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She was spot on. He did like fast cars. He already had three at home.
‘Let me guess.’ Zan tipped her head on one side and looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Ferrari? Red?’
This was ridiculous.
‘Ferrari, definitely.’ He played along with her game, thinking how nice it was going to be to be able to buy he
r whatever she wanted.
‘What else would you buy?’
Carlo stared at her, finding the whole situation surreal. Here was he, trying to pretend that he didn’t have money, and she was asking him what he’d do if he did. It was enough to give a guy a headache.
Suddenly he realised just how much he took his life for granted. True, he was fed up with all the complications that went with wealth, but the benefits outweighed the disadvantages and he’d started to forget that.
‘I’d buy a ski lodge,’ he said slowly, thinking of their family home in Cortina, ‘and a villa in Sardinia.’
In fact, all the things he already had. And loved.
‘Sardinia?’ She tipped her head on one side. ‘Is that a nice place?’
‘Fabulous.’
‘Well, if we win, you’re taking me there.’ She sucked the pen and squinted at the numbers. ‘I’ll choose three and you choose three.’
Carlo suppressed a groan. He could just imagine the newspaper headlines if he won the lottery. They’d have a field day.
‘You do it,’ he suggested lightly. ‘I don’t want to bring you bad luck.’
Or at least he didn’t want to bring her any more than he might already be bringing her.
She filled out the form, stuffed it back in her pocket and smiled at him. ‘Remind me to take it to the newsagents later. Now, then, time for dinner.’
She cooked a fabulous chicken dish, bursting with flavour, and Carlo decided that he needed to find a way of getting her to ask him to stay at Christmas again. This time he’d say yes.
They dined by candlelight and Christmas tree lights and Carlo was just thinking that he couldn’t remember a time when he’d been happier when she asked the question he’d been dreading.
‘Tell me about your family.’
Carlo tensed. ‘My family live in Milan,’ he said carefully. ‘My father owns his own business.’
And he was the richest man in Italy.
Zan tipped her head on one side and looked interested. ‘What does he do?’
‘Sort of medical supplies—technology,’ Carlo hedged, hoping she wouldn’t delve too deeply. His father’s company was a household name in Europe and the States.
‘But you weren’t tempted to join him?’
‘My brother and I wanted to carve our own way in the world,’ Carlo told her, suddenly filled with an overwhelming desire to tell her just how hard it was to be the son of a billionaire. It was pretty hard to see yourself as successful when your father had success all sewn up.
‘So your brother’s a doctor, too? Where?’
‘He works in Milan. He’s a surgeon.’ A famous children’s heart surgeon, and she might even recognise the name if he mentioned it because he’d worked in her hospital for a while. Carlo chose not to mention it. ‘He lives with his wife and their daughter, who’s two now. They’re expecting another baby any day. You’re an amazing cook.’
‘Well, someone had to help my mum and it certainly wasn’t my brothers,’ Zan said dryly, standing up and clearing the plates.
Carlo stood up, too, relieved that he appeared to have successfully changed the subject away from his family.
