The Italians: Luca, Marco and Alessandro. Natalie Anderson

the water.

      ‘Does nothing scare you?’ she asked. He seemed so strong, so sure of himself.

      ‘The things that scare me are the things that happen outside of my control but that impact on my life.’

      ‘What—like hurricanes?’ She felt his puff of laughter.

      ‘Hurricanes of the human kind.’

      ‘Like losing your mum?’

      ‘Yeah, I guess.’ No laughter this time.

      ‘What was boarding school like?’ She still couldn’t get over that one—how isolated he must have been.

      ‘Actually it wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t an archetypal horror. I had good teachers, stability—year in, year out, same place, same people. My father provided the money for a first-class education and all the extras I could want. Swimming, skiing, scuba. I studied hard but I had a good time too. More of a good time than you probably did. Was there no one else for you and Kate?’

      ‘Mum had a brother but he lived hours away and wasn’t able to help. We were OK. I had Kate.’ She looked down into the blue; it really was very deep beneath them. ‘You like going down there?’

      ‘I like the quiet. The weightlessness. Free of encumbrances.’

      ‘You’ve got an encumbrance now.’

      ‘You weigh nothing in the water, Emily.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll help you go below and then find the surface again. You’ll be swimming like a mermaid in no time.’

      They were heading back towards the end of the pool and she swam away from him to the edge.

      ‘I might be a mermaid who plays in the shallows.’ She climbed up the ladder, chanced a look at him over her shoulder and burst out laughing.

      He stood, the water lapping at his hips, his erection thrusting from the water like some sort of missile, and his face bore the expression of a satyr.

      ‘I’m thinking you’re more of a siren than a mermaid.’ He didn’t bother with the ladder, simply vaulted over the side and lunged for her. ‘You’re going to like the shower down here.’

      Emily slept for longer than she’d ever slept in her life. When conscious at last, she lay quietly listening for sounds of movement, but he must have gone to work hours ago. She showered in the spacious en suite, standing for a long time under the hot, heavy jet of water, washing away the faint aches from Luca’s all-physical passion. Slowly she dressed, unsure of what she wanted to do today. She hadn’t had a holiday since she was a kid. And now she had the time to consider her options—to work out what her options even were. Stomach rumbling, she headed straight to the kitchen.

      As she entered the room she could suddenly hear a noise nearby. The door to the walk-in pantry was shut, but the door beside it was open. Emily went through and looked at the stranger in the middle of the small room she’d hadn’t even known was there. She was a petite woman who looked as if she’d swallowed a beach ball—pregnant as anything.

      ‘You must be Emily.’ She spoke, a pretty Italian accent colouring her words. ‘I’m Micaela.’

      The tiny brunette was drowning in sheets. Some complex ironing contraption in front of her and a wall of high thread count all round.

      Emily nodded. Amazed at the scene, she took in the sound of the washing machine and the dryer beside it.

      ‘I can make my bed,’ Emily said hurriedly as she looked at the sheet mountain. ‘Please.’

      Micaela smiled. ‘You are staying in—’

      ‘The room with that incredible view over the gardens.’ She wondered if the view from the floor above would be even more spectacular… Luca’s own personal space… what was it like?

      Emily looked at the housekeeper again, worried. She was tiny and pregnant and shouldn’t be scrubbing the floors, or wrestling with the ironing or anything much, surely.

      ‘Can I help you with those?’ She automatically stepped in, taking one end of the sheet and helping to fold the smooth linen.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ Micaela assured her as they stacked the folded sheet on top of the others. ‘My husband usually helps and he does any heavy work. You’ve met him already. Ricardo. He drove you from the airport.’

      Oh. That was her husband? So they both worked for Luca. And Micaela knew about the airport ride. Emily wondered what she made of it—wondered if it was normal for Luca to pick up strange women when overseas.

      ‘Luca thinks I should stop working altogether, but I like to keep busy. So—’ Micaela stepped out from behind the mass of white and led the way back to the kitchen ‘—what can I get you for lunch?’

      ‘Oh. Nothing.’ Emily was embarrassed on several levels—she wasn’t used to someone preparing food for her, and was it really lunchtime already? ‘I’ll make myself a sandwich later. And I promise I’ll clean up after.’

      Micaela’s smile was almost friendly. ‘Well, if you need anything, please just let me know.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Emily murmured awkwardly. She drifted through a door and found herself in the formal lounge that Luca had gestured to last night. A gleaming black baby grand piano stood showcased in the corner. She was instantly drawn to it. Happiness flooded her—she hadn’t played properly in weeks. She ran a finger along the edge—not a speck of dust. She doubted that Luca played—it didn’t seem to fit his image somehow. But owning one that was so magnificent didn’t surprise her. Luca had nothing but the best.

      Gingerly she sat at the piano seat, a little in awe, and experimented with a key here and there, then a chord. It was perfectly tuned. But she sensed this instrument hadn’t been played properly in a long time. She stretched her fingers out, feeling the pressure of the piano resisting her. She pushed harder on the keys and then softer to get the right tone. Her foot tentatively touched the pedals.

      The sound she wanted started to come. And then she forgot her surroundings—simply sat and played as she hadn’t in years. Not the accompaniment to one of Kate’s songs—beautiful as they were—but a solo piece, just for her own pleasure.

      A step sounded right behind her. Emily spun on the seat. Nearly fell off it as she saw the small boy only a nose away watching her. So much for thinking she had any sort of sixth sense. How long had he been standing there?

      ‘Hi,’ she said. He must be the housekeeper’s son and rather gorgeous he was too.

      He said nothing in reply. His eyes darted to the piano behind her.

      ‘Want to hear some more?’

      He didn’t answer, but he looked like a yes. Emily smiled. He was cute.

      ‘Come on, then.’ She turned back to the keyboard, not wanting to make him more self-conscious and run away. She launched straight into another piece—one that he might recognise. A few minutes later she felt his restlessness at her side. She glanced at him—was he over it already? Had enough? Itching to get away? But no, he was watching her fingers on the keys and she realised the restlessness was his own little fingers moving.

      ‘You want to have a go?’

      There was a smile then.

      At first she had palpitations over some kid’s sticky fingers bashing the keys. But it was built to be played—to be used, to be loved. And she could tell by the roundness of his eyes that this was something he’d wanted for a while.

      Her smile grew as wide as his as she guided his fingers and they tapped out ‘Twinkle Twinkle’. He giggled. She understood exactly how he felt.

      ‘Marco.’

      He jumped. So did Emily.

      ‘It’s OK.’ Emily turned quickly to speak to Micaela. She didn’t want him to get in trouble. But then she saw the indulgence