Alessandro's Prize. HELEN BIANCHIN

she thought she caught his faint gleam of amusement … almost as if he knew his close proximity unsettled her.

      Which it did. For there was something about him that had the effect of heightening her senses and awakening an awareness she neither coveted nor wanted.

      There, no matter how hard she attempted to ignore it.

      ‘You will accompany Sophia next week.’

      Lily gave her attention to the woman seated next to Alessandro. ‘Thank you,’ she managed with a polite smile. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’ While silently wondering precisely what it was she had just agreed to look forward to.

      ‘Fashion week,’ Alessandro disclosed, almost as if he knew the passage of her thoughts. ‘Sophia has managed excellent seating.’

      It was easy to show genuine pleasure, and she did, for she adored fashion. ‘How very kind of her.’

      It was such a prestigious event, attended by fashionistas from all over the world. The crème de la crème of designers who engaged international models to display their labels, and there was much rivalry existent with behind-the-scenes drama … if one could believe reported gossip.

      ‘You have your own restaurant, I believe?’

      A courteous question to maintain conversation, or merely politeness? Perhaps both, Lily allowed as she held the woman’s attention.

      ‘It originally belonged to my parents, and I spent time as a child in the kitchen, helping out, learning, and knew from an early age that I wanted to become a chef.’

      Wonderful years, when knowledge of food, herbs and spices rolled off her tongue, and she could recite, unaided, the ingredients for most of the house specialties. How she loved to experiment, and reading recipe tomes became her pleasure.

      ‘You studied overseas?’

      ‘Initially Rome, then Paris.’

      A time when life had helped fashion the young woman she had become. A connoisseur of food, and the skill to cook it to perfection. Equally fluent in French as she was in Italian as she boarded with families in both countries during her studies, learning from the professionals during class, while valuing age-old culinary tips and tricks from the women who shared recipes handed down from generation to generation. How a drop of this, a splash of that, the addition of a certain herb, could turn a simple sauce into an exquisite accompaniment.

      A redolent aroma that begged a sample taste as it teased the nose with the promise of ambrosia.

      ‘Yet you returned to Australia,’ a fellow guest noted, and Lily returned her attention to the present.

      ‘My family was there,’ she relayed simply. ‘Friends. It was where I wanted to be.’

      And Parisi, the upmarket Italian-style restaurant her parents had worked so hard to achieve the stellar success it rightly deserved.

      Hers now, with subtle additions to the menu, extra touches to the table settings, and slight changes to the decor.

      There was pride in maintaining the high standard of quality food, excellent service, while ensuring a relaxed and happy atmosphere, where regular guests were welcomed by name with every effort made to secure their preferred table.

      She’d imagined her life was mapped out … a brilliant business in a field for which she had a genuine love; a man she believed loved her; a wedding to plan.

      Only for James to prove himself unfaithful, untrustworthy, and not the man she’d thought him to be.

      There had been times over the past weeks when she’d shuddered at how close she’d come to committing to a marriage that held the portent of heartbreak and disaster.

      A lucky escape, yet while it still hurt to think her trust had been betrayed, most of her anger was directed against herself for failing to recognize the real James beneath his practiced façade.

      ‘And now you are here,’ a light feminine voice concluded, bringing Lily back to the present. ‘Sophia will adore having you join her on shopping excursions and ensure you enjoy the history that is Milan.’

      ‘I’m looking forward to it.’ She offered a smile that encompassed the guests seated opposite, and felt a start of surprise as she met Alessandro’s steady gaze.

      It was crazy, but she had the distinct feeling he’d discerned the passage of her thoughts and it rankled, stirring something deep inside she refused to acknowledge.

      To be so conscious of him was unsettling, for it made her feel uncomfortable, almost vulnerable, and she dismissed it, him, as she conversed with the guests.

      Following the debacle with James, she wanted peace in her life, and a man of Alessandro del Marco’s calibre was the antithesis of calm.

      Sophia regarded Alessandro with immense affection, the son she and Giuseppe had made their own in all but name.

      It was likely any invitation Alessandro extended to Sophia would include Lily while she remained a guest in Sophia’s home.

      So how difficult could it be?

      The answer presented itself as the evening drew to a close, the guests departed, with Alessandro the last to leave.

      ‘Grazie, Sophia,’ he bade gently as he lowered his head and brushed his lips to each of her cheeks in turn before shifting to accord Lily a similar salutation.

      Except in a bid for formality, she moved fractionally and to her utter embarrassment his lips touched her own … briefly, but it was enough to quicken her pulse.

      Worse, she felt the insane desire to linger, to experience more.

      For a moment her skin heated, and she took a hasty step backwards, misjudged the angle of her killer heels and clutched at his arm in an effort to maintain her balance.

      Oh, hell. ‘I’m sorry.’ Had she said the words out loud? Hopefully not.

      ‘My dear,’ Sophia voiced with concern. ‘Are you all right?’

      ‘I’m fine,’ Lily reassured, and knew it to be a lie.

      Fine didn’t cover it, when her pulse raced to a quickened beat, and sensation quivered deep within.

       What was with that?

      She didn’t want to react emotionally to any man.

      Especially not Alessandro del Marco.

      Why, she didn’t even like him.

      Wrong, a silent voice accorded with impish intent. You’re afraid of how he might make you feel.

      Only a fool would travel that road.

      Isn’t going to happen, she assured with conviction.

      Not in this lifetime.

      So why this uncanny feeling nothing about her visit to Milan would follow any preconceived plan?

      CHAPTER TWO

      THE day Sophia had tickets for fashion week dawned cold, with drizzly rain, and Lily chose black leggings, soft leather calf-high black boots, an elegant knit thigh-length black dress, and added a long deep red cashmere scarf for contrast and extra warmth.

      After a few days in Lake Como, she was still experiencing the transition from a southern Australian autumn to the close of a chilly northern Italian winter.

      ‘Layers,’ Sophia had advised. ‘And pack an overnight bag with evening wear, for we will be attending one of the after-parties. Alessandro has insisted we stay overnight at his apartment to accommodate our shopping expedition tomorrow.’

      Whoa. For a brief moment Lily vied between pleasure and mild apprehension.

      The shopping expedition would prove delightful.