‘I’ll think of something, don’t worry.’
She bridled at the verbal-pat-on-the-head attitude; she could almost see him moving on in his head. Well, no one could accuse him of letting the grass grow, that was for sure!
‘Right, I’ll be back Friday.’ Moving towards the door, he turned back. ‘I almost forgot.’
He strode back towards her. Unprepared for the action, she didn’t resist, and he caught her wrist, turned her hand over and one by one curled her clenched fingers open to reveal her palm.
Flora was conscious of a strange, breathless sensation as she looked at his brown fingers against her own. The breath caught in her chest escaped in a long, slow, sibilant breath when he tipped up a velvet pouch and a ring landed in her palm.
Her eyes lifted to the lean dark face of the man bent over her hand. ‘What’s that?’ she asked, her voice a throaty whisper.
It invited a sarcastic comeback but he didn’t accept the invitation.
Ivo took hold of the ring and slid it onto her extended finger. ‘Believe you me, cara, this is something I never thought I’d be doing.’ Never wanted to, and yet even though his feelings were not involved, the symbolism—yes, it had to be the symbolism—made things shift inside him. ‘I suppose I should be looking to you for guidance?’ Why should the thought of another man putting a ring on this finger make him feel so...? Not jealous, that would have been absurd, but he just felt angry because she hadn’t seen her ex for the loser he clearly was.
She stared from the finger that held a gleaming diamond to Ivo’s face for a moment and back; her confusion was not feigned. For a moment she had no idea what he was talking about and then she realised... Callum!
She clenched her fingers and pulled her hand back. The ring glittered against her skin.
It wasn’t as if she had forgotten, or the moment hadn’t seemed special at the time, but quite crazily she remembered nothing approaching this heart-pounding shock, even though Callum had proposed prettily.
Callum’s proposal had been like a well-rehearsed and smoothly stage-managed love scene in a play. And yet, perfect hadn’t made her feel dizzy, just self-conscious and slightly nervous that she’d miss her cue and say the wrong thing to spoil the prettiness.
The irony was, Callum had been pretending. Ivo wasn’t pretending he was giving her anything other than a prop; he didn’t do love.
Then the disturbing realisation hit her, granted what she was feeling had nothing to do with love...couldn’t have anything to do with love. No, this was about chemical attraction, and the attraction she felt for Ivo was a billion times stronger than anything she had felt for her ex-fiancé!
‘So, do you always carry around a chunk of diamond in your pocket?’
‘I like to be prepared.’
‘Perhaps I should proofread this file? You might have got some things wrong,’ she snapped waspishly.
‘Oh, if you have trouble sleeping I’d recommend it.’
‘I suppose your life is fascinating.’
‘You’re about to find out, cara.’
He watched her expression change as the reality came crashing in. ‘You’ll be ready to leave.’
It wasn’t a suggestion and Flora couldn’t let the order—any order—pass unchallenged. You gave in to an arrogant man drunk on his own power and self-importance once and he’d walk all over you—helped in no small part by her hormones, unless she took control!
She was no longer that silly romantic girl, but maybe a lustful woman was more dangerous?
‘Thursday suits me better.’ But it didn’t, did it? It didn’t suit her at all.
The moment the words left her lips, Flora wished them unsaid, but, the damage done, she fought to keep the dismay from showing. She’d established she was no pushover but that token gesture had given her one day less to prepare—unless he was difficult, in which case she could concede with dignity.
Please be difficult!
He studied her, a flicker of a smile moving across his face, though when he responded it was with perfect solemnity. ‘Absolutely, whatever you say, cara.’
Flora took Jamie to say goodbye to her mum, leaving herself plenty of time to be back in the time that Ivo had said he’d arrive.
Flora, feeling guilty as hell for lying to her mother, had gone for the partial-truth option.
When Flora had explained the situation her mum, being family orientated herself, had agreed that of course Flora must take Jamie to meet his Italian family, even though she would obviously miss her grandson but, as her sister was coming to visit from Australia, she wouldn’t be lonely.
It wasn’t until Flora was making her last farewells that she realised she might have spoken more than she realised about Ivo Greco.
‘I know you were hurt, Flora,’ her mum said quietly, ‘by that wee idiot, Callum, but not all men are alike.’
Startled, Flora finished strapping Jamie in his car seat and turned back, one hand on the door.
‘I’m not, Mum. What made you say that?’
‘The way you were talking about Bruno’s little brother.’
Flora hurriedly did a mental review of their conversation. Had she been talking about him...that much? ‘Oh, Mum, he’s not little. He’s—’
‘Fair enough, and it’s true I’ve never met the man, but in my experience there is a big difference between an arrogant man who loves the sound of his own voice and can’t stop boring you with how marvellous he is, and a man who is quietly confident and listens to your opinion.’ Balanced on the one crutch she had been promoted to, she hugged her daughter.
* * *
Some people listened to music when they drove, some people liked company. Ivo liked neither. He enjoyed the solitude of driving, the fact that he could legitimately ignore an email or phone, and call it being a considerate law-abiding driver.
If he’d actually been travelling with the woman he was to marry he supposed that he might have felt obliged to make conversation, but he wasn’t.
Basic civility required that he respond if she spoke but he had no intention of encouraging conversation, and definitely not initiating it!
The baby had fallen asleep almost the instant he’d been strapped into his baby seat in the back, and Flora had been totally silent.
There was more than one sort of silence.
This one was not relaxing. He recognised the perversity of his reaction when he even started feeling irritated by the fact she seemed to feel no need to break it.
‘Are you all right?’
Flora started, her head whipped around his way, the fat, shiny plait she had her hair confined in today landing with a thunk on her shoulder. ‘Yes.’ She glanced at the baby in the back, before training her eyes once more on the side window, wrapped up in her own thoughts.
He let the monosyllable lie another ten minutes before the compulsion to prod her into a response overcame him. It was not about hearing her voice, although the light accent was pleasing on the ear.
‘Babies don’t travel light.’ The boot of the car was capacious but it was full to the brim of clutter that was apparently essential for babies. Loading it in had been like a military operation. There had barely been room for the small bag that Flora had brought—either she did travel light, which would make her a very unusual woman in his experience, or she wasn’t expecting to be staying long.
‘No.’