How on earth had she ended up wearing three badges? Which was she? Research assistant, love guru, or tour guide? And a trip every two months was too much – Valletta, Honolulu, Singapore, Copenhagen, Paris – especially as she also had a home to sell and a whole life to dismantle and store in her parents’ garage in Yorkshire.
But it was the trip to Paris at the end of November that concerned Olivia the most because in a cruel twist of fate, it was around that time their decree nisi would be pronounced. Would she hear about the formal dissolution of her marriage when she was visiting the same city she had honeymooned in?
However, there was one thing she was certain of – despite the heartache she was going through now, she didn’t want to live the rest of her life alone. The night before, she had woken up in a cold sweat when a dream had conjured up an image of her as a lonely old spinster in a care home with no family to visit her. In fact, as she’d had more time than usual to think about her future, she came to realise that a life without children in it was unthinkable.
Had Nathan been right when he had asked his solicitor to put those allegations in the divorce petition?
The realisation that he was rushed at her and almost knocked her backwards. Perhaps these bulletins she had been tasked with sending home to Hollie and Matteo would not only benefit her close friends but would serve to teach her some valuable lessons in love as well.
With that decision made, she grabbed her suitcase from the carousel and made her way into the arrivals hall to be met by a barrage of uniformed, tanned holiday reps and locals meeting their families. She spotted a card scrawled with “Ms O. Hamilton” and she surprised herself when, despite her emotional turmoil, an involuntary gasp of delight escaped her lips as she met the eyes of the Adonis holding it between his olive-skinned fingers.
Was this her taxi driver? Or perhaps it was Nikolai Garzia, Rachel’s contact in Malta? She chastised herself for sending up a prayer for the latter.
‘Olivia Hamilton?’
To Olivia’s uninitiated ears, the way the man wrapped his voice around the syllables of her name sounded like he was rehearsing an Italian aria. His dark brown eyes crinkled at the corners, and the tang of his cologne injected a shock to her pulse. Despite the ambient warmth, he wore buttock-enhancing black jeans and a pink and white linen shirt, fastened at the cuffs with golden links depicting the Maltese cross. His boldly drawn eyebrows were raised in question behind his long mahogany fringe, enhancing his matinee idol looks as he swept the hair from his face over his forehead. Ignoring the pounding across her brow, when he held out his palm to introduce himself, Olivia delved deep to replicate his welcoming smile.
‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘Hello, Olivia, welcome to Malta. I’m Nikolai Garzia, but my friends call me Niko and I hope you will, too.’
‘Hi, Niko, it’s good to meet you,’ said Olivia, relishing the pleasurable tingle of electricity that shot out from her fingertips as she shook his hand.
‘Likewise, Olivia.’
Niko smiled straight into her eyes before grabbing the bag from her shoulder and tucking her arm through his to guide her out into the Maltese sunshine. The heat hit her like a blast from her hairdryer, the welcome warmth caressing her skin and seeping down into her stiffened bones. She scrabbled around in her handbag for her sunglasses whilst Niko directed their route to the car park.
‘Rachel has briefed me on your requirements.’
Niko’s thick, Mediterranean accent made it sound as though her requirements were not even remotely connected to the academic and she was grateful she had managed to obscure her eyes behind dark lenses. The guy possessed a smile that would be more at home in an American toothpaste commercial, and the air of a young, hip Spanish teacher – one all the teenage schoolgirls swooned over and the boys grabbed to coach the football team.
‘Our time together is limited, so we must get straight down to business. I will deliver you to your hotel in Valletta, allow you to freshen up, and then return to collect you at 7 p.m. to take you to meet my family.’
Olivia smirked at the way his arrangements sounded as a waft of fresh lemony green fern scent met her nostrils, causing a surprise curl of attraction to invade her abdomen. Good grief, Olivia, get a grip – this is not a date!
‘You have been invited to help celebrate my grandparents’ sixtieth wedding anniversary,’ added Niko as he slung Olivia’s holdall into the back seat of his tiny red Fiat 500 and slammed the door.
‘Oh gosh, no, I don’t want to intrude on your family’s celebrations.’
Olivia balked at the thought of spending her first evening in the intimate company of Niko’s extended family. She would prefer to stick to the itinerary Rachel had devised and to interview Mr and Mrs Garzia senior in the lobby of her hotel the following morning, then spend the rest of the day indulging in the facilities of the hotel, specifically the expansive infinity pool. She could already feel the cool ripples lapping around the crevices of her body, massaging away the knots of stress that had built up over the last few months.
‘My grandmother does not travel to the city now, I’m afraid, Olivia. This is the better solution. Anyway, isn’t this what Rachel’s research is all about?’ Niko asked, flicking a shrewd glance in her direction as he navigated the narrow roads out of the airport. ‘Visiting a couple who have been together for over half a century in their home environment to ascertain the factors that contribute to such an enduring partnership? My parents also will be present, of course. They have been married for forty years.’
‘Well, in that case, it’s very kind of your family to invite me. Thank you.’
‘You are welcome. Perhaps this would be a good time to warn you in advance that my mother takes a huge amount of pleasure in complaining about the fact I have yet to settle down and enter the honourable institution of matrimony. Until now, I have preferred to focus firstly on my education and establishing my career as a lawyer. I’ve fought for years against their expectations that I would follow their example, marry early and produce grandchildren for them. But I will be thirty-four in December and I concede it’s time. Our life goals morph with the passage of time, do they not, Olivia?’
Olivia saw Niko grin in her direction with a blast of such intense suggestion in his ‘come-to-bed’ eyes that she felt her cheeks redden – and he was clearly delighted with the reaction. She ignored his question and settled into her seat to enjoy the ride into Valletta, the crumbling capital city of the Maltese islands.
Every village they drove through emerged as though seen through a sepia lens. The honey-coloured façades of the architecture, bathed in the early afternoon’s golden hue, appeared like dwellings from a bygone era. Dogs roamed the cobbled alleyways, sampling offerings in steel bowls placed on the worn stone steps by thoughtful store owners. Cats squinted on windowsills they shared with scarlet geraniums tumbling from terracotta pots.
She saw no evidence of spotty youths hanging around street corners displaying blank expressions of intense boredom. On the contrary, the adolescents she saw were helping their grandmothers with their shopping carts or zipping by on Vespas dressed in their all-black waiter’s uniform. There was also a distinct absence of the mass migration of exhausted office workers, their faces set in a grimace of determination, up against the clock, every minute