CATHERINE GEORGE - The Italian Count's Defiant Bride

‘I chose it with care,’ he informed her, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight. ‘See? The petals are the colour and velvet texture of your skin.’

Thankful that due to this same texture her skin rarely showed blushes, she smiled at him luminously. ‘Thank you for making my birthday so special for me.’

‘It is my great pleasure,’ Francesco assured her as a waiter filled their glasses. ‘ Allora , even if you do not care for it you must have one sip of champagne to celebrate this special day. Happy birthday, Alicia.’

She smiled as he raised his glass in a toast and touched it with her own, and to please him drank a little. And found that this champagne was pure nectar. ‘It’s delicious,’ she told him, surprised.

He smiled indulgently. ‘I am glad it pleases you. Now, tell me what you like to eat.’

Alicia took one look at the daunting menu and appealed to Francesco. ‘Will you help me choose?’

His eyes gleamed bright in the candlelight as they smiled into hers. ‘I will do anything you wish, cara .’

Afterwards Alicia had very little recollection of the delicious antipasti she was served, or the meltingly tender lamb with artichokes that followed. She was so enchanted with Francesco and Florence that the food was of secondary importance as they talked together in a little candlelit oasis of privacy on their dais above the other diners in the crowded restaurant.

‘So where did you go to school, Alicia?’ he asked.

‘In a convent,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘When the nuns heard we were coming to Florence, they told us we must visit Santa Croce—but they meant the church, not a restaurant like this.’

‘You are a Catholic?’

‘Yes. Are you?’

He nodded. ‘But not as devout as my mother would wish.’

‘I’m not as devout as Bron, either.’

‘Bron?’

‘My mother, Bronwen Cross. As I mentioned before, I’ve never met my biological father,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘Is your father still alive?’

His eyes shadowed. ‘No. My parents married late. He died when I was young.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ She touched his hand in sympathy. ‘Brothers, sisters?’

‘None.’

‘So your mother just has you.’

‘ Davvero ,’ he said heavily, then smiled and changed the subject. ‘I would offer you more champagne, but perhaps it is better you keep to one glass.’

‘Much better,’ she agreed, and with a sigh glanced at her watch. ‘The entire evening has been so lovely, Francesco, but now I must get back to Meg.’

As they left the restaurant Alicia stumbled a little in her new heels, and Francesco took her hand to steady her, then kept it in his to walk back to the hotel. For Alicia the warm, hard clasp of Francesco’s hand in hers was the crowning touch of the entire evening. As they neared the hotel he drew her to a halt in the shadows in the quiet street.

‘Tomorrow I have business matters to attend to during the day, but in the evening will you dine with me again, Alicia? Your friend also, if she is well enough.’ He smiled into her startled eyes. ‘Say yes.’

‘I need to ask Meg first,’ she hedged, secretly ecstatic.

‘Do you have a telefonino —a mobile phone?’

She nodded. ‘Megan’s brother gave me a new one for my birthday.’

‘Give it to me, then. I will enter my number into it, and yours into mine. Allora ,’ Francesco said with satisfaction when he’d finished, ‘we can communicate.’ He paused and moved closer. ‘Though there are other ways to communicate, Alicia—the most delightful way is a kiss to wish you happy birthday.’ He drew her very gently into his arms in the shadows. ‘Passers by will not think it remarkable to see people kissing.’

Alicia stood very still in his embrace, her heart hammering. She had been hoping, longing, for Francesco da Luca to kiss her. She had dreamed about it often enough in the past when his photograph was the last thing she saw before going to sleep every night.

Francesco bent his head, his lips gentle at first. But at the first touch of them against hers she responded so helplessly she felt his athlete’s body tense against her. His arms tightened as her lips parted, his tongue found hers in a caress that took her breath away, and the kiss quickly grew so urgent Alicia’s head reeled when his arms finally fell away.

He stood back, breathing hard as he stared down at her blankly. ‘ Mi dispiace ,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I did not expect…’

‘Neither did I,’ she said with feeling, and took in a deep breath. ‘I’ve never been kissed like that before.’

He smiled in open male triumph and kissed her again. ‘You enchant me, Alicia Cross. I will call for you tomorrow evening.’

‘I haven’t agreed to that,’ she protested.

‘Then agree now, tesoro .’ His eyes locked with hers. ‘Say “yes, Francesco, I will be very pleased to dine again with you”.’

Instead of saying yes to dinner—and to anything else he wanted—Alicia hung on to every scrap of willpower she possessed. ‘Ring me tomorrow and I’ll let you know if Meg agrees.’

Francesco tucked an errant curl behind her ear. ‘ Va bene , Miss Alicia Cross.’ He took her hand and escorted her into the lobby of the hotel. ‘ A domani ,’ he said formally, and waited until the lift doors closed behind her.

CHAPTER TWO

FRANCESCO rang early next morning, before Alicia even had time to worry whether he would or not.

‘Whatever he suggests tell him yes!’ Meg ordered, as she devoured her breakfast.

‘ Buon giorno , Alicia,’ said Francesco. ‘How are you today?’

‘Good morning. I’m just fine. How are you?’

