Italian Escape. Liz FieldingЧитать онлайн книгу.
on regardless. He lowered it reluctantly. He should have gone in earlier, had his coffee and read his paper in the peaceful privacy of his office.
She was dressed and ready to go, a file by her side and the ubiquitous iPad in her hand. Sure, the effect looked industrious but Luca would bet good money that she was checking her social media accounts, not actually working. His mouth twisted wryly as he observed her. At least Minty was taking her new job seriously, sartorially at least, he noted. She definitely looked the part of a young marketing executive in a pretty grey dress that fell to just above the knee, teamed with a lemon cardigan and yet another flimsy pair of flip-flops, these the same colour as her cardigan. She had twisted her hair up into a knot with just a few tendrils hanging down. She looked as fresh as a lemon sorbet.
And just as desirable.
No, he reminded himself. Don’t go there. But he felt that increasingly familiar pull towards her, the heating of his blood as it flowed through his veins. Minty by comparison looked as cool as the sorbet she resembled, sitting on the tiled counter as she swiped the tablet’s screen, swinging those long, bare legs; slim, muscular, formed on the hockey fields of England’s best schools.
He forced himself to look away, to concentrate on the coffee and paper before him, but his gaze was inexorably drawn to the lithe figure. Did she know how much it annoyed him when she did that? Counters were for chopping things on, for cooking, preparing, not for sitting. Not for swinging ridiculously long legs. Why didn’t she sit in a chair like every other human being?
‘I need to leave; do you want a lift?’
Okay, that was a little abrupt, but she didn’t look surprised. She bit her bottom lip thoughtfully and drew his unwilling attention to the curve of her mouth and the full bottom lip that he knew was put to good use, charming its owner’s way through life.
‘A lift? Careful, Luca, a girl might think you enjoyed having her around.’
‘It seems silly to be using two cars, that’s all. Wasteful.’
Truth was, it was nice to have someone else around. The farmhouse was too big for one. It was crying out for conversation; music; laughter; love; noisy family suppers around the table.
And so was he.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘A lift would be nice.’ She sighed. ‘I do appreciate you putting up with me. I’m sure you can’t wait for me to be gone. I’ll look for a room soon, but I’m not sure I can afford a house round here; I’ll have to share.’ She pulled a face. ‘I’m sure Daddy will say it’s good for me, but I don’t see how rows about who ate the last yoghurt and whose turn it is to do the washing up are character-forming.’
‘Don’t rush. Take your time, save up a bit.’ He saw the surprise in her eyes and elaborated, ‘This was your home too, once. Rose would be glad that you are here.’
‘Actually, it was always your home,’ she corrected him gently. ‘It couldn’t have been easy, having your aunt and uncle move into your parents’ house. And then for me to turn up as well; talk about salt in wounds.’
For one moment it was as if all the breath had been sucked out of his body and all Luca could do was stare at Minty. In all the years he had known her, she had never once acknowledged that he had a right to resent her presence. Maybe she was growing up after all, developing empathy. Becoming the woman he had always thought she could be.
He hoped not. That could complicate everything.
‘I was grateful that Gio and Rose gave up their lives to move here so that I could have some continuity,’ he said after the silence had stretched thin between them. ‘The thought of moving to London after everything—leaving Italy, the countryside, my home, the factory, all my memories... I don’t know if I would have coped. But I didn’t have to. They moved here, took over the house and the business, raised me and allowed me to carry on. Your presence for a couple of months a year was a small price to pay.’
Minty laughed. ‘You and I both know that isn’t true; I was a royal pain in the butt. I resented you, you know. Rose was my aunt, the only person I really trusted, and suddenly she was miles away in a different country looking after you full time. I was so jealous.’
‘It was a long time ago.’ Luca suddenly knew two things with utter certainty: that he would have no peace whilst Minty was still in the house; and that he didn’t want her to go. Not yet. ‘Honestly, Minty. Stay. I’d like you to.’
Her eyes were filled with uncertainty as she stared at him, visibly considering her options, her face unusually open, a mixture of hope and fear. Finally her troubled expression cleared and she nodded, relaxed. ‘Thank you, Luca. I’d like that.’
‘Good.’ A weight slipped off his shoulders at her agreement, a weight he hadn’t even known he was carrying. He had been alone too long. And, although Minty might not be the most restful of housemates, she was at least familiar. She had watched him grow from a sad, taciturn boy through to conscientious adolescence.
In a way, she was family.
He shrugged off that troubling thought. ‘I just need to change, so I’ll be leaving in about fifteen minutes; is that okay with you?’
‘No problem, I’m ready to go when you are. I’ll grab another coffee and a brioche and read my emails. Just yell when you’re ready.’
Luca nodded and turned to go upstairs. He needed to change into his suit from his usual morning attire of comfy jeans and an old T-shirt. Whenever he had time he liked to get up early and go for a walk over some of the estate before coffee and the paper. One day he would have a dog to take with him—when he had a wife and a family—something big enough to take on long, country walks but not too overwhelming for small children. A spaniel, maybe, or an Italian greyhound.
One day...
‘Oh!’ Minty made a small muffled sound of pain. Luca turned quickly, expecting to see a spilt cup of coffee. Instead Minty was bolt upright, staring at her iPad screen, a haunted, betrayed look in her huge eyes, her mouth twisted as she swallowed back tears.
‘What is it?’ Luca was by her side in a flash, pulling the tablet from her unresisting fingers. Two pictures filled the screen. One was of Minty, a glass of wine in her hand, laughing, eyes glittering, wearing something that even in the photo looked expensive and short. His eyes skirted quickly over the close-up of generous cleavage and acres of thigh. The other was a photo of a young man, suited, hair neatly parted, holding hands with an equally sober-looking woman, her hair neatly pinned back. Minty’s Curse Strikes Again! screamed the headline.
Three-times-unlucky socialite Lady Araminta Davenport is reeling from the news that ex-fiancé number three has announced his engagement to fellow politician Clara Church—less than three months since the dramatic collapse of his engagement to Minty.
The blonde beauty, daughter of the Earl of Holgate and actress Coco Waters, has managed to bag a rock for her finger on three occasions—but has yet to make it down the aisle. Instead, each of her fiancés has married another within six months of breaking up with the former wild child.
‘Minty’s devastated,’ said a close friend. ‘She wonders if it will ever be her turn.’
Who next for Lady Min? We’ve compiled a list of the hottest possibilities. The lucky lady has already bagged a viscount, a rock star and a rising politician! Who will she choose next time—and will this one stick around?
Underneath the article were headshots of several young men the newspaper had thoughtfully collated for her, ranging from minor European royalty to an Eton-educated Shakespearian actor.
Minty glanced at the pictures over Luca’s shoulder. ‘That’s the best they can do? At least two of these men are gay and one is married. Their researchers are terrible. It’s a good thing they don’t know I’m here; a successful businessman under thirty and the grandson of a conte, you’d be at the top of the list.’
She’d wiped the shock off her face; all she