Italian Escape. Liz Fielding

ever let himself forget who and what she was.

      It was time for him to take control.

      * * *

      Fifteen minutes later the room was filled with the remaining board members. Luca, his Uncle Gio and Minty were the only stockholders. Having taken up the reins at such a young age, Luca had carried on with Gio’s practice of having an independent board made up of professionals with very different skills, from an expert in international law, whose only connection with Di Tore Dolce was these meetings, to Giovanna, a woman in her early sixties who had made gelato for the Di Tores since her teens.

      He might not always take their advice but he valued it.

      The meeting began informally, as always, and the room was filled with the usual hubbub of chit-chat, greetings and animated conversation as the board members caught up whilst sampling the food on offer. With one eye on the clock, Luca managed to back Minty into a corner, keeping her engaged in conversation and making it hard for her to mingle. By the time the others had taken their places at the table, she was well and truly relegated to the position of visitor, the object of everyone’s gaze and curiosity.

      Thank goodness Gio was running late; he would have swept her into the midst of the conversation before Luca could say ‘ciao’.

      ‘Everyone,’ Luca said in English, ‘I would like to introduce Araminta Davenport. Although you may not know her by sight...’ He bestowed a smile on the silently fulminating Minty. That was right; mark her out as an outsider from the off. ‘You may be aware that she was left a sixth of the company by my aunt. It’s lovely to see her take an interest in the company at last. Come on, Minty, let’s find you a seat.’

      Luca took care to spend some time ensuring she was comfortable, deliberately continuing to emphasise her visitor status. ‘Would you rather we held the meeting in English?’ he asked solicitously and had the pleasure of seeing her practically bare her teeth at him as she assured him that, really, her Italian was quite adequate, thank you.

      One-nil to Luca.

      Over the next half-hour Luca almost forgot that Minty was in the room. Almost. The occasional glance of her neatly coiffed head nodding earnestly as someone made a valid point; the sight of her typing rapid notes onto her iPad; the small wrinkle at the bridge of her nose when the conversation became more animated or technical than her rusty Italian could follow would make him falter, check his notes, regroup.

      But so far she had said nothing. Not even a murmur of agreement. Luca felt the slight weight of worry lift. Maybe she was just here to observe; maybe he had seen trouble where there was none.

      The niceties were soon dealt with: apologies, minutes, agendas, a few small points all despatched. It was time for the main event.

      It was time to address the international expansion, the biggest change to Di Tore Dolce since they had made the decision to produce not just the traditional gelato but the full range of Italian desserts. And this expansion was all Luca’s.

      He pressed a button on his laptop and pulled up the presentation, adrenaline flooding through his veins. The business was profitable, successful and flourishing under his leadership despite the difficult financial conditions. It was time to take it global. He smiled confidently at the table and opened his mouth, ready to begin. But before he could speak the first carefully prepared word, the door opened.

      Gio had arrived, smiling, full of apologies, bestowing embraces all round. Minty rose to her feet, ready for his embrace as he walked in, but Luca could tell that behind her smile and hug she was shocked. Shocked at how the bear of a man had shrunk, at the lines on his face, the greyness of his hair. Shocked that the twinkle in his eyes was just a faded reflection of the real thing. Luca recognised the shock; he felt it too every time he saw his uncle.

      When Rose had died, Gio’s heart had died too.

      What did that feel like, to be halved like that? Luca knew what he wanted and it wasn’t such grand emotion, such all-or-nothing passion.

      He wanted compatibility, comfort.

      Almost against his will, his glance slid over to Minty, still enfolded in Gio’s arms. Resolutely Luca wrenched his eyes away again.

      Minty was many things but she had never been comfortable.

      ‘Okay, everyone.’ It was time to call this meeting back to order. ‘Gio, lovely to see you.’ He tried not to allow the anxiety his uncle’s appearance caused him to show in his voice. Was he eating enough? Drinking too much?

      When would he stop grieving for a woman who had been dead for six years?

      ‘As you know, I have been investigating expanding into some of the English-speaking territories,’ he began, projecting confidence as he spoke, looking round the table to catch and hold every single person’s eye. They were all nodding and smiling back at him. All except Minty, who was frowning down at her iPad. A surge of irritation ran through him. She had seemed so keen on the expansion back in his office.

      Instantly heat flamed through his body as the memory of her impulsive embrace hit him: the lean length of her, impossibly, incredibly soft; the way she fit into him, around him.

      Luca took a hurried gulp of water.

      He took care to avoid looking at Minty as he carried on, spending the next twenty minutes taking the board through the figures, projections and risk analysis of the project. They seemed engaged, approving. And so they should; Luca had been working on this for months.

      ‘Any questions?’ he finished. There were just a few hands: some clarifications, double-checking of the figures; nothing major, nothing to worry about.

      And why would there be?

      ‘Bene.’ He beamed round at the assembled company. ‘If we are all agreed, then...’

      ‘I’m sorry.’ Luca looked up in shock. She chose to speak now?

      ‘Si?’ he bit out impatiently.

      Minty smiled apologetically but those blue eyes were steely. Whatever she intended, she planned to see through. The long-buried antagonism began to force its way back into Luca’s consciousness. What act of sabotage was she plotting?

      ‘I have something to say. There’s actually a presentation.’ She gestured towards the iPad. ‘Do you all mind?’

      ‘Of course not,’ Gio broke in. ‘Help Minty set up, Luca. Let’s hear what she has to say.’

      Lips set, mind whirling furiously, Luca obeyed. To shut her down would seem churlish, as if he had something to hide. The cunning little minx: she had set him up. The clothes, the lowered eyelashes, the hair—it was all an act, just as he had guessed. Of course, he thought darkly, the leopard doesn’t change its spots.

      But what did this particular feline want this time and, more importantly, what did she want with his company?

      * * *

      Minty’s pulse was racing, her palms slippery with nervous sweat as she stood up and walked towards the head of the table, putting as confident a swagger into her walk as she could manage.

      She couldn’t let him shut her down. Not this time.

      It had taken six years, three broken engagements and the loss of everything to bring her back here. But, now she was back, she suddenly, desperately, wanted to succeed. Needed to succeed.

      She needed to show Luca she was worth more than a quiet ‘no’.

      She needed to show herself that she was worth something. Worth anything.

      One of her ex-fiancés was a musician; another a politician. They had nothing in common apart from having presented Minty with an engagement ring and then telling her she could keep it, a last act of patronising kindness as they’d walked away. But both men knew how to work a crowd. Very different crowds, true, but they both had the knack of commanding the attention of everyone in the room with the sheer power of their personality.

      It was