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He had engineered this weekend—had been hoping the mutual attraction between them would be quickly sated, that she would be the solace that would get him through the difficult time ahead.
He had been dreading the wedding for months now—back to the family home, back to his father and uncles. Emma was to have been his relief.
But not now, and he had only himself to blame.
Breaking hearts he could deal with.
But breaking hers…he was having serious second thoughts about that.
He saw that she wasn’t eating her food and, remembering her beverage of choice when she was flagging, ordered his crew to fetch it for her. Then he sat and watched closely as she took a grateful sip of thick hot chocolate.
‘You have brothers, yes?’ Luca checked, watching a small furrow emerge on her brow.
‘Three,’ she acknowledged briefly.
‘And what happened with your mother?’
‘I really don’t want to talk about it…’
‘But we have to,’ he insisted. He finished with his breakfast and pushed his plate away. It was removed instantly, the conversation continuing when the steward had discreetly disappeared. ‘You speak little of your personal life.’
‘The hours I work hardly allow for much of a personal life!’ she protested.
‘Emma, for this weekend you are supposed to be my girlfriend—I am taking you to meet my parents. Surely you can see that I ought to know some of your background.’
He had a point. In the weeks she had known him, she had been privy to all sorts of information about him.
His diary had noted birthdays, anniversaries, his clothing preferences for the times when he needed an outfit at short notice, even the hairdresser he used for his regular trim. She knew, because it had been her job to hire a new housekeeper for him, how he liked things done, the sort of food he kept at home—had even downloaded some songs for him—so if she were put on the spot right now, she knew enough about Luca to bluff her way through, whereas apart from the fact her father was in a nursing home, Luca knew practically nothing about her.
That was the way she had wanted it.
But, as Luca pointed out, their stories needed to tally. She screwed up her courage, and then suddenly he came up with a compromise.
‘Okay—I’ll tell my mother you don’t like talking about it.’
‘About what?’ she asked, bewildered.
‘Anything I don’t know the answer to,’ he said, pleased that he’d managed to eke out a smile from her. ‘We have been seeing each other for a couple of months,’ Luca said, ‘since you came and worked for me. We have both decided that working together is too much, so you will be finishing up soon.’
‘To do what?’
Luca shrugged—trying to think what his girlfriends actually did all day.
‘Modelling?’
‘Please!’ Emma snorted with laughter. ‘If I’m to convincingly play the part of your devoted girlfriend, then at least there has to be a semblance of me in there. So…’ She chewed on her lip and tried to imagine a world where this man loved her, tried for the first time to actually picture a world with herself and Luca as a couple, and glimpsed the impossible—being the sole recipient of his affection.
Yet even if it was impossible, it was still fun pretending.
‘I’m applying to study art, you’re organising a studio for me in your apartment, in that big room at the back that you don’t use. It’s supposed to be a surprise, but unbeknown to you I’ve guessed.’
‘Are you good?’ Luca asked. ‘At art?’
‘I’ve just started night school. My dad didn’t like me pursuing…’ Her voice faded for a moment, realising now why he might have hated that side of her so, but she refused to dwell on it, it was just too big to deal with right now. ‘Oh, and by the way…’ She gave him a wry smile. ‘Just in case it comes up in the conversation, today’s my birthday.’
‘Really?’ Luca frowned. ‘You should have said.’
‘I just did.’
‘I am sorry to pull you away from your celebrations.’
‘You didn’t,’ Emma answered tartly. ‘It’s really no big deal.’
‘And how old is Emma today?’
‘She’s twenty-five!’It made her blush to say it, with the information she’d so recently given him. She saw just the slight rise of one eyebrow, but thankfully he chose not to comment.
‘So what about you?’ she asked.
‘You know about me.’
‘I don’t know much about your family.’
‘My mother is Mia, my father is Rico. He was a policeman, and you know about Daniela…’
