the chance to be seen for who he was, for once, rather than for what he stood for. And surely one little white lie wasn’t that bad?
‘Can you recommend any shops?’ she asked.
‘It depends what you want. The big designers have shops on the Via Condotti.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Sorry, I’m not really a designer person. How about something … well, not cheap and cheerful, but not ridiculous designer prices, either?’
He loved the fact that she was so no-nonsense. And he’d just bet that she shopped efficiently, rather than dragging round every shop and then going back to the first one at the end of a long, miserable day. ‘Sure. Let’s go.’
Rico discovered that he’d underestimated her on the efficiency front. ‘Colour me impressed,’ he said. ‘I’ve never met a woman who could choose a dress
and
shoes all within the space of twenty minutes.’
Ella frowned. ‘That’s incredibly sexist.’
‘No. It’s based on painful experience,’ he said with a grimace.
‘You’ve been dating the wrong kind of woman,’ she teased.
Now he’d met Ella, he was beginning to think that himself. Which was ridiculous. He didn’t want a relationship; he’d seen first-hand just how messy things could get, and he never wanted to be in that position himself. But there was something about Ella Chandler. Something he couldn’t put his finger on. Something that drew him and scared him at the same time.
They bought cold drinks at a
caffè
and sat watching the world go by for a while, relaxing in the sun.
‘Our table’s booked for eight,’ Rico said. ‘So I’ll have a taxi ready for us at seven-thirty and I’ll pick you up at your room.’
‘That’d be great. Thanks.’
He saw her back to the hotel, then sat on his terrace for a while, thinking about Ella. It would’ve been nice to share the fading afternoon with her here, but the explanations would be way too complicated.
He showered, shaved and changed into a suit, then went to meet Ella. When she opened the door to him, he whistled in appreciation. She’d chosen a very classic black dress and plain high-heeled court shoes: simple, but very effective. ‘You look lovely.’
‘Thank you.’ She blushed prettily. ‘You look nice, too.’
‘Mille grazie.’
He bowed his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. ‘Shall we go?’
At the restaurant, he had a rapid conversation with the
maître d’
in Italian to make sure that what he’d arranged that afternoon still stood; and then they were shown to their table. Just what he’d asked for; it was right by the plate-glass windows with a view over the city.
Watching her pay the bill didn’t sit well with him, but he could see that she wanted to do something nice for him, so he smiled. ‘Thank you. That was a real treat.’
‘My pleasure. I’m glad I shared it with you. And the food was fabulous.’
Rico itched to take her to his rooftop garden again and dance with her in the starlight, but he contented himself with taking a taxi back to the hotel and making love to her in the big, wide bed of the honeymoon suite until they were both satiated and drowsy.
‘So tomorrow, you go home,’ he said, lying with her curled in his arms.
‘My flight’s at four in the afternoon.’
‘Which means you need to check in by two, so you need to leave here at, say, one,’ he mused aloud. ‘You can leave your luggage here—the staff can put it in securestorage until you’re ready to collect it—and I’ll drive you there myself.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Very sure.’ He kissed her. ‘And maybe tomorrow I can show you a bit of underground Rome.’
‘The catacombs, you mean?’
‘They’re a bit of a way out of the city. No, it’s a church just round the corner from the Colosseum. There’s a Roman house in the basement, and you can actually hear the river running past as you walk through the rooms.’ He smiled. ‘And then I guess you’d like a last look at the Colosseum before we go to
‘Can you recommend any shops?’ she asked.
‘It depends what you want. The big designers have shops on the Via Condotti.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Sorry, I’m not really a designer person. How about something … well, not cheap and cheerful, but not ridiculous designer prices, either?’
He loved the fact that she was so no-nonsense. And he’d just bet that she shopped efficiently, rather than dragging round every shop and then going back to the first one at the end of a long, miserable day. ‘Sure. Let’s go.’
Rico discovered that he’d underestimated her on the efficiency front. ‘Colour me impressed,’ he said. ‘I’ve never met a woman who could choose a dress
and
shoes all within the space of twenty minutes.’
Ella frowned. ‘That’s incredibly sexist.’
‘No. It’s based on painful experience,’ he said with a grimace.
‘You’ve been dating the wrong kind of woman,’ she teased.
Now he’d met Ella, he was beginning to think that himself. Which was ridiculous. He didn’t want a relationship; he’d seen first-hand just how messy things could get, and he never wanted to be in that position himself. But there was something about Ella Chandler. Something he couldn’t put his finger on. Something that drew him and scared him at the same time.
They bought cold drinks at a
caffè
and sat watching the world go by for a while, relaxing in the sun.
‘Our table’s booked for eight,’ Rico said. ‘So I’ll have a taxi ready for us at seven-thirty and I’ll pick you up at your room.’
‘That’d be great. Thanks.’
He saw her back to the hotel, then sat on his terrace for a while, thinking about Ella. It would’ve been nice to share the fading afternoon with her here, but the explanations would be way too complicated.
He showered, shaved and changed into a suit, then went to meet Ella. When she opened the door to him, he whistled in appreciation. She’d chosen a very classic black dress and plain high-heeled court shoes: simple, but very effective. ‘You look lovely.’
‘Thank you.’ She blushed prettily. ‘You look nice, too.’
‘Mille grazie.’
He bowed his head in acknowledgement of the compliment. ‘Shall we go?’
At the restaurant, he had a rapid conversation with the
maître d’
in Italian to make sure that what he’d arranged that afternoon still stood; and then they were shown to their table. Just what he’d asked for; it was right by the plate-glass windows with a view over the city.
Watching her pay the bill didn’t sit well with him, but he could see that she wanted to do something nice for him, so he smiled. ‘Thank you. That was a real treat.’
‘My pleasure. I’m glad I shared it with you. And the food was fabulous.’
Rico itched to take her to his rooftop garden again and dance with her in the starlight, but he contented himself with taking a taxi back to the hotel and making love to her in the big, wide bed of the honeymoon suite until they were both satiated and drowsy.
‘So tomorrow, you go home,’ he said, lying with her curled in his arms.
‘My flight’s at four in the afternoon.’
‘Which means you need to check in by two, so you need to leave here at, say, one,’ he mused aloud. ‘You can leave your luggage here—the staff can put it in securestorage until you’re ready to collect it—and I’ll drive you there myself.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Very sure.’ He kissed her. ‘And maybe tomorrow I can show you a bit of underground Rome.’
‘The catacombs, you mean?’
‘They’re a bit of a way out of the city. No, it’s a church just round the corner from the Colosseum. There’s a Roman house in the basement, and you can actually hear the river running past as you walk through the rooms.’ He smiled. ‘And then I guess you’d like a last look at the Colosseum before we go to
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