Italian Escape. Liz Fielding

but it was the only outward sign of any inner emotion. Surprise? Discomfort? Embarrassment? Whatever Minty was feeling, she kept it locked inside.

      Once he had wanted to know—to know what she felt. To know if she felt. To peel back her layers and see if there was anything more to her than a trust fund with an attitude.

      ‘To lose one fiancé is unlucky,’ he said, still watching her. ‘Three losses could be considered careless.’

      She shrugged. ‘What can I say? I never did take care of my toys.’

      Had he been one of those toys? Picked up on a whim then discarded? He felt the old familiar anger rise up and swallowed it back down. He had never given her the satisfaction of reacting to her selfish and outrageous behaviour. He wasn’t going to start now.

      ‘Probably for the best. I can’t really see you as a politician’s wife.’

      ‘Oh, it’s not all opening fetes and kissing babies, you know; some spouses even have jobs here in the twenty-first century.’ Minty wandered over to the bookshelves that lined the left side of the room and picked up a photo of her aunt. Rose was standing outside the farmhouse, her arm around a twelve-year-old Luca. He was smiling, leaning into the woman who had become his surrogate mother. He remembered that day clearly. It had been the first day since the accident that he had been happy and hadn’t thought about his parents.

      ‘It seems odd to be here, without her,’ Minty said, so softly he barely made out the words. ‘As the taxi drove past the house, I half-expected it to turn in to the driveway and I’d see her standing on the step in that flour-covered apron of hers.’ She put the photo down and continued to browse along the shelves, examining the photos and awards he kept there.

      For a moment Luca softened. Rose had been just as much Minty’s surrogate mother as his; it must be strange for her to be back in Oschia for the first time since the funeral. But it had been her choice to stay away; to run away in the middle of the night; to barely bother keeping in touch with Uncle Gio, the man who had provided her with stability and a home for over ten summers.

      ‘It says here that your father wasn’t very pleased about the engagement being called off.’

      Minty turned, leaning back against the bookshelves, confident, graceful, unpredictable as a cat. ‘You shouldn’t read gossip websites, they’re very bad for you.’

      ‘Ah, but how else would we know what you are up to?’

      Her eyes gleamed. ‘I didn’t know you cared.’

      Luca stared at her, not trying to hide his contempt. ‘I don’t, but Gio worries about you. Is it true?’

      Minty wandered back towards the desk, dropping into the chair opposite, folding one long leg over the other as she did so. ‘True that Daddy was unhappy? You know Daddy. Inconvenient offspring of early marriages should not be seen, not be heard and definitely not be splashed all over the newspapers. He was a tad cross.’

      ‘Is that why you’re here?’

      She gave him a long look from under her lashes. ‘Can’t you just believe that I was seized with a desire to contribute to the company?’

      A burst of impatience shot through him. She’d been back for less than an hour and already she was playing games, turning his plans upside down. No way was he allowing her into that board meeting without knowing exactly why she was here and what she wanted. ‘Come on, Minty,’ he said. ‘You may be a shareholder, but as we plough most of the profits back into expansion we can only be a tiny part of your income.’ His eyes slid to the snakeskin Birkin bag dumped by the door. ‘A tiny part,’ he repeated. ‘You have never shown any interest in Di Tore Dolce before. Why now?’

      Minty was silent for a long moment; he could see the wheels turning in her mind as she considered his question, considered how much to reveal. Finally she seemed to come to a decision. ‘I need a job,’ she said.

      * * *

      For a moment Minty thought Luca was going to laugh at her but the laughter quickly faded from his eyes, his mouth twisting sceptically as he took in her words.

      The silence dragged on a second too long. Minty forced herself to stay relaxed, leaning back in her chair, her face calm, impassive.

      After all, how many times could this man reject her?

      Finally, just as her nerves wound tighter than her mother’s last facelift, he spoke. ‘Do you have a CV?’

      ‘With me, or at all? Not that it matters; I don’t have one.’

      Luca had looked relaxed, in control, ever since she had walked into his office, leaning back in that ridiculously big chair. Now he sat up and leaned forward, eyes fixed on her face. ‘You are asking me for a job but you don’t have a CV?’ he repeated slowly.

      Minty toyed with the idea of pointing out that, with a sixth share of the business, asking Luca was merely a formality, but one look at the stony expression on his face told her winding him up further was probably a bad idea. Shame; it would have been fun. He had always been so easy to rile.

      And he was easier to handle when he was cross with her. Less dangerous.

      ‘I’ve never needed one before; I never had to formally apply for anything,’ she said. ‘But I do have a lot of varied experience. I’ve crewed a boat halfway around the world, run a Greek taverna, taught English in Bangkok and was a cow girl in Texas for a while.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’m aware none of these are particularly relevant but—’

      ‘Relevant to what?’ Luca interrupted. ‘Sales, finance, reception, milk maid?’ To Minty’s indignation the amusement was back in his voice. Damn; she had tried so hard not to be alone with him before the meeting because she knew he would be like this: superior; condescending. He wouldn’t hear her out.

      It was all too familiar. She carried on as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘But they do show that I am adaptable, versatile and not afraid of hard work. I know you think it’s time for Di Tore Dolce to expand beyond the continent, into the English-speaking countries. I’m half-American and half-English—I can help you see the real differences in the two markets beyond the superficial accent and spelling differences. Also, don’t forget I founded a small cupcake chain in West London. I know all about stock management, sales and marketing. Oh, and budgeting too.’

      She sat back, ankles crossed, hands folded in her lap. Excitement fizzed in her veins; she had said her piece, made her pitch. Had shown that she was abreast of current plans and developments. And in stark contrast to a minute ago Luca was looking engaged, interested.

      He remained silent for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. She tried not to stare at him hopefully, to appear nonchalant, relaxed.

      As if this didn’t really matter at all.

      And then he leant back again. ‘If you have a business back in England why do you need a job here?’

      And just like that her mood went flat. ‘England and I need a break from each other,’ Minty said.

      ‘Come on, Minty. You need to do better than that.’

      Only four years older. And yet he had always acted as if he were an adult and she an annoying child. She suppressed a scowl. It looked like nothing had changed. ‘Three cupcake shops in South London is fun but Di Tore Dolce is in a different league altogether. You’re already international; if the board goes ahead with the expansion, you’ll be close to global. Who wouldn’t want to be part of that?’

      Luca raised an eyebrow. ‘Such enthusiasm from somebody who has been absent for so long the receptionists didn’t even recognise her. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be expanding your cupcake empire?’

      ‘Quite sure,’ Minty said. ‘Besides, the shops were funded through my trust fund. I am trying to rely on it less.’

      That was one way of putting it.

      His brows drew together, puzzled. ‘You