Italian Escape: Summer with the Millionaire / In the Italian's Sights / Flirting with Italian. Liz Fielding

      ‘It’s not something I advertise.’ But her words were still rankling him. ‘Why “lucky escape”?’

      Minty shrugged. ‘I just wouldn’t have thought you and Francesca were very compatible, that’s all. I didn’t know her very well, but I know her type. I bet she would have remodelled the house before you got round to cutting the wedding cake.’

      Luca blinked in surprise. Francesca had been full of suggestions: new bathrooms; a new kitchen. He had thought at first she was simply taking an interest in his life. The truth was she had wanted to change his life. Change Luca.

      ‘I thought she loved it round here, wanted to stay, settle down.’ Luca couldn’t believe he was volunteering the information. After they’d split up he had shut the door on that part of his past and had barely given Francesca a second thought.

      Unlike Minty. How could one interrupted night have made more of an impression than two years with Francesca?

      ‘She didn’t?’ Minty’s voice jolted him out of his thoughts.

      ‘Not at all. She thought I should move the office part of the business to Florence so I could be near that side of my family.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘Near the aristocratic side. Turned out Francesca was a big fan of titles. She wanted us to have a fancy apartment and spend our time in fancy restaurants with fancy people. I wanted to stay here.’

      ‘You couldn’t compromise? Some time here, some time there?’

      Luca shook his head. The truth was he hadn’t even considered it. ‘Honestly? I don’t think either of us cared enough deep down to make it work. For me, my work is here; my life. But Francesca felt stifled here. How do you compromise on that? In the end she found someone who wanted the same things she did. They’re very happy and that’s great.’ It was. When Luca analysed his feelings around Francesca’s infidelity, he felt a little humiliation—and a much greater relief.

      Minty nodded sagely. ‘She was your starter fiancée—much better than a starter marriage, in my opinion.’

      ‘Che?’

      She settled back, stretching slightly, and despite himself his eyes were drawn to the way her top stretched up, the enticing flash of midriff. ‘I bet you thought settling down was the right thing to do. There she was, a local girl. She knew the right people, went to the right parties, said the right things, was there when you needed her. Am I right?’

      How on earth did she know that? Luca’s face must have shown his amazement, as Minty laughed. ‘I told you, I know girls like her. I’ve been a girl like her. Far better to find out you’re incompatible now than in ten years’ time when you have children. If you ask me, that mother of your four offspring won’t be someone quite so obvious. Someone who doesn’t make it quite so easy at the beginning, but who is comfortable to be with at the end.’

      ‘What made you so wise?’ The perception surprised him. Luca had never doubted that Minty had layers; he just didn’t think she had depth.

      ‘Three fiancés.’ She laughed as she said it but there was a glimmer of pain in her eyes that even Minty’s best carefree expression couldn’t hide. ‘I am the starter-fiancé expert.’

      ‘In that case, your theory doesn’t work,’ Luca said. ‘Shouldn’t there be one starter, not an entire buffet of them?’

      ‘Oh, they weren’t my starter fiancés,’ Minty said. ‘I was theirs. I’m the mistake that showed them exactly what they don’t want in a future partner. It’s a gift, really. I should get some kind of humanitarian award for it.’

      Luca hated it when she did this: showed a hint of her inner self and covered it up with a brave face and a few self-deprecating jokes. It made a man want to get up and walk over to where she sat, supremely graceful, head up, eyes glittering, daring the world to feel sorry for her. It made a man want to gather her into his arms, pull her close and tell her it was all right, that she didn’t have to pretend.

      It made a man remember just how yielding and vulnerable she could really be. Made a man think of hard kisses, soft caresses; how a man could get lost in those lips, those eyes. In her promise. He’d come so close to getting lost.

      But he’d come to his senses.

      It still sickened him, how close he had come to taking advantage of her, of her youth, of her grief. The only saving grace was that he had stopped, pushed her away, before it was too late.

      By the time he’d risen from his sleepless, guilt-ridden bed, before he could apologise, make things right, she had gone, snuck away in the night.

      Straight back to England. To Barty. To her boy-lover.

      Luca looked over at Minty, her long legs curled under her, her head high despite the deep shadows under her eyes, despite the lingering sadness in their blue depths. A small part of him—the part of him that didn’t want a five-year plan; that didn’t want a predictable path; the ruthlessly suppressed part of him that occasionally, just occasionally wished to be spontaneous—wanted to walk over, raise her to her feet and pull her in close. But no. He couldn’t take the risk; he couldn’t trust her no matter how much she seemed to have changed.

      Slowly, deliberately, he got to his feet. ‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said as lightly as he could. ‘Better a failed engagement than a bad marriage. And I learnt a lot from Francesca. Compatibility, shared goals, they’re what’s important in life; that’s what I’m looking for. A woman who values family, a home, a quiet life.’

      ‘Apron optional?’

      Her eyebrows were raised enquiringly, a suspiciously innocent look on her face. Luca suppressed a smile. She wasn’t going to get to him that easily. ‘Would I like to come home to the smell of freshly baked bread whilst my bathed bambinos cluster about me? Of course. I think any man or woman would. But no, I am not looking for a homemaker, unless that’s what she wants, of course. I’m looking for someone I can rely on. Someone who relies on me. A partnership. Someone who will be there when I wake up.’

      And on that parting shot he left the room, all too aware that he had yet another sleepless night ahead of him. Another night hyper-aware of his maddening guest so near, so far.

      But he didn’t look back.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      ‘I’M IN HEAVEN; actual, real-life heaven.’ Minty looked about, barely restraining herself from clapping her hands in delight. It was a child’s dream. Actually, Minty corrected herself, it was anyone in possession of working taste buds’ dream. A long, long counter was filled with box after box of brightly coloured gelato. Another one was stacked high with mouth-watering cakes and pastries. A few tables and chairs were dotted about inside and the full-length patio doors were flung open to the seating area outside.

      ‘So, this area is open to the public,’ Natalia explained as she took Minty through the exhaustive menu. ‘Take away or eat in, by the portion or the box. It’s on all the tourist maps so we get a great deal of passing trade, plus potential trade customers who like to drop in casually—and the odd competitor snooping around as well.’

      The café had been opened at some point in the past six years, another of Luca’s innovations. The place was full of them. And the staff loved it. It was like working with a living saint, Minty thought. The wonderful Signor Di Tore—or Signor Luca to the older staff, who remembered every visit the infant prodigy had paid to the factory and could happily recount them in mind-numbing detail. His every word was listened to adoringly, every pronouncement admired, every movement scrutinised.

      No wonder he was insufferable.

      ‘You have got the hang of it very quickly,’ Natalia said admiringly as Minty deftly dealt with a large group of teenagers, each with a different and complicated request. ‘You’re a natural.’

      ‘Not really,’ Minty