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

she chose adventure over settling down and never regretted it.’

      Luca visualised a turn-of-the-century Minty, hair streaming behind her, one hand on a large straw hat as the paddle boat pulled out into piranha-infested waters. ‘I don’t agree,’ he said carefully. ‘I think it’s possible to find someone who complements you, a true partner. Someone who supports whatever you want to do, even if you want to sail down the Amazon!’

      Minty shook her head. She was toying with her bread, tearing off small bits of the chewy inside and rolling it around in her hands. Luca watched her long fingers so busily at work, so unsettled. ‘Love is fun for a little while, but I don’t think it forms a good basis for “for ever”. There’s too much pretence, too much compromising to make it work. Mutual respect, that’s the key; a sensible arrangement so you know what you’re getting up front. And then no need to change—or to keep moving on.’

      Like the marriage Luca was hoping for. Suddenly it didn’t sound so appealing. It sounded cold, clinical. What did he plan? A dating agency? An advert? Arrogantly he had just sort of assumed that he would just need to look around. After all, he was successful; he had a nice house, a business.

      All his own hair.

      A flush of mortification spread through him. Did he really think a list of desirable attributes was all that was needed? Was he really so conceited he thought he’d just have to click his fingers and a queue of suitable wives would form?

      And what made him think that finding someone who fulfilled a checklist would make him happy anyway? After all, his sophisticated, city-bred, society mother had been happy with her countrified husband.

      ‘Don’t give up,’ he said. ‘Someone out there would give up everything to travel along the Amazon with you.’

      ‘For a while, maybe.’ Her voice trailed off, the heap of small balls of bread on her plate growing larger. Luca opened his mouth to reassure her, to press the point home. But he didn’t know what to say.

      At that moment the waiter brought out large plates heaped with steaming pasta, covered with a delicious-smelling tomato and vegetable sauce garnished with anchovies.

      ‘Good, they haven’t stinted on the anchovies,’ Minty said enthusiastically, picking up her fork. ‘I love them.’

      And the moment was gone. But he wanted to hold on to it, hold on to her. Spend more time in her world, her impulsive, irresponsible, fun world, away from the everyday cares and stresses he had been shouldering for as long as he could remember.

      Be someone else, someone she wanted, for just a little bit longer.

      * * *

      ‘We don’t have to go straight back to Oschia.’

      Minty looked up from the car’s state-of-the-art and ridiculously complicated stereo. ‘I thought we were getting to the stage where all we would have to do was think of a tune and it would miraculously play,’ she grumbled. ‘I don’t understand what it wants me to do.’

      Luca reached down without looking and one second later the strains of classical music filled the car. It was a violin solo and Minty was immediately transported back to the night before. To that moment of sheer perfection and happiness.

      ‘Too solemn,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I want something poppy.’ Something that wasn’t going to evoke any embarrassing memories of weakness. Of neediness.

      Luca obligingly changed the music until he reached a well-known female singer-songwriter and Minty nodded approvingly. ‘Perfect,’ she said, leaning back and putting her bare feet back on the dashboard, throwing a provocative glance at Luca as she did so. She knew how much it annoyed him.

      She wiggled her toes.

      ‘So?’ he prompted.

      ‘So?’

      ‘What do you think about not heading back?’

      ‘We already stopped off for lunch,’ Minty pointed out, regarding her toenails critically. She had painted them silver for the party but they were already chipping. Maybe something bright and cheerful next; she had bought a vivid orange in Florence which might do. She slid a glance over at Luca. He probably wouldn’t really appreciate her painting her nails in his car.

      He was a smooth driver, though.

      And at that thought a mental image of the two of them the day before, entwined, filled her head. She squirmed in her seat. Driving wasn’t the only thing he did smoothly.

      ‘I didn’t mean for an hour or two. I meant for a few days. After all...’ His head jerked meaningfully to the three large suitcases in the boot. ‘You have enough there to last an apocalyptic catastrophe.’

      She hadn’t brought that much with her. Minty glanced into the back. Oh, the man had a point.

      ‘Won’t people talk?’

      He shrugged. ‘Who? The tabloids don’t even know who I am.’

      ‘Not people—people,’ she said. ‘Your family. Our—your—colleagues.’

      He looked over at her, disbelief written clearly on his face. ‘We have been living together since you got here and have just spent a weekend together—with my uptight, old-fashioned grandfather—being photographed at a very public charity event. They are already talking. Let’s clear off and let the fuss die down. If we’re lucky, Andreo in accounts will finally ask Maria on reception out and we will be forgotten. Yesterday’s news.’

      Doubt gnawed at Minty’s stomach. On one hand, they were having a good time. He was funny, easy to talk to, good in bed. On the other, she risked exposing him to the crazy media circus that was her life. He might shrug off a few gossip websites but would he be so sanguine when an ex sold her story to a newspaper? When it was his front door the photographers surrounded?

      ‘What about work?’ she said instead, watching him carefully. He gave nothing away, his expression bland.

      ‘I’m quite happy to authorise your leave. Come on, Minty, I’m talking about a road trip—just a few days.’

      ‘Hmm...’ It wasn’t going away with Luca that worried her, it was coming back. The longer she spent with him, the more under a spell she was, like Sleeping Beauty in a dream world of warm sun, olive trees and a handsome ice-cream tycoon. The difference was that Sleeping Beauty had woken up to her happy-ever-after; Minty would wake up to the dullness of everyday life. There would be no one to hack through the forest of thorns and rescue her; she would have to do it herself.

      Again.

      The longer she stayed with Luca, the harder it would be to fight her way back into the real world.

      Last time she’d rebounded into a disastrous series of relationships after just one night. A night that had left her aching with unconsummated desire, feeling all alone. What was she thinking, spending all this time with him, letting him get so close?

      But maybe this would work the other way. She fancied him; that was pretty undeniable. But he wasn’t irresistibly perfect. Sure, now he was suddenly all about the impulsive days off work, the long walks, the sudden holidays, but at heart he was still the disapproving, sensible, solid Luca. He couldn’t keep that side of himself locked away for too long. And when that side resurrected itself he’d blame her for leading him astray. Just like he always had.

      Maybe she needed this finally to move on. To let the crush play itself out until the scales fell irrevocably from her eyes. They would. They always did.

      And she’d be free.

      ‘Minty.’ His voice was caramel and cream, a hint of something darker, more intoxicating threaded through it. ‘Don’t overthink this.’

      ‘Normally people tell me to think before I act,’ she pointed out. ‘Here I am, trying for a new responsible me, and you’re holding up a perfect-looking apple and telling me how how juicy it is!’ The problem was, she wasn’t very good at resisting