He pulled a face so Olivia laughed softly. ‘She also said that eating early leaves us free to do something wonderful after dinner...’
His expression relaxed immediately, speculation darkening his eyes. ‘She’s very clever.’ He pulled Olivia against him, kissing her right there in the middle of the street, where tourists milled about them and the sun beat down, warm and golden.
Breathless, Olivia pulled away, something like hope trembling in her mind. This marriage was nothing like they’d planned for. ‘Where do you suggest?’
‘I know just the place.’
She smiled. ‘Of course you do.’
In Positano, Luca was treated like royalty. He knew many of the shopkeepers, who came out to shake his hand as he passed, and each of the restaurant owners gestured towards tables, inviting them in, but he smiled, offered a kind word, a promise for ‘next time’, then continued onwards, until they arrived at a quaint trattoria—little more than a hole in the wall, with a green awning, a narrow door and six small tables set up inside. Each table had a round-based wine bottle with a candle in its top, the legs of wax running down towards the table.
‘Gianni, ciao,’ Luca greeted.
Olivia smiled through the introductions, tried to keep up with the Italian and then took the seat that was offered—affording a beautiful view, not of the beach, but of a small garden at the back of the restaurant, where a single bougainvillea had grown up to form a canopy of explosive purple flowers. Beneath it, there was a pot with a lemon tree, and as she watched a woman walked out, round and dimpled all over, wearing a dark blue apron, and plucked two lemons from the tree. When she turned around and saw Olivia watching, she winked, smiled so dimples dug into her rounded cheeks, then disappeared into a timber door with peeling red paint.
‘Oh, Luca.’ She turned to look at him, emotions welling in her chest. ‘This is all so beautiful.’
He looked around, as though that had never really occurred to him. ‘It’s very traditional.’
‘I love it.’
‘I’m glad.’
The waiter appeared with some menus, and Luca explained the dishes to Olivia, translating the words and phrases directly.
‘Tortellini—called this because they are like little cakes—torta—filled with cheese and spinach.’ He moved his finger down the menu. ‘Chicken with lemon and asparagus.’
She selected something light and sat back in her chair, watching him thoughtfully.
‘Yes?’ He lifted a thick, dark brow, continuing to study her.
Guilt flushed her face. ‘What do you mean? I didn’t say anything.’
‘You have your “question” eyes in.’
‘My “question” eyes?’
‘How you look at me when something is on your mind. So? Out with it.’
She wanted to laugh, but also nerves were thickening her veins, making it hard to think straight. ‘You—’
Gianni reappeared, brandishing two glasses of Prosecco, and two glasses of mineral water.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured.
When they were alone, Luca continued to stare at her, waiting, one brow cocked.
She flattened her lips. ‘You don’t have to answer this,’ she said gently. ‘I know we agreed that neither of us has to share our life story.’
‘We did.’ He inclined his head in silent agreement of that.
‘Only, Pietra mentioned something about Jayne.’
He scowled. ‘Did she?’
‘Don’t be cross with her.’
‘I’m not. But I told you she meddles, no?’