Page 8 of My Fake Italian Marriage

“We can’t possibly drink,” she protested, as he filled the glasses with red wine. “It’s the middle of a work day.”

He grinned. “You are in Italy now, and you are working on a wine farm. Wine with a meal is an obligation.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re trying to get me drunk, aren’t you? You think I’ll be easier to influence after alcohol.”

Luca’s dimple flashed again. “I do not think you will get drunk on one glass of wine. And certainly not if you accompany it with Pierina’sCampanelle alla crema di arugula.”

Since Cleo was no gourmand, those fancy words meant nothing to her, but the food sure smelled good. Her mouth watered and her stomach rumbled again. She hadn’t eaten anything but an airline sandwich all day. “Okay,” she said less than graciously, moving to sit in the armchair across from him.

She eyed the bottle’s label as she took a cautious sip of the wine he handed her. “This isn’t a Fioravanti wine,” she observed. She was no connoisseur, but the wine had a heady, rich flavour.

With expert precision, Luca swirled the wine inside his glass and breathed in its bouquet. “Consider it researching the competition. This is a Valpolicella from Veneto.”

The name meant even less to her than the dish had. As far as Cleo was concerned, there were only three types of wine: red, white and bubbly. Evan prided himself on being a wine expert, and had thrown around all sorts of impressive terminology, but none of it had rubbed off on her in all the time they’d dated.

She picked up one of the bowls. The pasta was unlike any she’d seen before, shaped like the pale blue bellflowers her mother grew in her conservatory. The pasta was surprisingly tasty, but it was the sauce which made Cleo hum with pleasure; a creamy tomato and herb sauce that wasn’t as rich as she expected, but packed full of flavour. Why did food in Italy always taste so much better than food anywhere else?

“If you’ve finished looking at the financial statements, perhaps you would like a tour of the winery?” Luca offered when they’d both emptied their bowls.

Yes, she’d emptied her entire bowl. She would have to run at least five miles tomorrow.

On the desk, her phone chirped a message. Saved by the bell. She set aside her empty wine glass, and headed back to the desk. It wasn’t a text from her office, but from Moira.

Call me as SOON as u get this!!!!!

Cleo frowned, and sat down at the desk. “I don’t have time to play tourist. There’s a bunch of distributor renewal contracts that haven’t been signed yet. Since I don’t speak Italian, you’re going to have to contact them and get them to sign.”

Luca shook his head as he leaned forward to casually top up his wine glass.

She huffed out an exasperated breath. “You’re a lawyer. Surely you can handle that much?”

“That’s not how we do things here. The distributors have already agreed terms with my father, but they’re waiting for Lario. They will only sign in person.”

“Who is Lario?”

“Not awhobut awhat. It’s the big annual wine trade show at Lake Como, which takes place in two weeks. We need to be at the trade show to get these contracts signed.”

Cleo’s eyes narrowed. There was no “we” in this. “Great. So, you go to Lario and get them signed.” She snapped closed the folder in front of her and pushed away from the desk. “I’ll recommend to my boss that he delay a final decision until after the trade show. That should buy you time to get on top of the outstanding bills, resume distribution, hire a sales rep to actively market your produce, and get these contracts renewed.”

“But I can’t do all that!” The look of horror on Luca’s perfect features was almost comic.

Cleo would have laughed, if she hadn’t been so busy rolling her eyes. Trust the poor little rich boy not to want to dirty his hands with real work. No doubt because it would put a dent in his hectic social schedule of wining and dining impressionable women.

Once upon a time, she’d been one of those impressionable women, but not anymore. She leaned forward, resting her palms flat on the desk. “You either do the work, or you put the vineyard on the market and sell to someone who is willing and able to do it. And to be blunt, this vineyard isn’t in good enough shape right now to attract a great asking price.” She reached for her phone. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an important call to return.”

Luca’s eyes narrowed, and he pressed his beautiful, full lips together in a hard line, but didn’t answer.

She headed out of the winery, dialling Moira’s number when out of earshot of the building. “What’s up?”

“It’s a disaster!” Moira sounded close to tears. “The boiler’s pilot light went out, and I don’t know what to do.”

Bless her heart. Moira was the sweetest, kindest house mate anyone could want, but she could also be the ditsiest. “Call the boiler company. The number’s on the fridge.”

“I did. They said they can only send someone on Monday. They want me to check the gas stopcock. I don’t even know what that is!”

Another call beeped in Cleo’s ear. Kevin. “Relax. Take a deep breath,” she told her friend. “I need to take a call from my boss, then I’ll call you right back.”

Moira hiccoughed a weak “okay” and Cleo ended the call.

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