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As easily as that, he joined her at the window.
‘When I left,’ Antonietta said, ‘that whole stretch of valley was black and scorched from wild fires.’ She pointed to a large clearing atop a hillside. ‘My family’s property is up there.’
‘Was it razed in the fires?’
‘No, the fires stopped short of Silibri, but in the next village, where I also have family, there was a lot of damage. It’s hard now to remember that it was so dead and black. I came back in spring, for Nico and Aurora’s wedding, and the whole valley was a riot of colour. I have never seen it so alive. I find the view soothing. It reminds me that, as terrible as the fires were, they were good for the land.’
‘So you stayed on after the wedding?’
‘No,’ Antonietta said. ‘I went to Rome for a year, but I wanted to be back here for Christmas.’ She gave him a tight smile. Certainly, she was not going to reveal that right now a happy family Christmas was looking less and less likely. ‘I had better get on.’
‘Of course.’
Nothing was left unchecked.
No cushion left unturned or unplumped.
And still Rafe did not go for his run. Instead he made a couple of phone calls, and it turned her insides to liquid to hear his deep voice flow in the language she loved.
‘You are French?’ she asked, after the second call had ended, although usually she would not pry.
‘No,’ Rafe said. ‘But it is the language of my home.’
‘Oh?’
‘Tulano,’ he added. ‘It is between Italy and France...’
‘I know where it is,’ Antonietta said. ‘I visited there once. Only briefly, though.’
His eyes narrowed a touch. In truth, Rafe did not believe she didn’t know who he was. The maid yesterday had slipped up and called him by his full first name—Rafael—and the concierge had done the same when recommending a trail to run.
Soon, he was sure, his location would be leaked and the press would be here. The brief respite from the world would be over.
He asked her a question. ‘Do you speak French?’
‘Some—although not as much as I would like. I was there for four years,’ she said, and then switched to French and told him that his Italian was better than her French.‘Votre Italien est meilleur que mon Français.’
And he responded.‘Ta voix est délicieuse dans les deux langues.’
She had been away from France for over a year, and it took her a moment to translate it, but as she did a heated blush crept up her neck.
Had he just said that her voice was delightful in both languages?
Were they flirting?
And if they were then why wasn’t she halting it?
Why wasn’t she running for cover, as she usually did whenever a man, let alone a guest, got a little too close?
Only Rafe wasn’t too close for comfort. And Antonietta looked at the eyes that held hers as she responded.‘Ainsi est le tien.’
So is yours.
It was the tiniest nod to his effect on her, and yet it felt rather huge to Antonietta.
There was another phone call for Rafe, and this time he answered in Italian, taking it out on the balcony.
Though she did not eavesdrop, his low voice reached her and it was clear that he was speaking with Nico. She felt a little flip of disappointment when she heard him state that he would not be staying for much longer.
