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‘And, for the record, telling Sam about us—the us we are pretending exists—wasmyjob, notyours.You don’t know Sam and—’
‘And you’d like to keep it that way...fair enough,’ he agreed, his expression not matching his careless shrug.
‘That wasn’t what I was saying,’ she said, annoyed he was twisting what shewassaying. It would have been helpful if she’d known what she was saying!
‘I accept I’m uniquely ill-equipped to parent, but I actually like Sam.’
She could see the surprise she could hear in his voice reflected for a moment in his dark eyes.
‘IloveSam, and he’ll always come first for me.’
‘And where does that leave you when you’re no longer first for Sam? You might not think so now, but that time will come.’
‘You think I don’t know that?’ Her amusement was genuine and her throaty laughter was extremely attractive, he realised. ‘Sam is a teenage boy. I already come second to any number of things. I’m not clingy; I want him to be happy, to leave home...knowing he can always come back. You must remember when your parents stopped being the most important things in your life? But you remain the most important thing in theirs.’
She watched as an expression she couldn’t put a name to drifted into his eyes but it was gone so quickly that she thought she had imagined it.
‘How old were you when yours died?’
‘Almost twenty.’
‘That must have been...’ He stopped. Saying‘hard’seemed hopelessly inadequate.
‘It’s hard when you realise there isn’t anyone you’re the most important thing in the world for any more. I swore Sam wouldn’t feel like that.’
A silence followed her words.
Tilda had never imagined sharing those innermost private thoughts with anyone before and, if she had, the last person in the world she could have imagined opening up to was Ezio.
‘Well, goodnight,’ she blurted when the silence got too uncomfortable to bear. ‘Oh, and shall I come in the normal time tomorrow, or do you need me early for the meeting with—?’
‘No, don’t come in. You’re not my PA now, you’re my bride-to-be.’
She looked surprised. ‘But...we don’t have to tell anyone yet.’
‘I have no intention of telling anyone except Saul.’
‘Not your family?’
‘My mother would ask too many awkward questions and want to meet you.’ His expressive lips thinned in distaste as he observed, ‘My father would probably make a pass at you.’
Before she could decide if he was being serious, without any warning he casually leaned in. Tilda felt corralled by his sheer physicality and panic nipped at her as she felt the warmth of his breath stir the fine hairs along her hairline. She stiffened and fought against the slow, dreamy feeling that was invading her body, the weird floating sensation accompanying the heavy thud of her heart.
‘There, got it.’ He straightened up, opened his hand and a moth fluttered into the night air. ‘It got tangled in your hair.’
‘Oh, right, yes. I...’
‘Do you need the tint in your specs?’ he asked.
Tilda pressed a finger to the dark plastic that rested on the bridge of her nose, dodging his stare. ‘It’s not a matter ofneed. Ilikethem this way,’ she lied. ‘So sorry you don’t like glasses.’
He looked surprised. ‘Did I say that?’
‘No, but...’
A flicker of a smile played across the sensual line of his lips. ‘I think there is something quite sexy about glasses...depending on who is wearing them, obviously.’
‘Well, I know I’m not,’ she blurted.
