Page 51 of My Fake Italian Marriage

“Who’s that?” Cleo elbowed Sarah to indicate the gorgeous woman.

“Oh dear.” Sarah kept her voice low. “That’s Sofia, the local estate agent.”

“Why ‘oh dear’?”

Sarah looked embarrassed. “She’s one of Luca’s … um … girlfriends.”

Oh. Cleo flushed, her gaze darting involuntarily back to the woman gliding away down the street as if she weren’t wearing two-inch heels.

“Though really,” Beatrice chimed in, keeping her voice pitched so that only Cleo and Sarah could hear, “that would be using the term ‘girlfriend’ in its very broadest sense. I’d say it’s more friends-with-benefits.”

It was none of Cleo’s business. Really, it wasn’t. And she could see why a woman like Sofia would appeal to Luca. Even Cleo found it hard to look away.

With their shopping done, they stowed Beatrice’s purchases for the taverna in her little red car, and Sarah and Beatrice introduced Cleo to their favourite weekly ritual: gelatos, which they ate seated on a park bench in a tiny, treed garden in Piazza Cavour. Despite being surrounded by restaurants and traffic, the square was an oasis of calm. At its heart, a fountain splashed merrily, sending cool droplets floating toward them on the light breeze. Colourful fairy-tale figurines decorated the flowerbeds, adding to the feeling that she’d stepped into another world.

Cleo sighed. “This is such a magical place.”

“My favourite part of the whole town,” Beatrice agreed.

But Cleo wasn’t talking about the garden. The whole of Tuscany seemed magical, imbued with a sense of deep contentment, and a feeling that anything was possible. After all, here she was on a workday, eating gelato with the sun shining on her face.

The last time she’d felt this way was when she’d been on the cusp of adulthood. But she’d been so sheltered then, hadn’t known how many bumps lay ahead on the path to achieving her dreams, hadn’t known how the hard work, struggles and disappointments would slowly rub away at her edges until that naïve girl, so full of dreams, no longer existed.

Until now. Here in Tuscany, she was re-discovering the girl she’d been. Over the years, she’d learned to make the most of every disappointment, to always see the bright side of every setback, but here she dared to dream again, to hope for more.

“I never thought that Luca would marry,” Beatrice said after a while, breaking their companionable silence. “The local bookie stopped taking bets on him marrying years ago.”

Cleo and Sarah exchanged looks, and Sarah pursed her mouth to supress a laugh. “Damn. If I’d known there was a bet going, I’d have taken those odds.”

“You believed he might one day settle down?” Beatrice asked.

“Of course.” Sarah winked at Cleo. “He just needed to meet the right woman.”

Yeah right. Even if Luca could be convinced that there was a “right woman” for him, that woman certainly wasn’t her, as Sarah well knew. Their lives were poles apart: Luca was rooted here in his community and his family, while her life was a thousand miles away, in a noisy, hustling, vibrant city. She blew one of her curls out of her face. “Let’s talk about your love life instead, Beatrice. Are you seeing anyone?”

The young Italian woman shrugged. “Who has time for dating? I run the taverna, help out on the farm, and look after my nieces and nephews. Even if I did have time, who would I date? I’ve known every man within miles since I was a child. If there was anyone here I was remotely interested in, it would have happened years ago.”

“You never dated Luca?” After all, the way Sarah made it sound, he’d dated every available woman in southern Tuscany.

Beatrice wrinkled her nose. “He is one of those men I’ve known since we were children. He was in my older brother’s class at school. Luca was always one of the ‘cool’ kids, and I was … well, I wasn’t! So we never moved in the same circles and then when he moved back here after university…” She shrugged. “He wasn’t my type.”

He wasn’t Cleo’s usual type either. Though she’d thought in the beginning he was the same as those other arses she’d made a fool of herself over, like her first love, or the rowers she’d drooled over at uni, or Evan, he was nothing like them. Sure, he was an outrageous flirt, but he was an equal opportunity flirt, as charming with the matronly women he met as with the young, pretty ones. His dimpling grin and the impish light in his eyes weren’t practised or manipulative; they were simply a part of who he was. He was friendly to everyone, an involved community member, a devoted son, and a hard worker, though he made it look as if he wasn’t. And he most certainly wasn’t arrogant. No, he wasn’t the typical arse she usually fell for.

She was so lost in her thoughts that when a hand fell on her shoulder, she jumped.

“I thought I’d find you ladies here.” Luca leaned forward over her shoulder. “Mmm, pistachio gelato? My favourite.” He bent closer and helped himself to a lick from Cleo’s dripping ice cream cone. Then he brushed a light kiss on her cheek. Though it was nothing more than a friendly greeting, the kind of greeting Italians used all the time, at the other end of the bench, Sarah’s eyes went wide as saucers.

“It’s time we get to work.” Cleo jumped up from the bench.

Luca shook his head. “Youare not working today. It’s your first cooking lesson with Pierina.”

Sarah looked even more astounded. “You’re learning to cook? You can barely crack an egg.”

Luca put on an expression of mock horror. “Should I be worried? You won’t burn the house down, will you?”

Cleo swatted his arm. “Be nice! I was about to offer you the rest of this gelato, but if you’re mean, then I’m not sharing.”

“You are right. A good husband should support his wife in everything she does.” His expression was solemn but his eyes twinkled. “Even if she burns down the house.”

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