Flirting with Italian. Liz Fielding

ordering a sandwich?’

      ‘I’d recommend something more substantial. You almost fainted, I think, and I’m not vain enough to believe it had anything to do with the fact that I kissed you.’

      She’d almost done something, what or why she couldn’t have said, but he was definitely underestimating himself.

      ‘I skimped on breakfast,’ she admitted.

      ‘Always a mistake.’

      ‘Absolutely.’

      ‘And my rudeness could not have helped.’ He looked down at the phone he was still holding. ‘My cousin is an actress and we have problems with the press. Photographers.’

      ‘I’m sorry. I had no idea.’

      ‘No?’ He shrugged. ‘Well, Bella hasn’t yet made the leap to Hollywood so your ignorance is forgivable. Perhaps you’ll allow me to restore your faith in our hospitality by joining me for lunch.’

      As he spoke, a woman appeared on the terrace below them and began to lay the table beneath the pergola. Without waiting for her answer, Matteo called down to her in Italian so rapid that she didn’t manage to catch a single word.

      The woman waved to show that she’d heard and he said, ‘Graziella is expecting you. You cannot disappoint her.’

      She could. She should.

      Every atom of sense was telling her that if this was a movie she’d have been yelling at the stupid woman, dithering between going and staying, to beat it.

      But she’d come to see the house and she’d never get another chance like this. It wasn’t as if she’d be alone with him.

      ‘I would hate to disappoint Graziella,’ she said.

      ‘And if you want to take another photograph,’ he said, ‘please go ahead.’

      ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ A gesture assured her that he said nothing that he didn’t mean. ‘Well, to be honest, I was wishing that there was someone to take a photograph of me when you turned up.’

      ‘Were you? To prove to your friend that you were here?’

      He was frowning, as if he couldn’t understand why she would want to take one in this particular spot.

      ‘Yes. No …’ She put her hands on the wall, using her heel against the rough stonework to boost herself up before he could help. ‘Why wouldn’t he believe me?’

      ‘I don’t know. But maybe, in future, you should be more careful what you wish for.’

      ‘I don’t know. This isn’t going so badly.’ She’d wished and Matteo di Serrone had turned up right on cue.

      It hadn’t started out well, but things were looking up.

      Ignoring her somewhat provocative response, he said, ‘Do you want to take off your dark glasses?’

      ‘Oh, right.’

      She pulled them off, propped herself on her hands, leaning forward, looking straight at her phone.

      ‘Say … formaggio.’

      She looked up at him, laughed, and he took the photograph.