‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
‘I mean…’ She was flustered, for she was not used to idle conversation. ‘I’ve always wondered what it must look like.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Rafe said again, and this time she flushed. ‘Which is your favourite view?’ he asked.
‘The one from the dining room. From there you can see the valley.’
‘Show me.’
As easily as that, he joined her at the window.
‘When I left,’ Antonietta said, ‘that whole stretch of valley was black and scorched from wild fires.’ She pointed to a large clearing atop a hillside. ‘My family’s property is up there.’
‘Was it razed in the fires?’
‘No, the fires stopped short of Silibri, but in the next village, where I also have family, there was a lot of damage. It’s hard now to remember that it was so dead and black. I came back in spring, for Nico and Aurora’s wedding, and the whole valley was a riot of colour. I have never seen it so alive. I find the view soothing. It reminds me that, as terrible as the fires were, they were good for the land.’
‘So you stayed on after the wedding?’
‘No,’ Antonietta said. ‘I went to Rome for a year, but I wanted to be back here for Christmas.’ She gave him a tight smile. Certainly, she was not going to reveal that right now a happy family Christmas was looking less and less likely. ‘I had better get on.’
‘Of course.’
Nothing was left unchecked.
No cushion left unturned or unplumped.
And still Rafe did not go for his run. Instead he made a couple of phone calls, and it turned her insides to liquid to hear his deep voice flow in the language she loved.
‘You are French?’ she asked, after the second call had ended, although usually she would not pry.
‘No,’ Rafe said. ‘But it is the language of my home.’
‘Oh?’
‘Tulano,’ he added. ‘It is between Italy and France…’
‘I know where it is,’ Antonietta said. ‘I visited there once. Only briefly, though.’
His eyes narrowed a touch. In truth, Rafe did not believe she didn’t know who he was. The maid yesterday had slipped up and called him by his full first name—Rafael—and the concierge had done the same when recommending a trail to run.
Soon, he was sure, his location would be leaked and the press would be here. The brief respite from the world would be over.
He asked her a question. ‘Do you speak French?’
‘Some—although not as much as I would like. I was there for four years,’ she said, and then switched to French and told him that his Italian was better than her French. ‘Votre Italien est meilleur que mon Français.’
And he responded. ‘Ta voix est délicieuse dans les deux langues.’
She had been away from France for over a year, and it took her a moment to translate it, but as she did a heated blush crept up her neck.
Had he just said that her voice was delightful in both languages?
Were they flirting?
And if they were then why wasn’t she halting it?
Why wasn’t she running for cover, as she usually did whenever a man, let alone a guest, got a little too close?
Only Rafe wasn’t too close for comfort. And Antonietta looked at the eyes that held hers as she responded. ‘Ainsi est le tien.’
So is yours.
It was the tiniest nod to his effect on her, and yet it felt rather huge to Antonietta.
There was another phone call for Rafe, and this time he answered in Italian, taking it out on the balcony.
Though she did not eavesdrop, his low voice reached her and it was clear that he was speaking with Nico. She felt a little flip of disappointment when she heard him state that he would not be staying for much longer.
The call ended and she looked over to where he sat, his long legs stretched out on another chair, his dark eyes scanning the grounds as a prisoner’s might, as if looking for a way to escape. She could almost feel his restlessness, Antonietta thought as she headed out onto the balcony to finish her work.
‘That was Nico,’ he said, though he had absolutely no need to do so. ‘Checking that I’m being looked after. He suggests that I take a wander into the village.’
‘There are nice cafés there,’ Antonietta said, and deliberately kept her voice casual. But there was a flip in her stomach at the thought he might be bored. ‘Have you been down to the temple ruins?’
‘No—that is where Pino suggested I ran.’
‘And the ocean is glorious,’ Antonietta said, and then stopped herself. It was not her job to sell the village to a reluctant guest.
‘You live in the village?’
‘No. Nico and Aurora have been very good to me. They knew coming back would be difficult…’ She briefly closed her eyes, instantly regretting revealing so much, and then hurriedly spoke on. ‘So they gave me a cottage in the grounds.’ She pointed in the vague direction of the helipad, over to the far side of the Old Monastery.
‘That must be very…’ He hesitated, not wanting to say isolated.
Already, for Rafe, no matter how spacious and luxurious the August Suite, no matter how glorious the grounds, cabin fever was seriously hitting. This place really was in the middle of nowhere, and he’d been considering checking out later today.
Yet he was starting to change his mind.
Rafe wanted more of her smile, of her conversation—much, much more of her.
It was not as simple as that, though.
If their relationship were to evolve, then she needed to sign a non-disclosure agreement. She would have to be be vetted by his security staff and her phone would be confiscated before they so much as went out for dinner.
It could be no other way.
Yes, he had had a couple of relationships without such arrangements, but they had been with titled women and potential wives. This Antonietta could never be that. And he must test the waters to find out how she felt.
‘That must be very quiet,’ Rafe said.
‘No,’ Antonietta refuted as she watered the jasmine. ‘I can hear the waves, and I am by the helipad so there are helicopters coming and going. Believe me, they are loud when they’re overhead. But most of the time it is nice and peaceful.’
‘Still…’ Rafe said, and his voice was low as his eyes commanded hers to meet his. ‘One can have too much tranquillity.’
Their eyes met and his words travelled through her like a current. Looking hastily away, she saw the slight shake of her hand as she watered the flowers and felt the devilish pull of his smooth voice.
Something told Antonietta that her response mattered, for his statement had felt like a question. More…it had felt like an invitation.
One she rapidly chose to decline.
‘I am all for tranquillity,’ Antonietta said rather crisply.
And instead of meeting his eyes, or thinking of something witty to add, she went back to her list and added a tick.
The flowers were