Page 15 of His Lost-and-Found Bride

She didn’t reply. She couldn’t reply. Too many memories were starting to flood back. This was the problem with seeing Logan after all this time. All the things she’d literally pushed to the back corners of her mind were starting to poke their way through again.

But it wasn’t just unhappy memories that were crowding her thoughts. Logan had other little places in her mind. Just sitting here with him now made a little warm glow spread throughout her body. His eyes, his accent, the way he ran his fingers through his hair when he was searching for the right words. Beautiful, sunny days in Florence, long afternoons drinking endless cups of coffee and dusky evenings with wine leading to long nights together.

Passionate. Intense. The two words that sprang to mind to describe their relationship. The third word was tragic. But she didn’t even want to go there.

She was still toying with her food, wondering if either one of them would bring up the elephant in the room.

But Logan wasn’t ready to go there yet. ‘What do you think of Louisa?’

She put down her knife and fork. It was a curious question. The Logan she used to know would size someone up in a matter of minutes. The fact he was asking about Louisa meant he obviously wasn’t quite sure.

She frowned. ‘I’m not sure. I haven’t really had a chance to talk to her yet. She’s American, isn’t she? How did she manage to own a vineyard in Tuscany?’

‘From what I know, she inherited it. She’s the last living relative of Signor Bartolini. It seems she might have inherited some time ago but has never visited before. As far as I can make out, Nico—who owns the neighbouring vineyard and who was a friend of Signor Bartolini—has kept it semi-functioning for the last few months. But I’m not entirely sure that Nico and Louisa have hit it off.’

She nodded thoughtfully. She hadn’t met Nico yet but had heard him yelling instructions to some of the vineyard workers. He was obviously intent on keeping the vineyard working.

Logan took a sip of his wine. ‘How do you find Venice?’

‘It took a little getting used to. Florence was always busy, but Venice is off the scale. Cruise liners come in every day and the Piazza San Marco is so busy you can barely move.’

He gave a little nod. ‘Where are you staying?’

‘I was lucky. I managed to get an older apartment—much like you—on the Grand Canal. My building and street are off the main thoroughfare, but any time of the day or night I can open my doors and look out over the canal. There’s never a quiet moment out there.’

‘Do you live alone?’ She sucked in a breath but couldn’t help the amused smile that appeared on her face. It seemed that Logan didn’t mind being direct. She’d skirted around the issue but he had no intention of doing that.

A tiny little part of her wanted to lie. Wanted to tell him she had a billionaire husband and three perfect children at home. But she had never been a person to tell lies. Her secret hopes and desires for her own life were just that—secret.

‘Yes. It’s just me. I lived with someone for a while but things didn’t work out. I was consumed with work and didn’t really have time for a relationship. It turned out he really didn’t want a career woman for a wife anyway.’

She said the words flippantly, not giving away how much it had hurt at the time. But time, in some cases, gave a chance for reflection. That relationship would have always come to an end.

Logan’s eyebrows had risen as she’d been speaking. Wasn’t she supposed to move on?

But it seemed he’d opened the door now and given her a right to ask whatever she wanted. ‘Why haven’t you got married and settled down?’ she asked.

The waiter appeared, clearing one set of plates and setting down their main course—Tuscan veal chops with Parmesan tuilles. The smell drifted up around her. She picked up her fork and sighed. ‘This is the kind of thing I wish I had the time and talent to make.’

‘Your cooking talents haven’t improved with age?’ He laughed. Lucia’s cooking attempts had been a constant source of amusement for them. She’d once declared she could burn water—and she probably could.

The initial preparation and cooking attempts hadn’t been a problem. Distraction had been the problem. Something else had always managed to crop up while she was supposed to be watching a timer or stirring a pot.

‘How have you survived without someone to feed you?’

She gave a resigned nod of her head as she tasted some of the succulent veal. ‘I eat out. A lot. The kitchen and I will never be friends.’

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