‘Thank you. But I think I’ll be OK.’
‘Do you often suffer from a fear of flying?’
‘No.’ Realising the abruptness of the answer, Emily wished she had simply claimed that as the reason. ‘This is the first time so hopefully it’s a one-off. Plus, the prospect of seeing Turin cancels any panic.’
For a moment she thought he’d pursue the topic but instead he clearly decided to accept her disinclination to discuss the issue further. ‘Have you been to Turin before?’
‘No, but I am looking forward to it. I haven’t had a chance to do a lot of research, but I do know that it is meant to be an amazing place. Full of history and tradition.’
‘It is. Turin has a real sense of tradition and the past. It is also, of course, the capital of chocolate. The very first chocolate bar originated in Turin. And in 1678 the Queen of Savoy granted a chocolate maker from Turin a licence to open the first chocolate house, so like a tea or coffee house today. And today the Piedmont region produces about eighty-five thousand tons of chocolate a year.’ He came to a stop. ‘Listen to me. I sound like a tour guide.’
Emily shook her head. ‘You sound like someone who is very proud of their city. A city that sounds like chocolate heaven. I’ll make sure I make time to look round, get some photos. I can see that Turin itself is important to the essence of your chocolate and I think we need to get that idea in somehow, even though we will be shooting in Jalpura.’
He hesitated. ‘If you would like I could take you around Turin, if that would help.’
A thrill of anticipation shot through her, one she quelled instantly. This was work related, nothing more. ‘That would be wonderful, and it will really help to see Turin through your eyes.’
‘Then I’d be happy to be your guide. We can start tonight. I’ll pick you up from your hotel at seven.’
‘Perfect. Thank you.’ There was that sense of looking forward. Again. And she hadn’t even noticed that the plane had begun its descent.
CHAPTER FIVE
EMILY GLANCED AT her watch: five minutes to seven. She surveyed her reflection in the hotel mirror, reminded herself she was done with dressing for a man. Any man. Before Howard she’d never dressed to be noticed, had preferred to blend into whatever scenario she found herself. Knew that as a photographer it made sense to be as invisible as possible and Emily was good at that. Invisibility was her watchword. Much of her childhood had been spent relegating herself to the background, tiptoeing around her mother and the man de jour. As she’d got older she’d disliked being feted because of her famous parents. So she’d learnt to dress to not be noticed.
Until Howard. Once she’d met him somehow she’d ended up dressing to please him.
‘How you look reflects on me. I need you to be beautiful, elegant, poised and attractive...’
‘Emily, sweetie, of course I love you for you, but I am a photographer—I need to be surrounded by beauty and I have an image to uphold. My wife cannot be a dowd.’
And somehow Howard had started to dictate her wardrobe and from there it had descended into snide criticisms and put-downs if she had so much as a hair out of place. Worse perhaps had been his habit of studying her and then emitting a small frustrated sigh, a shake of his head and then, ‘Honestly, Em. Why can’t you ever get it right?’
Never again would she dress for a man, so she should be happy with her appearance tonight. Smart casual black trousers and a plain demure button-up blouse with a collar, complemented by a pair of boring but serviceable, smart black pumps. Hair pulled up into a businesslike bun. Professional, boring and invisible. Perfect.
So why did she look so glum? Why was she wishing she’d packed a dress from the Howard era? Why was her hand hovering over her make-up? Why did her fingers itch to pull her hair loose?
The answer was obvious—dark haired, gorgeous, as sinful as the chocolate he created, Luca Petrovelli. Which was ridiculous. But something had happened on the plane—perhaps it was his instinctive ability to ward off her panic without belittling it as Howard would have. Or his clear enthusiasm and love for his home city. Or perhaps it was the thought of a night out, a chance to see a city she’d never seen, guided by a man who had succeeded in waking her hormones from a sleep she’d believed to be permanent.
Whatever it was it was time to go; one last glance in the mirror and she headed for the door. Reminded herself that this was a business meeting, a chance for her to work out how to incorporate elements of Turin into the ad campaign. And get to kn
ow the founder of Palazzo di Cioccolato better.
She scooped up a lightweight jacket and headed out of the elegant hotel room. As she entered the marble lobby she saw Luca by the front desk and her heart skipped a beat. He looked positively scrumptious—black hair, shower-damp and spiky. Shirt and chinos and a jacket hooked on one finger over his shoulder—he could have stepped out of a glossy magazine. In fact her fingers itched to capture the image. Itched to do way more than that—the tantalising V of his chest made her head spin and she forced her feet to maintain a steady pace towards him. Even as she fought the urge to race past him, find a boutique, buy a dress and transform herself.
Really, Emily? Shallow, much.
‘Buonasera.’ The timbre of his voice washed over her as he smiled at her. ‘I hope the hotel is OK?’
‘It’s wonderful. The room is beautiful and it’s got a marvellous view of Turin.’
‘Good. I plan to show you the sights a little more personally. I thought we could walk the streets for a little, then I will take you to Silvio’s, a cocktail bar where I used to work. They do the best cocktails in Turin and the food is pretty good too.’
‘That sounds lovely.’ She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone out for cocktails and dinner and the idea filled her with an unbidden sense of excitement. ‘So tell me about your cocktail-shaking skills.’
‘I am a pro. I can make a martini shaken or stirred. I invented at least three pretty brilliant mixes. Silvio still serves them today.’ Emily suspected that whatever Luca turned his mind to he would be the best at, the knowledge both potent and ever so slightly intimidating. After all, Howard had been excellent at what he’d done and it had made him both arrogant and cranky. Stop. Tonight she didn’t want her ex-husband to intrude—instead she wanted to try to enjoy this evening. The idea was a novel one, brought about by being in a new place, the scent of Italy...the buzz of a different language around her.
As they stepped out into the balmy air Emily inhaled. ‘I love the smell of Italy.’ Though truth be told she’d swear she could also catch Luca’s scent, a crisp, deep note of bergamot and citrus that added to the sudden heady feeling. This unfurling of enjoyment had been absent for too long and she suspected it would be a short-lived burst before the shadows set back in. For a moment the rawness of grief and loss cast a darkness; it shouldn’t be like this. She should be home, with her baby, celebrating the milestones: a first tooth, a smile...all things her baby hadn’t had the chance to experience. Not now. Instead she pulled in air, refocused on the smell and the sights around her, allowed them to create a bubble that insulated her from the might-have-beens.