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She ended the call, stunned and bewildered. How could she have so lost track of time? When she’d first arrived in Venice she couldn’t wait to get away. But now—when she could count the days and nights remaining on her fingers—now the thought of leaving ripped open a chasm in her gut and left her feeling empty and bereft.
One month she’d agreed to and now that month was nearly up and, as much as she looked forward to seeing her father again, the thought of leaving Venice...
Leaving Luca...
Oh God, no, she thought, don’t go there. She’d always been going to leave. She’d been the one to set that condition and Luca had agreed. He expected her to go. Clearly she was simply getting used to dressing up in beautiful clothes and living as if she belonged here. But she didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong with Luca. She would book her flight home and think about how good it would be to see her father again. She’d feel better once she’d booked.
She was sure she would.
* * *
‘I booked my flight home today.’
Luca stilled at the cabinet where he was pouring them both a glass of sparkling prosecco. The pouring stopped. This wasn’t how he’d planned tonight to go. The trinket in his pocket weighed heavy like the ball in his gut. ‘So when do you go?’
‘A week tomorrow. I was lucky enough to get a seat. Flights are pretty fully booked this time of year.’
Lucky.
The word stuck in his throat. Was she in such a goddamned hurry to leave? He’d thought she was enjoying their time together. She’d certainly given him that impression in bed.
And while he’d always planned to dump her, the thought that she might hang around a little longer would have meant putting off the inevitable just that bit longer too.
But now she’d booked, he’d have to bring his plans forward. A shame when she’d provided such a useful distraction from the working day.
He finished pouring his drink and turned around, handing her a glass. ‘Very fortunate,’ he said, raising his glass to her. ‘In which case I propose a toast—to the time we have left. May we use it wisely.’
She blinked up at him as she sipped her wine, her amber eyes surprisingly flat, with less sparkle than the wine in her glass, and he wondered at that. Wondered if she’d been hoping he’d changed his mind and might ask her to stay.
He might have. But not now, not now she’d taken the initiative.
‘And we might as well start tonight,’ he said, putting down his glass to reach into his pocket. ‘I have a surprise for you. Tonight I have tickets to the opera, and I want you to wear this...’ From a black velvet box, he extracted the string of amber beads, a large amber pendant in the middle that glinted like gold as he laid it over her hand.
Her eyes grew wide. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said.
‘The colour matches your eyes.’ He turned her gently, securing the gems around her throat, turning her back around to see. He nodded. ‘Perfect. As soon as I saw them, I knew they would be perfect for you. Here, there are earrings too.’
She cupped them in her hand. ‘I’ll take good care of them.’
He shrugged, reaching for his wine, wanting to fill this empty hole in his gut with...something. ‘They are yours. Now, we need to leave in half an hour. It’s time to get dressed.’
* * *
Luca’s unexpected gift had thrown her off balance, the gems sitting fat and heavy upon her neck, weighing her down, anchoring her to a false reality.
Nothing in Venice was real, she decided, as she caught a final glimpse of herself in the floor to ceiling gilt-framed mirror. Nothing was as it seemed.
Least of all her.
In an emerald-coloured gown, the amber necklace warm and golden at her throat, she looked as if she could have stepped out of a fairy tale, a modern day princess about to be swept off to the ball with the charming prince.
As for Luca, just one glance at him in his dark Italian designer suit, all lean, powerful masculinity, waiting for her to take his arm, was enough to make her heart pound.
She’d be gone in a week.
Returned to the dusty sheep and their wide brown land.
Gone.
Why did that thought set her heart to lurch and her stomach to squeeze tight when home was where her heart was? What was happening to her?
‘Ready?’ he said, a kernel of concern in his dark eyes, and she smiled up at him tremulously.
‘I’ve never been to the opera before,’ she offered by way of explanation. ‘Never to a live performance at a real opera house.’
