Carenza wasn’t playing by the rules. And he had a feeling that, even if she did know his rules, she still wouldn’t play by them. She was going to do this her way.
‘What was that you were saying about “my way or the highway”?’ he asked.
‘You’re so damn difficult.’ She thrust the case at him. ‘Grab this and lock up behind you, otherwise we’re going to get stuck in traffic and miss our flight.’
The taxi took them to the airport, and when Carenza took her case from the back of the taxi he was surprised to see that it wasn’t any bigger than his own.
‘I’m a seasoned traveller,’ she said, following his look and interpreting it correctly. ‘I learned the hard way when I was eighteen that it’s much better to travel light.’
He followed her to the check-in desk. ‘We’re going to Paris?’
‘Yep.’ She smiled at him. ‘Happy birthday, Dante.’
‘I’ve never been to Paris before.’ The words slipped out, unguarded.
‘But you’ve been abroad?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Of course I have. I’m not that much of a country boy.’
‘Apart from on business, I mean.’
He didn’t have an answer to that. ‘Paris,’ he mused. ‘It might be useful for the second phase of my franchise. Once Dante’s is established in all the major Italian cities, I can move on to the rest of Europe. London, Paris, Vienna …’
‘Oh, no. You are not using this as a business trip, doing a recce on where you can expand your empire. We’re not working,’ she said firmly. ‘This is fun, frivolity and—’ she laughed ‘—probably a bit of excess. Especially when it comes to crêpes. I love crêpes.’
Gone was the needy woman who’d clung to him last week. Carenza Tonielli was all princess, completely sure of herself and comfortable in her own skin. And there was a sunniness and a sparkle about her that he just couldn’t resist.
‘So. No business. Pleasure only. Got it?’ she asked.
‘Got it.’
‘Good.’ She kissed him swiftly. ‘So tell me, why don’t you celebrate your birthday?’
‘I do celebrate it,’ he protested. ‘I have dinner with my family.’
‘But you spend the day working. Don’t you ever want to do something different, spoil yourself a bit? Even if it’s—I dunno—just taking the morning off and walking round the harbour, or window-shopping, or going to a gallery or a museum? Something to feed the soul?’
‘No. Though I’m not a miser. I do arrange a meal and drinks for all my staff.’
The Italian way: the birthday boy treated everyone else. But she’d just bet he didn’t join them. Not because he thought himself too good to socialise with them, but because he hated socialising. And she couldn’t for the life of her understand why. He had social skills and wasn’t awkward with people—otherwise he certainly wouldn’t be a successful restaurateur. She sighed. ‘Right. Consider the next two days as more reverse mentoring. If it kills me, I’m going to teach you to have fun.’
‘I’m not sure if that’s a threat or a promise.’
She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘It’s probably both.’
The flight was on time; from the airport in Paris, they took a taxi to the city centre. And Dante was stunned by his first glimpse of the city. It was so different from Naples; instead of the dense network of narrow streets he was used to in the historic quarter of Naples, the boulevards here were incredibly wide. The roads had three or four lanes each way, and the pavements either side were equally wide. Everything seemed to be made from white or cream stone, with tall, narrow windows and wrought-iron balconies. And he fell in love with Paris on sight.
‘The city of light,’ Carenza said softly, ‘so wide and open—this is why I love Paris. And it’s even better at night.’ She smiled. ‘Though I must admit, you can’t walk around and hear people singing, like we do in Naples, and I miss that.’
Their hotel was just off the Champs Elysées; as soon as they walked into the reception, Dante knew it was seriously expensive. The reception area was made from marble, the seating was plush leather, and the carpet on the stairs was thick enough to sink into. And he also discovered that Carenza spoke fluent French. Yet another hidden depth to her that he hadn’t even guessed existed.
Their room was luxuriously appointed, and he felt another flush of guilt. ‘Will you please let me pick up the bill for this?’ he asked as she started unpacking.
‘No. And anyway, I got a discount. I’m a frequent stayer,’ she said with a smile.
‘How come?’ He unpacked his own clothes—which his secretary had packed incredibly efficiently for him. He had a feeling that it had been under Carenza’s direction, too.
‘When I lived in London, it was so easy to get the train to Paris. I loved having a long weekend in here. Cafés, art galleries, crêpes … and this hotel is the perfect place to stay, because it’s so central. Less than five minutes from the Metro.’
‘Can I at least buy you dinner?’ He kissed her lightly. ‘It’s my birthday, so traditionally I’m the one who’s supposed to buy dinner.’
‘In Italy, it is. But we’re in Paris, and I’m half English—and I’m used to doing it differently. In England, everyone spoils the person with the birthday. So I’m treating you.’
‘Maybe I’d like to treat you, to say thank you for spoiling me?’
She flapped a hand dismissively. ‘We’ll discuss that later. It’s a gorgeous day out there, and I want to take you exploring, not waste time arguing in here.’
They ended up walking the whole length of the Champs Elysées down to the Tuileries, where the leaves on the trees were starting to turn and glinted all shades of copper and bronze and gold in the sunlight. ‘We’re only here for two days, so we don’t have time to do everything I’d like to do,’ she said. ‘So I’m taking you to some of my favourite bits.’
Maybe, Dante thought, he’d surprise her with a break here in the spring. Or the middle of winter—Paris and all its gardens would look so pretty, covered in snow.
He discovered that playing tourist with Carenza was fun. She made him pose for a photograph in the gardens of the Louvre with his hand cupped by his shoulder, as if he were holding the Eiffel Tower in his hand, and then they queued up for the museum and wandered through the galleries together. ‘As this is the biggest museum in the world, we could spend weeks in here,’ she said, ‘but we only have a couple of days, so we’re just to do the whistle-stop version.’ She smiled. ‘I can show you some art you might actually like.’
‘Pictures that look like what they’re supposed to be, you mean?’ he teased back.
She laughed. ‘Yes. I guarantee you’ll like La Joconde.’
It was surreal, walking through the museum and suddenly coming across really famous pieces of artwork that were recognised the whole world over. The Sphinx, the Venus de Milo, and of course the Mona Lisa. And then Carenza took him down to the lower floor and made him stand next to the inverted pyramid; the sunshine poured through the glass and cast rainbows everywhere.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said with a grin, and showed him the picture she’d taken on her mobile phone: himself, smiling, with his hair rainbow-coloured. ‘I might just have to send that to your web designer.