Italian Escape. Liz Fielding

shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’ She shook her head. ‘Probably. Clara was always around, although Joe swore they were just friends. Obviously. They were at Cambridge together, and her father was party royalty; together they’ll be unbeatable.’

      She reached over and grabbed the iPad from him. ‘I told you, I’m a starter fiancée; they all meet their perfect match after we split up.’ She scrolled down the article then tilted the screen towards him to show photos of two very different men, each with a female companion. The younger of the two men was posed with his arm stiffly round a woman in her early twenties. She had a haughty, well-bred air, her long, straight hair held back from her high forehead with a thick Alice band.

      ‘She really dresses like that,’ Minty said. ‘I think she was born in tweed and wellies.’ She looked wistfully at the photo. ‘They look good together, don’t they?’

      Luca murmured noncommittally. So this was Barty, the boy she had become engaged to so soon after fleeing from his bed? He looked...nice, affable: floppy hair, nice smile, laid-back. Unthreatening. He was just a boy.

      But she had been just a girl.

      ‘I never really fit in,’ Minty continued. ‘I tried, but I just don’t have the whole pony club, hunt balls thing going for me. Taffy is a natural. They have three children already; can you imagine?’ She slanted a glance at him. ‘Shame you didn’t meet her first.’

      ‘She looks a little stern for me,’ Luca said, studying the picture.

      ‘Oh, yes, she rules poor Barty with a rod of iron. Not that he seems to mind.’

      Luca moved the screen to enlarge the photo of the second man. A good twenty years older than Luca, he had a mass of long, greying hair, his skinny body squeezed into tight, black leather trousers. He was gazing adoringly at the much younger, taller, glossy, high-cheekboned woman on his arm with a look that suggested all his Christmases had come at once. ‘This must be Spike?’

      Minty nodded. ‘Yes, bachelor number two. Actually, I think Spike has split up with his supermodel wife already. He’s turning into a parody of an aging rock star. But Barty’s still happily married. I must send Joe a card, and maybe flowers. Remind me, will you?’

      She was magnificent. All signs of pain had been wiped away; anyone walking in would think she really only felt mild interest in her ex-fiancé’s very public new relationship. But Luca knew differently. And that knowledge changed everything. It was time to armour up, to grab his sword and shield. Luca Di Tore was going to play the knight yet again.

      Maybe this time it would all be different

      ‘Let’s do something wild and crazy—go in a couple of hours late. Do you want to take a walk?’

      Minty stared at Luca in astonishment. ‘Go in late?’ she repeated. ‘Won’t there be a national panic if you’re not there on the dot of nine? They’ll send the air force and the army here to make sure you’re okay. Special Branch will abseil through the windows; there will be camera crews stampeding the house. But sure, I’d love to.’

      Luca didn’t respond to her nonsense. Instead he was staring at her shoes with undisguised disapproval. ‘Do you need to change those?’ Minty swallowed back a smile. She’d only brought ballet flats and flip-flops with her. Luca seemed fixated on the unsuitability of her footwear; it was as if she was wobbling along on six-inch bondage heels.

      She was tempted to buy some, just to see his face.

      ‘As long as you don’t expect me to wade through fords or climb mountains, I think these will survive.’ Minty strode over to the door, then turned back to say with perfect, limpid innocence, ‘I am beginning to think you have some kind of anti-shoe fetish. You disapprove of every pair I own.’

      ‘I took Francesca to Roma once,’ Luca said. ‘She brought two large bags for a three-night stay and only the most ridiculously high heels. She then complained bitterly the whole time about her feet, about blisters, and when I offered to buy her some walking shoes she cried.’

      Minty bit back a smile. ‘I’m beginning to sympathise with poor Francesca. Was that the last straw?’

      ‘Scuzi?’

      ‘Your break-up. Was it over shoes or over your lack of sympathy?’

      His mouth quirked. ‘Maybe it was both. It should have been a romantic weekend. We had a five-star hotel right by the Spanish steps, the weather was perfect, but we fought the whole time. I had a much better time when I took you.’

      His expression was unreadable and Minty swallowed, unsure what the floating feeling in her stomach meant. ‘That was one of the best days of my life,’ she said.

      It had been. Sometimes she thought that that was the day her crush on Luca had turned from something inconvenient but entertaining into something real, all-encompassing. Or maybe the day he took pity on a small, sobbing girl and entertained her patiently, playing board games in a language he’d barely spoken. Minty had cheated dreadfully, of course, but he didn’t seem to mind. Most days she could write him off as serious, stuffy, dull. And then he would do something kind, something spontaneous.

      Would get under her skin.

      Luca was still looking at her intently and all Minty wanted to do was to take a step towards him. Forget Joe, forget everything. For a moment she stood wavering, memories flooding through her. Memories of Rome, of laughter and teasing, of being treated like an adult, treated with respect. Other memories pushed insistently: memories of firelight and red wine, tears kissed away, comforting arms becoming stronger, more dangerous. Heat.

      And then the utter chill of rejection.

      Minty turned resolutely away. ‘Come on, then,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Or you might not make it in till lunch, and even Special Ops wouldn’t cope with that!’

      * * *

      He might be just a little bit biased but Luca knew that his farm was the most beautiful place on earth. The meadows were already strewn with a rainbow assortment of spring flowers; herds of cows were dotted about the distant fields, all chewing contentedly.

      Minty sighed, a great, satisfied gust. ‘When I’m in London I think it’s the nicest place on earth and can’t imagine living anywhere else,’ she said. ‘And when I’m at the ancestral pile I feel exactly the same way—I yearn for London. But this kind of countryside is different. It’s peaceful and yet alive somehow. You know?’

      Luca grunted in acknowledgement and kept on walking, faster than before. Minty had to break into a stride in order to keep up. He gave the velvet flip-flops a meaningful glance but manfully resisted saying anything.

      He didn’t know what to say. Things suddenly seemed different, almost comfortable. The moment he had said she could stay had felt like the start of something new between them. Or was it the moment she had let her facade crack a little, had let him in enough to see the hurt? Was that why he felt catapulted into deeper intimacy with her?

      He had promised himself it wouldn’t happen. Not again. And yet in some ways it was as inevitable as the dew-soaked dawn.

      Besides, she was older now, and different under that flippant exterior. Maybe the depths he had always hoped for did exist after all.

      Or maybe he was a fool who never learned.

      He shook his head to clear his thoughts, searching for a neutral topic of conversation. ‘I am going to a charity event in Florence this weekend—at least, my grandfather has summoned me there.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘You know the conte; he doesn’t like the word no.’

      ‘I love Florence,’ Misty said wistfully. ‘I haven’t been there for years.’

      He grimaced. ‘I hate it: tourists, crammed streets, noise, expectations.’ The hideous formality, the eternal disappointment of his grandfather. The only times Florence had been bearable were when Minty had tagged along. Her irreverence had always taken the sting out of his grandfather’s