‘I doubt that.’
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‘Let’s see. Your parents were proud of you but somewhat removed from your day-to-day life. You had a nanny, possibly two, who taught you from a young age—languages, reading and etiquette, because old-fashioned manners mattered almost more than anything else to your parents. You were sent away to school at some point, though you never had much pressure put on you to achieve academically because your future was secured irrespective of your grades. You were encouraged to socialise in a certain set, with your parents ensuring you spent your time with “suitable” children. You received an allowance—a generous one—and knew you had a trust fund waiting for you. All of your closest friends were of a similar social standing to you. Am I wrong in any of this, uccellina?’
He wasn’t. In fact, his rendition of her childhood was so accurate that a shiver danced over her spine. The one thing he’d missed out was the loneliness she’d felt after Cameron had died. Loneliness at having lost a beloved older brother, her companion and friend, and loneliness at the way her parents had seemed to withdraw from her, pulling back so she was an island in the midst of everyone’s grief, completely set aside from the world. Only Laurence had understood—Laurence, who had been close in age to Cameron, who’d considered him one of his closest friends.
Her voice shook a little, the effect of his summary cutting deep. ‘And, because of this, you think I can’t enjoy the outdoors?’
‘You tell me,’ he invited.
She breathed in air that was fragranced partly by the salt of the ocean and partly by his masculinity, and her body responded, her heart pounding with the intensity of her pulse.
‘I travel a lot for work.’ She pushed aside the troubling memories of her childhood, but a frown lingered on her face. ‘But always to places like this. I’m in Milan so often, I might as well be a local.’
His expression could almost have been described as triumphant. She continued before he could speak.
‘But in each of these cities I make it my mission to find the gardens.’
He leaned forward a little, surprise obvious on his features, and she felt a burst of satisfaction at having confounded his expectations in some small way. ‘The gardens?’ he repeated, as though perhaps something had been lost in translation.
She made a noise of assent. ‘The gardens. And, whenever I can, I slip away and lose myself in their little corners and hidden pockets. I walk amongst the flowers and I smell them and touch them.’ She smiled, her tone conspiratorial. ‘Sometimes, I even pick them.’
His own eyes lifted a little at the corners.
‘Just one or two, and I take them back to my hotel and put them in a little glass on the window ledge so I can look at them for as long as I’m in town. So it’s not like they’re dying in vain,’ she added with another smile, her blood heating when his eyes thudded to the twist of her lips.
‘This I didn’t realise.’
‘I feel far more at home in gardens than I do in the city,’ she said with a lift of her shoulders. ‘I always have done.’
‘Yet you live in London?’
She slid her gaze back to his face, to those eyes that saw too much. ‘It’s a good base for someone who travels a lot.’
He dipped his head in silent concession, but when their eyes met she felt a rush of adrenalin, a surge of need that almost overpowered her.
‘I ordered dinner. It’s in the kitchen.’ She stood a little abruptly, so she took a moment to calm her flustered nerves. ‘I won’t be long.’
She’d half-expected him to follow behind, to pursue the line of questioning, given that she hadn’t really answered him, but he didn’t, and she was glad. Glad for space, glad to have room to breathe, to gather her thoughts.
A tray of seafood had been expertly prepared. Oysters, scampi, scallops, calamari. She lifted the stainless steel lid from the platter and moved back to the balcony, her heart giving a little skip when her eyes landed on Cesare once more. He sat with his legs wide, his frame relaxed in the chair, his eyes fixed on the view over the bay, so she had a few seconds to observe him in that moment of unguarded repose. Except he wasn’t unguarded; not really.
There was a tightness and readiness about him that seemed ever-present. As though he never really relaxed. Even his time spent in Alaska was probably spent like this—tightly coiled and ready to pounce.
He turned to her almost immediately so she skidded her eyes away and pasted a smile on her face, placing the platter of seafood in the middle of the table. Before she could take her seat, his hand curved around her wrist, holding her steady. His eyes searched hers thoughtfully, probing, reading, and she held her breath without realising it.
She wondered if he was going to speak, but he didn’t. He simply looked, and she felt as though the earth was tipping a little, making it hard to keep her balance.
It was the work of an instant. He dropped her hand, smiled in that way he had that was more a replica of a smile than a genuine look of pleasure, and turned his attention to the food.
‘When is your fashion show?’
She blinked, her mind temporarily blank before she recalled the Ferante e Caro runway she was committed to take part in.
‘Saturday afternoon.’
He nodded. ‘In London?’