her comfort zone it might as well be Timbuktu. “My specialty’s tech and media, not agriculture. Surely there must be someone better qualified?”

“You grew up on a wine farm.”

Sure, but she hadn’t been back in more than fifteen years. She’d left the farm at nineteen to move to the UK, and she’d been perfectly happy to never look back.

If Kevin made his brown eyes any bigger, he’d look like a puppy. “Pretty, pretty please? You don’t have any other plans for the weekend?”

Her plans for the weekend were the same as every other weekend: binge-watching Netflix and binge-eating Haagen-Dazs. The rut she lived in had grown very deep these past six months. “I’ll only be gone for the weekend?”

He nodded, looking relieved. “Just a couple of days. And you can visit Sarah while you’re there too. Make it a bit of a holiday.”

She sighed, able to read between the lines. Not only would she be doing this favour for Kevin, but she’d be doing it on her own time, off the company books. He was lucky he was such a great, dependable, easy-going boss to work for, or she’d already have said no. But the entire department would be devastated if he got into trouble over investing in a failing vineyard as a personal favour to Sarah.

She wasn’t above using this favour as an opportunity, though. “Rumour has it Fern is moving to another firm. I want to be considered for her job.”

Kevin nodded. As he showed no surprise at the news, it was clearly more than a rumour. “Agreed.”

Cleo rose. “Then I’ll send my leave request to HR as soon as the Singapore call is done.”

His grin transformed his usually serious face. “Thank you, Cleo. I knew I could depend on you.”

* * *

Over the rim of her pint glass, Cleo surveyed the pub. The usual Thursday night crowd propped up the bar or gathered beneath the big screen TV where a Scottish League match was playing.

“You are so lucky,” her friend and house mate Moira moaned beside her. “I wish I could just drop work and go away for a long weekend somewhere warm and sunny.”

“I’m not dropping work; itiswork.” Though Cleo had to admit, now that she’d got over the initial surprise, the idea of getting away for even a weekend held a great deal of appeal. It had been ages and ages since she’d gone anywhere fun. She’d been so focused on work this past year that she’d barely even visited her own family, and they were only a three-hour train journey away.

She closed her eyes and imagined warm, golden sunshine on her face. The last time she’d been to Italy was for Sarah’s wedding, and that week had been so full of wedding preparations she hadn’t had a chance to play tourist. Maybe, after she’d checked out the vineyard, she could lie by a hotel pool with a glass ofvino. If she came back to the office on Monday with a tan, no one would question why she’d suddenly taken time off work. And she’d be returning to the possibility of a promotion. That alone would make the trip worth it. She needed that promotion, and the new challenges it would bring—and soon—or she’d go out of her mind with boredom.

“Maybe you’ll meet someone there and fall in love.” Moira’s voice brought Cleo crashing back into the present, into the over-heated pub with the television volume cranked up too loud. Her friend was such a hopeless romantic.

“God knows we’re never going to meet anyone new hanging out here all the time.” Moira pulled a face. “On second thoughts, maybe I don’t want you to go. Sarah met someone new in Italy, and now she’s left us for good.”

Cleo grinned. “Don’t complain; you turned her bedroom into an art studio.” Though she worked as an art teacher to pay the bills, Moira still hoped to make it as an artist, even more since Sarah had turned her passion for baking into a successful new business.

“Yeah, but if you leave me too, I’ll have to find a new place to live, since you own the house now and I most certainly don’t earn enough to buy it off you.” Moira raised her half-empty pint glass. “Okay, here’s to you finding someone in Italy you can have wild, passionate sex with, so you can finally get over Evan, but not to falling in love so you don’t want to come home.”

Cleo laughed. “Not much chance of either of those happening. It’s only a weekend away, hardly enough time to meet someone, let alone fall in love. And you know me: always the bridesmaid, never the bride.” Not that she hadn’t tried. And tried. Over the past fifteen years, she’d been out on more dates than any one woman should go on in a lifetime. It wasn’t that she wasn’t good at dating, or that she couldn’t hook a man; her problem was that she never felt chemistry with any of them. Only twice had she found a man she could picture herself growing old with. Sadly, neither man had wanted the same with her.

“That’s just an old cliché; it doesn’t mean you won’t be a bride someday.” Moira’s brow furrowed. “You do still want love and marriage and family, and all the stuff that goes with it, don’t you?”

Cleo shrugged. Once upon a time, back when she’d been nothing more than a naïve girl, she’d dreamed of having it all—a successful career, marriage and family. She hadn’t given up on that dream, but at the ripe old age of thirty-five she’d outgrown the false hope instilled in her by Disney, and grown a great deal more practical. Years and years—andyears—of dating could do that to a girl.

“I’m not going to disrupt my life for anything less than a man who meets all three of my criteria.” She held up a hand to tick the items off on her fingers. “He needs to be my best friend; we need to have serious chemistry, and he needs to be a partner I can trust.” Friend, lover, partner. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it? She smiled at Moira. “Since I have yet to meet a man who fulfils more than two of those criteria, I’m not holding my breath.”

“For most people, two out of three would be enough.” Moira stared thoughtfully across the pub to where a cheer had erupted. “After all, some compromise is necessary in a relationship.”

---