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‘How did you learn all this?’ I couldn’t help but ask. ‘How did you know what to do?’
Daisy made a little laughing grimace. ‘I might not have much fashion sense, but I’ve worked with cloth all my life. My grandmother taught me to quilt, and I’ve sewn my own clothes since I was little more than a child.’
‘And the
business side of things?’
‘Maria helped. You’ll have to meet her. And I learned along the way—made a lot of mistakes. It’s still not a very big business, you know. It hardly rivals Arides Enterprises.’
‘It’s very impressive.’
‘Thank you.’
She smiled and ducked her head, shyly pleased, as we walked out of the workshop into the sunlit square of the village.
‘How about lunch?’ I suggested, nodding towards the village’s one café.
‘People will talk if they see us together like this,’ she warned.
I shrugged. ‘I want them to talk.’
‘Matteo...’
‘I assume everyone already knows we’re married? They will have sussed that out already?’
‘Yes, but they also know what kind of marriage it is.’
For some inexplicable reason that annoyed me. It had been my idea, so I knew my reaction was unreasonable, but it still did.
‘Then they’ll know what kind of marriage it is now,’ I said and, taking her hand, I drew her to me and kissed her.
It was meant to be little more than a buss of the lips, but the first strawberry-sweet taste of her had me plundering her mouth for more. As she had before, she opened her mouth under mine, accepting my kiss and returning it, one hand coming up to grasp at my shirt as desire’s pistons fired through us both.
In the distance a child laughed, breaking the moment—although only just. Reluctantly I pulled away. Daisy’s lips were swollen, her eyes bright.
‘Now they’ll really talk.’
‘Let them.’
‘Matteo...’ She shook her head. ‘I haven’t agreed, you know. I’m not planning on agreeing to just jump into bed—and life—with you.’
We’ll see about that, I thought, but wisely did not say. Yet.
‘Lunch,’ I murmured and, taking her arm, I headed towards the café.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I FOUND IT exceedingly pleasant to sit in the sun at an outside table at the village’s café, nibbling souvlaki and drinking red wine, with the agiorgitiko grapes indigenous to the region lending it a lush, fruity flavour that was slipping down far too nicely.
I was just a little bit tipsy—which was dangerous. Because the most pleasant part of the afternoon by far was sitting with Matteo, basking in his attention and interest, enjoying his dry humour, as well as enjoying the way his gaze would rest on me in warm approval.
I was like a parched desert that had suddenly encountered cool spring rains and I couldn’t soak them up fast enough. Dangerous indeed.
‘Tell me about your childhood,’ Matteo invited, as if he were fascinated by me, wanting to know every dull detail when the initial rules of our marriage had been to know as little as possible. ‘You told me you grew up in Kentucky...?’
When had I told him that? Or had he learned it during his little bout of research?
‘Why don’t you tell me what you learned online?’ I threw back, somehow managing to pitch my tone between teasing and slightly piqued.
