‘Here. This is a case of our olive oils. There are three types, different varietals, and they’re quite distinctive. Then this is a case of our wines—including a couple of bottles of vintage Brunello. You really need to save them for an important occasion, they’re quite special. There’s a nice vinsanto dessert wine in there, as well. And this is the aceto balsamico I promised you, from my cousin in Modena.’
While she was still standing there open-mouthed, he reached into a cool box and pulled out a leg of lamb and a whole Pecorino cheese.
‘Something for your mother’s larder,’ he said with a smile, and without any warning she burst into tears.
‘Hey,’ he said softly, and wrapping his arms around her, he drew her up against his chest. He could feel the shudders running through her, and he cradled her against his heart and rocked her, shushing her gently. ‘Lydia, please, cara, don’t cry.’
‘I’m not,’ she lied, bunching her fists in his shirt and burrowing into his chest, and he chuckled and hugged her.
‘I don’t think that’s quite true,’ he murmured. ‘Come on, it’s just a few things.’
‘It’s nothing to do with the things,’ she choked out. Her fist hit him squarely in the chest. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, and I was trying to move on, and then you just come back into my life and drop this bombshell on me about the wedding, and of all the times to choose, when I’m already …’
Realisation dawned, and he stroked her hair, gentling her. ‘Oh, cara, I’m sorry. When did he die, the pony?’
She sniffed hard and tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her, he just held her tight, and after a moment she went still, unyielding but resigned. ‘Last week,’ she said, her voice clogged with tears. ‘We found him dead in the field.’
‘And you haven’t cried,’ he said.
She gave up fighting and let her head rest against his chest. ‘No. But he was old.’
‘We lost our dog last year. She was very, very old, and she’d been getting steadily worse. After she died, I didn’t cry for weeks, and then one day it suddenly hit me and I disintegrated. Luca said he thought it was to do with Angelina. Sometimes grief is like that. We can’t acknowledge it for the things that really hurt, and then something else comes along, and it’s safe then to let go, to let out the hurt that you can’t face.’
She lifted her head and looked up at him through her tears.
‘But I don’t hurt.’
‘Don’t you? Even after Russell treated you the way he did? For God’s sake, Lydia, he was supposed to be your lover, and yet when he’d crippled your sister, his only reaction was anger that you’d left him and his business was suffering! What kind of a man is that? Of course you’re hurting.’
She stared at him, hearing her feelings put into words somehow making sense of them all at last. She eased away from him, needing a little space, her emotions settling now.
‘You know I can’t say no, don’t you? To your proposition?’
His mouth quirked slightly and he nodded slowly and let her go. ‘Yes. I do know, and I realise it’s unfair to ask this of you, but—I need help for Carlotta, and you need the wedding. This way, we both win.’
Or lose, depending on whether or not he could keep his heart intact, seeing her every day, working alongside her, knowing she’d be just there in the room beside his office, taunting him even in her sleep.
She met his eyes, her own troubled. ‘I don’t want an affair. I can’t do it. One night was dangerous enough. I’m not ready, and I don’t want to hurt your children.’
He nodded. ‘I know. And I agree. If I wanted an affair, it would be with a woman my children would never meet, someone they wouldn’t lose their hearts to. But I would like to be your friend, Lydia. I don’t know if that could work but I would like to try.’
No. It couldn’t work. It was impossible, because she was already more than half in love with him, but—Jen needed her wedding, and she’d already had it snatched away from her once. This was another chance, equally as crazy, equally as dangerous, if not more so.
It was a chance she had to take.
‘OK, I’ll do it,’ she said, without giving herself any further time to think, and his shoulders dropped slightly and he smiled.
‘Grazie, cara. Grazie mille. And I know you aren’t doing it for me, but for your sister and also for Carlotta, and for that, I thank you even more.’
He hugged her—just a gentle, affectionate hug between friends, or so he told himself as she slid her arms round him and hugged him back, but the feel of her in his arms, the soft pressure of her breasts, the smell of her shampoo and the warmth of her body against his all told him he was lying.
He was in this right up to his neck, and if he couldn’t hold it together for the next two months—but he had to. There was no choice. Neither of them was ready for this.
He let her go, stepped back and dumped the lamb and the cheese in her arms. ‘Let’s go back in.’
‘Talk to me about your dream wedding,’ he said to Jen, after they’d taken all the things in from the car.
Her smile tugged his heartstrings. ‘I don’t dream about my wedding. The last time I did that, it turned into a nightmare for Lydia, so I’m keeping my feet firmly on the ground from now on, and we’re going to do something very simple and quiet from here, and it’ll be fine.’
‘What if I was to offer you the palazzo as a venue?’ he suggested, and Jen’s jaw dropped.
‘What?’ she said, and then shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’
‘The same deal as the hotel.’
She stared, looking from Lydia to Massimo and back again, and shook her head once more. ‘I don’t …’
‘They need me,’ Lydia explained. ‘Carlotta’s not well, and if I cook for the harvest season, you can have your wedding. I don’t have another job yet, and it’s good experience and an interesting place to work, so I thought it might be a good idea.’
‘I’ve brought a DVD of my brother’s wedding so you can see the setting. It might help you to decide.’
He handed it to her, and she handed it straight back.
‘There’s a catch,’ she said, her voice strained. ‘Lydia?’
‘No catch. I work, you get the wedding.’
‘But—that’s so generous!’
‘Nonsense. We’d have to pay a caterer to do the job, and it would cost easily as much.’
‘But—Lydia, what about you? You were looking for another job, and you were talking about setting up an outside catering business. How can you do that if you’re out of the country? No, I can’t let you do it!’
‘Tough, kid,’ she said firmly, squashing her tears again. Heavens, she never cried, and this man was turning her into a fountain! ‘I’m not doing it just for you, anyway. This is a job—a real job, believe me. And you know what I’m like. I’d love to know more about Italian food—real, proper country food—and this is my chance, so don’t go getting all soppy on me, all right? My catering business will keep. Just say thank you and shut up.’
‘Thank you and shut up,’ she said meekly, and then burst into tears.
Lydia cooked the leg of lamb for supper and served it with rosemary roast potatoes and a redcurrant jus, and carrots and