‘Do you like it?’ Cristiano asked. ‘It’s very similar to my restaurants in Roma. We are so sick of the old-fashioned mama and papa places. It’s all about glamour and modernity.’
‘It’s . . . ’ Cesca took a deep breath. ‘I can see why it’s so successful. Everybody seems to be enjoying themselves.’
‘If I could, I would have flown you to Rome to see my restaurants.’
She could imagine what Sam would have said to that.
‘This is perfect.’ She looked up as what looked like the owner came over to Cristiano and shook his hand. The two exchanged pleasantries for a moment, and though she didn’t understand the words she could tell Cristiano was asking a lot of questions. Eventually, he turned back to her.
‘Would you mind if I join Mario for a quick tour of the kitchens? The head chef is an old friend and it would be good to get his thoughts on this place.’
Cesca gave him a smile, trying to swallow down the feeling of relief. Cristiano was obviously more interested in the restaurant than he was in her. Somehow that put her at her ease. ‘Please, go ahead.’
‘I will ask Dino to take you to your seat,’ Mario said. ‘And get you an aperitivo, of course.’
‘Something non-alcoholic please,’ Cesca said, she wanted a clear head.
As the night progressed she couldn’t help but feel the same way as she had earlier. That this almost-date was like a photocopy; the quality was so much worse than the original. Vibrant colour turned into blurred black and white. Even the food, as beautifully presented as it was, tasted less real to her palate.
After their dessert was cleared away, the waiter brought over a small porcelain cup of espresso, and a glass of something deeply bronze. Cristiano lifted it up, inhaling the flavour, then inclined the glass to her.
‘Just a small brandy,’ he said. ‘To toast our evening together.’
She could smell the alcohol wafting up from the table. Brandy had never been her favourite drink, and the aroma wasn’t changing her mind. Not wanting to be rude, she lifted the glass to her lips, trying not to screw up her nose. ‘Of course.’
A sip of the fiery liquid burned as it slid down her throat. The heat radiated through her stomach, warming her from the inside. Cristiano smiled approvingly at her.
‘You’ve seemed very nervous tonight,’ he observed. ‘As if you aren’t really here with me.’
‘I have? I’m so sorry.’ She felt her cheeks heat up. How rude she must have seemed. ‘I’m just a little tired. It’s been a long week.’ The smile she offered him was genuine. It wasn’t his fault she was a hotbed of contrary emotions; after all, the last time she’d seen him Cesca had hated Sam.
Now . . . not so much.
‘Was it the way I picked you up?’ Cristiano asked. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have brought the flowers. But when I saw them, they reminded me of you. Classical. Beautiful.’
She shook her head. ‘Of course not. The flowers were lovely, and so is the restaurant. I’m so sorry I’ve not been on top form.’ Bloody Sam. Lovely Sam. Gah, either way it was all his fault. And the truth was no matter how good the food, or the company, or anything else here in the restaurant, it was all for nothing. Because Sam wasn’t there.
‘Thank you for taking me out tonight,’ Cesca said to Cristiano as he drove them back home along the lakeside road. ‘I hope you managed to relax with all that talk about work.’ He’d disappeared more than a few times, not just to the kitchen but also to the office where he’d spent at least half an hour talking with the owner. By that time Cesca had moved to the terrace and drunk her espresso alone overlooking the lake. She’d squinted as she gazed to her right, trying to make out which building could be the villa.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Cristiano looked suitably apologetic. ‘Mario confessed he’s already had a lot of interest in this place. I don’t want to lose out on it, but I know how rude I’ve been. He wanted me to see the kitchens and the books, to meet the chef. It was too good an opportunity to turn down.’
‘It’s not a problem.’ She could hardly complain to him when her mind had been elsewhere, too. It had been more than a relief than anything, getting to spend some time on her own. Giving her the space to try and untangle her fevered thoughts.
‘It was very ungallant of me. I apologise.’
‘There’s no need to, honestly. Work comes first, I get that.’ She smiled at him. ‘We had a nice evening, and hopefully you managed to make some decisions about the restaurant.’
Cristiano’s smile was sad. ‘I’ll be returning to Rome next week, to talk to my bank. By the time I close on the restaurant if I decide to buy it, well, you’ll probably be gone.’
Cesca’s stomach dropped. It had nothing to do with the thought of not seeing Cristiano again, though. ‘I probably will.’ Back to dreary London. To her lack of job, her lack of home, her lack of opportunities.
A lack of Sam, too.
When they pulled up to the gates, Cesca didn’t argue with him about driving her right up to the villa. Instead she hopped out of the car, keying the number into the pad, thanking God that Sam hadn’t turned on the evening lockdown code. As the gates creaked open, she climbed back into the car, letting Cristiano pull forward until he came to a stop at the foot of the steps.
‘There’s no need to get out,’ she said, noticing his hand on the door.
‘Not at all.’ Ignoring her protestations, Cristiano got out and walked around to her side of the car, opening the door for her. ‘I may not have given you the best date tonight, but I’m still a man. Let me see you to the door.’