Summer At Villa Rosa Collection. Kate Hardy
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smoke, old wet plaster, warm skin. It wasn’t helping...
‘Are you okay?’
‘Just a bit dizzy.’ His shoulder was just the right height for her head and she leaned against it. ‘It’s the sugar rush from all that banana, marmalade and orange juice on an empty stomach.’ Had to be. ‘I had the same training as you, Cleve, which is why I know that if you’d been here you would have done exactly what I did and I’d have been the one having kittens instead of you.’
‘Kittens? I thought we were having a baby.’
She dug him in the ribs with her elbow.
‘I’m just saying that I understand why you reacted as you did.’ Fear driving anger... ‘I’d have been the one yelling at you for being an idiot,’ she said.
‘Would have been? From where I was standing you were yelling like a fishwife.’
‘Yes. Sorry. It’s the hormones.’
‘Of course it is.’
‘Are you laughing at my hormones?’ she said into his shoulder.
‘I wouldn’t dare.’
‘Wise man.’ Cleve’s arm was around her, her head was on his shoulder and suddenly she was smiling fit to bust. Not cool. This was a marriage of convenience, an arranged marriage. She’d arranged it.
She straightened her face, cleared her throat, sat up. ‘Could you spare some of that ham?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘I haven’t eaten properly for days.’
He made her a sandwich, she took a bite, groaned with pleasure. ‘So what are they? These minimal legalities?’
‘We have to swear a Declaration of No Impediment before a notary, present it in Italian and English at the local government office in any town, along with our passports and the sindaco, the mayor, will issue a licence.’
‘That’s it?’
‘That’s it. All we have to do is decide where we’re going to hold the ceremony and who we want to conduct it.’
‘Can’t the mayor do that? In the town hall?’
‘I imagine so. We can ask when we get the licence. Do you want to go into San Rocco tomorrow to make an appointment with a notary? We could have lunch, do a little shopping?’
‘Shopping?’
‘Unless you packed an emergency wedding dress?’
‘All I’ve got in my bag are jeans, leggings and tops. Even for the most basic wedding I think I’ll need something a little more elegant.’ She felt a blush creep into her cheeks. ‘Not anything—’ she made a helpless gesture with her hand, unable to bring herself to say bridal ‘—you know...’
‘Frilly?’ he offered.
‘That’s the word.’
‘But it should be special.’
‘Yes.’ She’d only be doing this once. ‘Have you got a jacket?’
‘Not one I’d want to get married in. I need a new suit.’
‘Well, that’s convenient.’
She would be in a special dress, Cleve would be wearing a suit and Matt could use her phone to video them making their vows and signing the register to send to their parents, her sisters, with the news that not only had they got married but they were going to have a baby.
And afterwards, he would take a photograph of the two of them standing on the steps of the town hall that she could print out, put in a silver frame and tuck away in her underwear drawer.
Just for her.
ANDIE CLEANED UP the kitchen and the stove while Cleve went to look for a ladder so that he could check the roof and see what he’d need to fix it.
He’d stripped off his shirt and left it to soak in the scullery sink and she paused as she crossed the yard with an arm full of bed linen to hang over the wall to air.
He’d lost weight in the last year and there wasn’t an ounce of fat on him, but he ran every day and the muscles on his back rippled in the sunlight. She knew how they felt beneath her fingers, the silk of his skin, the scent of his body unmasked by the aftershaves or colognes worn by most men. No scent of any kind was worn by flight crew. Every moment of the night they spent together was imprinted on her memory and she turned away before he saw all that betrayed in her face.
‘Will you hold the ladder, Miranda? I’m coming down.’
‘You shouldn’t have gone up without someone holding it,’ she said as she grasped the ladder, watching as his jeans-hugged backside descended until it was on a level with her eyes. ‘Next time, call me.’
‘Always.’ He turned to look down at her and for a moment there was nothing in the world but his gaze holding her and she was melting into the cobbles. ‘It’s okay, Miranda. I’ve got it now.’
He’d got it, she’d had it...
She moved aside and he stepped down from the ladder giving her an unimpeded view of wide shoulders tapering to narrow hips, his chest sprinkled with dark hair that arrowed down in a straight line to disappear beneath his zip.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked.
She jumped, felt a hot guilty blush sweep across her cheeks, then realised it wasn’t an accusation but a question.
‘Oh, um, I’ve battled my way through the cobwebs, made it upstairs and now I’m sorting out the bedrooms.’
‘Don’t overdo it,’ he said, frowning as he touched his fingers to her cheek. ‘You look a bit flushed.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said quickly. ‘The ones on the far side of the villa, away from the kitchen, aren’t too bad. Just dust and—’ She came to an abrupt halt. Did he expect to sleep with her?
What had happened between them had been one of those spontaneous moments; there had been no conscious thought, no need for words, but this was going to be so different. Awkward.
Forget expect.
Would he want to sleep with her? Really want to? Not just sex, which she knew from experience would be hot, but in his heart...
‘Cobwebs?’ he prompted.
‘And dust.’ She swallowed down the lump in her throat. ‘They sound like a couple of fairies in a Cinderella pantomime.’
He grinned. ‘If they aren’t they ought to be.’ When she didn’t answer he said, ‘You don’t have to worry about me, Miranda. I’m perfectly capable of cleaning a room and making my own bed.’
Was that little ping somewhere in the region of her heart disappointment? Despair? She’d left him sleeping to avoid the awkward morning-after encounter. It was going to be nothing compared to the evening before. A wedding night in which the groom was marrying out of duty...
‘I’ve cleaned the rooms but the mattresses and bed linen still needs airing.’ Desperate to get away from the subject of beds, she said, ‘If you’re up for a close encounter with a pair of Marigolds I’d far rather you tackled the upstairs bathroom.’
‘I’ll give it a thorough bottoming when we get back. Is it okay to take a shower in your bathroom for now?’
‘It’s not my bathroom, it’s Sofia’s. I couldn’t sleep in there. I’ve put my things in the room I used to share with Immi.’
‘Right. Well, I’ll put the ladder away, get cleaned up and then we’ll walk down into the village. If you’re still up for it? We could get a taxi for the uphill return?’