CHAPTER EIGHT
‘STAYING?’
Salvatore could hear the bewilderment in Lana’s voice and hoped he’d made the right call. He wanted Lana entirely to himself, without anyone else around—not even the staff at the palazzo—and if she agreed to it this remote chalet, hired for the week, was ideal for that. Here, they could completely forget that they’d gone through a marriage ceremony that had absolutely no relevance to why they were together in this secluded hideaway.
‘Come and see what you make of it,’ he invited.
Lightly vaulting up the veranda steps, he opened the door. Inside it was rustically simple—a single room with a long, comfortable-looking settee, some woven rugs on the floor, a small dining table with two wooden chairs, and a log-burner stove set into a thick stone chimney breast. At the rear a kitchenette was tucked beneath what was little more than a ladder leading up to a narrow mezzanine beneath the rafters, the entire space of which was taken up by a bed.
He stepped back.
Lana, with a wary expression on her face, looked in, her gaze sweeping up to the mezzanine. Then she looked back at Salvatore. ‘And where,’ she asked, her voice deliberate, ‘is the other bedroom?’
He was unfazed. ‘The settee is long enough to sleep on—plus there’s a camp bed that can be placed on the veranda. It’s quite warm enough for me to sleep out, so don’t worry about that.’
The look she threw at him was old-fashioned in the extreme.
He touched her wrist lightly. Made his voice encouraging. ‘Lana, we’ve been on show ever since we tied the knot—first in Rome and then, yes, even at the palazzo, playing “the bride and groom” even if only for the staff. Even sightseeing there have been people everywhere! Here we can just—what’s that English word?—chillax. Be ourselves...not what others think we are. Doesn’t that appeal?’
He gestured sweepingly out towards the lake, where sunshine glanced off the water, dappled this tree-girt clearing by the shore, indicating the absolute peace and quiet of the place.
She was still looking at him, but less uncertainly, as if his words were getting through to her. Then a frown creased her brow.
‘But we’ve brought no provisions! And I’ve only got the clothes I’m standing up in!’
‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’
He headed back along the path to the SUV, pulling open the tailgate. As Lana caught up with him he heard her give what sounded like a choke.
‘This should keep us going,’ he said cheerfully, and lifted out a large cardboard carrier containing dry foods. It was stashed neatly next to a couple of cool boxes, a portable barbecue and several sacks of charcoal, and two small suitcases.
‘One of the maids, Maria, packed some suitable gear for you while we were having dinner last night,’ he informed Lana, ‘and you can always borrow some of my stuff. I’ll take this to the chalet—can you manage one of the cool boxes?’
He set off, relieved that she was not objecting. That, with this impulsive decision he’d made to get away from Rome, away from the palazzo, he might, finally, be getting it right with her. The way he wanted it to be.
Lana hefted up one of the cool boxes. Maybe Salvatore was right. Maybe it would be good not to have to put on any kind of front at all—not even to the palazzo staff. She’d felt awkward, having them treat her as the signora, even more than having his friends and acquaintances think she was. Now she could have a break from it.
Inside the chalet Salvatore was unpacking the groceries, stashing them away in the wooden cupboards above the sink. It made him look very domesticated. Not the powerful businessman or the lordly signor of a palazzo. It was, she found herself thinking, reassuring...
‘Do I leave the cold stuff in the cool box?’ Lana asked.
‘No, there’s a fridge—the chalet has solar-powered electricity and, you’ll be pleased to know, running water, fed by a spring from further up the hill. The bathroom, such as it is, is just behind the kitchen.’
Lana peeked through a half-open door, seeing a very simple shower room with toilet facilities that she would be glad of.
‘We’ve got cylinder gas to cook on, plus the barbecue, and oil lamps and candles to supplement the solar electric lights,’ Salvatore was saying now. ‘Okay, let’s get the rest of the stuff from the car.’
It took a couple more trips to empty the boot, then they were done.
‘Coffee?’ asked Salvatore, lighting the gas hob as Lana climbed, somewhat gingerly, down the ladder from the mezzanine. There had just about been space up there to place her small suitcase on the wooden floor and check to see what Maria had packed for her. Shorts, cotton trousers, tee shirts, a jumper or two, another pair of canvas flat-soled shoes, some underwear, a swimsuit—that was about it.
No nightwear, she noted with sudden suspicion. And then realised that Maria had correctly assumed that her glamorous satin pyjamas were hardly suited to roughing it in a primitive lakeside chalet. Well, she would wear a tee shirt instead. And she would sleep, quite definitely, on her own, up there on the mezzanine. She could even pull up the ladder to repel boarders if need be—
But she was given no cause to do so. No such attempt was made. And when Lana finally climbed up the ladder, bidding goodnight to Salvatore, who was stretching himself out on the comfortable settee below, she knew she was glad he had brought her here.
Glad that here, away from absolutely everyone else, they could—just as he’d told her—be themselves.
Not a married couple in a totally unreal marriage made for completely non-romantic reasons that has had its end date written into a contract from the off. Not pretending to people that it’s a real marriage, made for the reasons a marriage should be made.