A waiter appeared to take their drinks order. Olivia met his gaze, smiled, and in halting Italian proceeded to order the bottle of Prosecco she enjoyed so much.
‘Bene, signorina.’ The waiter’s eyes lit up.
Luca resisted the impulse to inform the waiter that Olivia was, in fact, a signora. What did it matter? She was his wife, they both knew it; nothing else mattered.
He focused his attention back on her face. ‘You were saying?’
‘My day.’ She nodded, pleating her napkin into her lap, searching for the right words. ‘I went sightseeing, and I had a revelation.’ She paused, and before he could prompt her to continue, the over-zealous, over-attentive waiter appeared, brandishing the Prosecco for ‘signorina’, asking in slow Italian if she would like to taste the bottle. She turned to Luca, lost, and he shook his head, delighting in taking over the conversation.
Was he seriously jealous of a waiter she didn’t even know?
He blamed his naturally possessive instincts. It wasn’t Olivia he was asserting a claim over, so much as their temporary, meaningless relationship.
‘The bottle will suffice,’ he said in his native tongue. ‘Leave it; I can pour.’
The waiter disappeared with a disgruntled expression.
‘What did you say to him? He seemed cross.’
Luca flattened his lips. ‘It’s not important. You were saying something about a revelation?’
Her eyes chased the waiter with obvious sympathy, but then she blinked back to him, watching as Luca poured a generous measure of bubbles into her flute.
‘I didn’t go to university, you know. I couldn’t have left home. Mum depended on me, and there was too much to do anyway. We couldn’t afford any help, and the house was massive.’ She pulled her lips to the side, her expression one of timelessness, as though she were back in the past. ‘And somewhere along the way, I suppose I’ve lost sight of—’
The waiter reappeared, notepad in one hand, and a pen in the other.
Luca cursed under his breath. ‘Bring us whatever the chef recommends,’ he bit out curtly, then, as an afterthought, to Olivia, ‘Is that okay?’
Olivia looked bemused. ‘Yes. I’m sure that will be fine.’ She turned a megawatt smile on the waiter, and, as a result, he left somewhat mollified compared to his previous retreat.
‘You’re cranky.’
‘I’ve never known a waiter to interrupt so often.’
Her eyes widened with surprise. ‘I’m fairly sure that’s an ordinary amount, actually.’
‘It doesn’t matter. You were saying?’
‘Yes.’ She nodded slowly, then laughed. ‘What exactly was I saying?’
‘Somewhere along the way, you’ve lost sight of something.’
‘Right.’ She sipped her Prosecco, closing her eyes for a brief moment, to savour the ice-cold explosion of flavour. ‘I have no idea who I am.’ She delivered the words with complete calm, but there was a tempest in her pale blue eyes, so he knew what a momentous pronouncement that was. ‘I don’t even remember what I used to want to do with my life, before my father died and everything changed. I suppose the sorts of things every child fantasises about—to become a ballerina, an astronaut, prime minister.’ She wrinkled her nose and, out of nowhere, he felt as if he’d been punched, hard. He leaned closer without realising it. ‘But then, as a teenager, I never really developed any other goals. I suppose I knew it would be fruitless, that I’d never be free to pursue them. I didn’t plan to go to university, I simply accepted that it wouldn’t be my fate. And then today, I went to Il Vaticano,and as I toured the rooms, one by one, I remembered something I buried a long, long time ago.’
He leaned forward slightly. ‘Which is?’
‘I love art. As a child, I used to relish creating paintings, sculptures out of clay, craft from the garden. I adored the ancient paintings that adorned the walls of Hughenwood House, many of which we’ve had to lease to cover the running costs,’ she said with a grimace of regret. ‘But it wasn’t until today that it occurred to me I could actually pursue art as a career. Or any kind of career. Once we divorce, I’ll be free for the first time in my adult life. There’ll be money to go towards the maintenance of the house, even to restore it to its former glory. I can take a flat in London and go to university, albeit as a mature age student. I can have a real life, Luca.’
His frown was instinctive. ‘You do not need to wait until we are divorced—’
‘I know,’ she interrupted, taking another sip of her drink, her enthusiasm almost as effervescent as the drink. ‘I was thinking that, too. And so I decided I’d go to the Vatican every day while you’re at the office, and see every bit of art, taking notes on what I like and don’t like, then expand to other galleries. I’m in one of the art hubs of the world—what a place to discover myself, and work out exactly what it is I want to do with my life.’
As she spoke, her cheeks grew pink and the sparkle in her eyes took on a stellar quality.
‘You’re right.’ He reached for his own drink, holding the stem in his hands, watching as the bubbles fizzed.
‘Anyway, the point is, I’m excited. It’s like I’m just realising the horizons that are opening up for me, and it’s all thanks to you.’
‘Not thanks to me,’ he said with a shake of his head.
‘Without this marriage, none of it would be possible.’
His brow furrowed as he contemplated her father’s will, the barbaric terms that had seen her penalised, infantilised, punished, for no reason other than her gender.
‘A regrettable circumstance.’
She tilted her head to the side, studying him for a moment before a shy smile spread over her lips. ‘I don’t regret it though, Luca. I really don’t.’
Strangely, nor did Luca.