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‘A sleigh ride?’
‘Tonight is a celebration and they put on a fireworks display as part of Tuscany’s many winter fire festivals.’
A sleigh ride and fireworks? Under other circumstances, it might have even sounded romantic. Still, it would be a glorious way for her to get out. Aside from the brief walks snatched in between blustery snowfalls, she felt as though she’d been cooped up indoors for ever.
But with Malachi?
Pressed up against him in the back of the sleigh, under that blanket she could see covering the back seat? Was that really a good idea?
‘With you?’
‘That was the idea.’ His mouth twitched upwards.
Her head screamed No! Yet the thrill that rippled through her body cried Why not? And in the end it was her body that won out.
Saskia descended the stone steps as gracefully as she could, pretending it didn’t sear right through her when she took his proffered hand and allowed him to help her into the sleigh. She feigned nonchalance when he climbed up behind her, settling down so closely that she was certain the emotions raging inside her were going to cause her entire body to implode with tension.
And then he put his arm around her and drew her into him, and it was like a thousand tiny detonations going off inside her chest.
‘So, you told me you’ve always wanted to visit the Amiata?’ he said. ‘What do you know about it?’
‘I know it’s an extinct volcano, and also one of the highest mountains in Tuscany. And I know it has lava domes rather than a volcanic crater.’
‘Did you know that its last recorded volcanic activity was between two hundred and three hundred thousand years ago?’ he asked, his voice rumbling low around her. ‘And that it also puts the hot into the hot springs of Tuscany?’
And elsewhere, if she was being honest.
‘I did know that, actually. I understand that the water which filters deep down comes into contact with the magma and then trickles its way up through crevices in the Earth’s crust.’
It was all she could do to keep her head focussed on the conversation and not the feel of Malachi’s body, all heat and steel, against hers.
‘Some of it trickles,’ he concurred. ‘But some of it gushes up at over five hundred litres per second, like the thermal baths at Saturnia.’
‘I’ve always wanted to visit them!’ Saskia gasped, unable to stop herself.
‘Maybe we can. One day. When you aren’t pregnant.’
One day?
Something danced through her at the idea of Malachi thinking into the future, even as logic told her that she was a fool for reading too much into such a throwaway comment.
‘So,’ she forced a light, even merry note into her voice, ‘tell me more about these fire festivals you mentioned before.’
‘You’ve never heard about them?’
‘I haven’t, as it happens.’
It was as though the moment of openness had created a spark of connection. A strange current seemed to weave around them, even as Saskia berated herself for her foolishness.
‘There are fire festivals throughout Tuscany all year round. There are torchlight—or Fiaccolata—festivals, bonfires, fireworks, and candlelight or paper lantern festivals where kids use peashooters to try to set fire to the coloured lanterns.’
‘So is that where we’re going now?’
‘Not tonight,’ he laughed, and it should surely worry her that the sound made her whole body heat up, like a shot of the strongest 192-proof Spirytus.
‘Rificolona is in September, in Florence,’ he explained. ‘Tonight is a traditional bonfire festival. A symbolic reminder of an ancient rivalry between two neighbourhoods in the village. There will be stalls, and games, and a small fireworks display and each side competes to have the biggest and best bonfire.’
‘And what does the winner receive?’
