‘What do your sisters do?’
‘Rafael, they both have children and very busy lives. Frankie does a lot of charity stuff, organising events, and they both play tennis and golf.’
Rafael tried and failed to picture Cristina playing tennis, followed by tea with a select group of friends. She wasn’t a tennis-playing kind of person.
‘I’m going to keep running the flower shop,’ she stated firmly. ‘And I’m also going to carry on with the football coaching when the season begins towards the end of the year. And I might just have my first commission to landscape a garden in July. So, before we get married and I disappoint you, I might as well say that I won’t be giving up my various jobs.’
‘I don’t feel comfortable having a wife who’s running all over London working for other people.’
Cristina, knowing exactly the way his mind was working, released a small sigh. ‘I won’t be running all over London working for other people,’ she told him mildly.
‘Landscape jobs?’
‘One possible landscape job.’
‘You’ll be all over the country. Sourcing baby conifers and spring bulbs.’
Cristina laughed out loud. ‘You don’t know the first thing about gardening, do you?
‘Why on earth would I?’
‘Well, I can assure you, a lot of it will be in the layout and design, and I really won’t need to trek the length and breadth of the country to get whatever plants I may need.’
Rafael, having pretty much banked on an obedient and traditional wife, looked in some consternation at the stubborn set of her mouth. She might be sweetly undemanding, but it was obvious that she was capable of digging those sweetly undemanding heels in. He mentally conceded defeat in this particular area which, he had to admit, was not a particularly important area.
If she wanted to play at the flower-shop business, then so be it. The football coaching, or any other coaching for that matter, could simply be seen as a form of exercise, similar to going to the gym once a week. And, well, a landscape job … one that might or might not materialise … what was the use in getting stressed over that?
Also—and he came to the conclusion that this was of greater importance—what had his ex done in the absence of any job or hobby or overriding interest? The devil worked on idle hands.
All things considered, it might be a better thing for Cristina to potter around her flower shop and sketch layouts for other people’s gardens.
He smiled magnanimously at her. ‘You’re right,’ he said grandly. ‘I’ve been brought up with the outmoded concept of the wife at home tending the fires.’
‘While the caveman does the hunting,’ she agreed, relieved that this minor difficulty had been surmounted. ‘And I won’t be needing a chef to do the cooking,’ she continued. ‘Although a cleaner might be useful now and again.’
‘No, the chef is definitely redundant after that meal you cooked for me a couple of days ago.’ He grinned at her. Cristina wondered whether he knew just how sexy he looked when he smiled like that, when the harsh angles of his face were softened and his eyes looked hot and lazy. ‘I particularly enjoyed the dessert,’ he added wickedly. ‘What would you call it?’
‘Ssh!’ Cristina looked around her, blushing. He might think that because he viewed the rest of the world with royal indifference that it, likewise, was royally indifferent to him. Not so. Even in a heaving London coffee shop, he still managed to be the centre of attention, and Cristina was sure that a number of the women had deliberately decided to enjoy their coffees inside instead of taking them out. Rafael Rocchi made very fetching scenery.
‘I can’t believe you can be shy when you think—’
‘That it’s time to go!’ She stood up, bright red, aware that a couple of women too close for comfort were listening with interest to their exchange.
‘Of course. The ring. And then—’ he stuck his hands in his pockets and stepped back, allowing her to precede him through the door ‘—I think a visit to the country might be in order. My mother will be over the moon.’
Cristina was blissfully happy on the drive up to the Lake District. It was hard to imagine that months ago she had undertaken exactly the same drive in her little Mini. Who ever would have thought that, with summer breaking through the cool spring days, she would now be making the same trip in Rafael’s Bentley with a glorious, exciting future stretching out in front of her with the man she adored?
Three weeks ago they had finally chosen the engagement ring and she looked surreptitiously now at her finger where it sparkled, a tangible reminder that this wasn’t all some weird dream from which she would eventually awaken.
He had refused to indulge her whimsy for something cheap and cheerful. Having been surrounded by jewellery all her life, she would have liked to discard the formality of something really expensive, but that, he had informed her, was inappropriate.
‘My wife will wear the best,’ he had said to her, squashing all thoughts of rebellion.
The diamond wasn’t the size of a boulder, but it would never pass unnoticed. Utterly impractical for her line of work, but what was a loving relationship if not about compromises? And hadn’t he compromised when it had come to her work?
Her parents had been overjoyed at the news of her engagement. In fact, like a rider pulling back on the reins of a runaway horse, Cristina had had to halt the tide of plans, which had included an elaborate engagement party in Italy, similar to the extravaganza which both her sisters had enjoyed. That had been their choice, but it wasn’t hers. She remembered both parties as confusingly big affairs at which she had clung to the sidelines, sipping non-alcoholic drinks and wondering when she could slip away to her bedroom so that she could catch up on the reality TV show she had been obliged to miss.
It was already seven in the evening by the time they finally made it to Maria’s country house. Cristina had spent much of the trip dozing, much to Rafael’s amusement. He had never been known to send a woman to sleep, and he found that he rather missed her chatter, having become accustomed to her random remarks about perfectly ordinary things and perfectly dull-looking people. Sometimes in the past few weeks, when his day had been particularly gruelling, he had picked up the phone knowing that her good-natured, irrepressible small talk would soothe and entertain him.
‘We’re here,’ he said, turning to her as he pulled into the drive and killed his engine. In a minute his mother would be outside, and he very much looked forward to a weekend spent without that insidious message being passed to him in silent but pointed waves that it was time for him to find himself a good wife and settle down. He had taken her advice and, hats off to his mother, he felt perfectly contented with his decision.
‘Was I asleep?’ Cristina asked, yawning.
‘Asleep and snoring.’
‘I wasn’t!’ She shot up into a sitting position and looked at him in horror, but grinned when she saw the expression on his face.
Rafael kissed her swiftly on the mouth. ‘That’s about all we’ll be getting,’ he murmured. ‘At least while my mother has her beady eyes on us. She’s never been one to approve of public displays of affection. I might just have to creep into your bedroom tonight under cover of darkness.’ He glanced towards the front door and, as it was still shut, he slipped his hand under her shirt. No bra.
He touched one pert nipple with his thumb and felt her quicken and melt under the caress. Did he have time for more? He would have liked to shove that shirt up and fasten his mouth to that sweetly ripened, throbbing bud, would have liked to have her sink further down the plush leather seat so that he could ravish her in the cool, expensive elegance of his car.
Unfortunately …