‘Waiting in great suspense,’ he said, with a caressing note in his voice. ‘Is your friend better?’

‘Fighting fit now,’ said Alicia, grinning as she pushed the last roll towards Meg.

‘ Eccelente . Please give her my good wishes. So—you will both dine with me this evening?’

‘Thank you, we’d love to,’ said Alicia, rolling her eyes as Meg punched the air in triumph.

‘ Bene . What will you do today?’

‘The usual tourist things.’

‘Do not tire yourself with too many such things, cara . I shall call for you at eight. Ciao .’

‘ Ciao ,’ she echoed and switched off the phone. ‘There, Megan Davies. We’ve got a date. Satisfied?’

‘You could have asked him to bring a friend.’

‘You don’t want much, do you? Hard luck; you’ll just have to share Francesco with me.’

‘Playing gooseberry’s not my thing, you know,’ said Meg ruefully.

‘It’s not applicable,’ said Alicia, blocking out last night’s kiss. ‘Francesco is just a very kind man taking pity on a couple of convent schoolgirls let loose in Florence for the first time.’

‘You told him about the convent?’ said Meg in disgust, then grinned wickedly. ‘I hope you said we just went to school there! Nuns we are not.’

‘I might as well be,’ said Alicia gloomily. ‘I’ve never had a boyfriend.’

‘Only because you’re picky—and Rhys Evans was already taken.’

‘Bowled over by you the first time Gareth brought him home to supper!’ Alicia laughed and hugged her friend. ‘Thank goodness you’re feeling better. Come on, we’re wasting time.’

‘Put loads of sunscreen on first—and don’t forget your hat and glasses.’

‘Yes, Mummy!’

For the rest of the holiday the girls packed in as many sights as possible during the day. In deference to the nuns, they inspected the tombs of Michelangelo and Galileo in the great church of Santa Croce, visited the vast Duomo to marvel at Brunelleschi’s dome, then after waiting in line marvelled even more at Michelangelo’s mighty David in the Accademia. They queued for hours longer to look at the paintings in the Uffizi, and after wriggling their way to the front of the crowd to look at it close up decided they liked Botticelli’s Primavera best. They bought paninis stuffed with ham before visiting the Pitti Palace to look at more paintings, then picnicked afterwards in the Boboli Gardens.

In the narrow streets of Oltrarno—literally the ‘other side’ of the River Arno—they peered into little workshops where craftsmen carved wood for mirrors and picture frames, or created elegant handbags and gloves from softest leather. They gazed in the jewellers’ shops on the Ponte Vecchio, and at designer clothes in the Via Tuornabuoni, fantasising over what they would buy if they had the money. But eventually it was agreed that their favourite place of all was the Bargello, once a prison, now a sculpture museum where Meg fell madly in love with Donatello’s nude bronze of David.

‘He looks so cute in just his jaunty hat and boots!’

‘Only you could call a fabulous work of art cute ,’ said Alicia, laughing.

Each evening Francesco called for them to take them out to dinner and listen to their report on their day, and from the moment Meg first met him she had no more qualms about playing gooseberry. As she told Alicia later, he was as good looking and charming as she’d expected, but his manners were so perfect he made her feel like an asset to the evening instead of an unwanted third.

Both girls had made it plain to Francesco, the moment he arrived the first evening to take them both out, that they must be allowed to pay for their share of the meal. And to Alicia’s relief he’d taken them to a lively, packed trattoria , very different from the restaurant of the night before, and a great deal less expensive. Meg had loved everything about it, and tucked into her prawn-stuffed ravioli with unashamed gusto after her fast of the previous day. The only flaw in the evening came later when Francesco had insisted on paying the bill after all. But Meg had calculated the cost of their meals to the last euro, and the moment the three of them left the trattoria she presented Francesco with two thirds of the bill in notes.

‘Our share,’ said Meg firmly, and in the end, under protest, he had to accept.

‘But this once only,’ he said at last when they refused to budge. ‘ Allora , tell me what you have planned for tomorrow.’

When they’d got back to the hotel Meg announced that it was time for her nightly phone call to her boyfriend, and after thanks to Francesco for a fabulous evening she hurried inside and left them together.

‘Your friend is not only charming, but tactful,’ he said, looking down at Alicia. ‘This boyfriend is waiting for her at home?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled affectionately. ‘Rhys thinks Meg hung the moon.’

‘He is a man of perception. She is very attractive—not just her looks, but her personality.’ Francesco’s hand caught hers. ‘Do you have a boyfriend waiting for you, Alicia?’

Wishing she could say there were several all counting the minutes until she got back, she shook her head. ‘No, I don’t.’

‘ Ottimo! ’ He kissed her hand, then drew her into his arms and kissed her willing mouth. ‘I will call for you both at eight tomorrow. And this time I will pay, so no more argomento !’

The dream holiday went by so fast the last day arrived all too soon. During a final shopping trip for gifts to take home, Alicia found it hard to be cheerful as they searched for bargains in San Lorenzo, because later that night she would have to say goodbye to Francesco. Once Megan left them outside the hotel after dinner, their few moments alone together would be the last time she would ever see him. And she couldn’t bear the thought of it.