Angelo focused on the woman across the table from him. ‘You sound like my mother. She tells me to relax more and my sister...’ He paused, realising that oddly he didn’t mind mentioning them to Ally.
‘Your sister?’ she prompted.
‘She calls me a workaholic.’
Ally released a gentle huff of laughter that whispered across his skin before curling deep inside, where he felt a nugget of glowing heat. ‘I like the sound of your sister. Clearly she’s a very brave woman.’
The glint in her eyes was teasing and Angelo’s mouth crimped up at the corners. Giulia was the only other person who teased him. Strange that he enjoyed it now with Ally.
Maybe his family was right. Maybe it was time to reconsider what he wanted from life. Angelo had no plans to follow his father into an early grave. The divorce had changed him, made him bitter. Perhaps it was time to focus more on the positives.
‘If I owned this place I wouldn’t want to move.’ Ally waved a hand towards the view. ‘Just look at that hot pink pelargonium trailing over the white of the balustrade with the deep blue sea beyond. It’s stunning.’
Angelo sat back, watching Ally’s enthralled expression and listening to her unvarnished enthusiasm.
When she’d been here before she’d loved the place but had been too sophisticated to gush about it. Now he found her appreciation engaging.
His thoughts were interrupted by Rosetta, arriving with bread and antipasti.
Ally enthused about the garden as they served themselves from the delectable spread. She seemed to know what she was talking about. She mentioned plants by name and was particularly interested in the garden’s design and its different sections, or rooms as she called them.
‘The rose arbour in particular...’
She trailed off as if lost in admiration at the memory.
Angelo nodded and reached for a bottle of sparkling water, topping up their glasses.
His mother was fond of that sheltered corner of the garden, with its rich scent and abundance of blooms. It struck him that she’d enjoy sharing this meal with Ally, discussing plants and design.
It was only as he put the bottle down that he realised Ally was sitting bolt upright and her expression was stunned. He leaned closer, concern rising, particularly at the way she held a piece of bread in the air as if frozen in the act of taking a bite.
‘Ally?’ His nape prickled. ‘What is it?’
She didn’t even blink.
‘Ally!’
Still she seemed absorbed in something she could see beyond him. He swung round and noted a yacht in the distance but nothing else. Nothing to stun her into silence.
He shoved his chair back, worry rising, when she spoke.
‘Gran,’ she whispered, with such yearning in her voice that it stopped Angelo mid-movement.
He scoured her face for signs of pain or distress. All he found was a curious blankness that contrasted with a furrowed brow that spoke of concentration.
Then, abruptly, she sat back, blinking, her suspended hand dropping to the table, her eyes overbright.
Angelo didn’t stop to think. In a second he was around the table, crouching beside her chair. He covered her hand with his. Was it imagination or was her flesh chilled?
‘Talk to me, Ally.’
Finally she swung her head around and he expelled a breath that felt like relief as her gaze caught his and he read recognition there. It had only lasted seconds but he’d felt unnerved by those moments when she’d been unresponsive, as if far away in her head.
Had she overdone it, helping Enzo? Had she somehow worsened the damage to her brain? Guilt stirred. He should have kept a better eye on her. Made her to rest.
‘I remembered,’ she whispered, so low that he had to lean close to hear. The scent of sweet neroli-scented soap and warm female flesh tickled his nostrils, distracting him for a second.
‘You remembered? That’s excellent.’