To secure his heir…

The night that Rose Palmer met enigmatic Italian tycoon Dante Fortinari she threw caution to the wind, allowing him to sweep her off her feet and into his bed! But by the next morning Dante was gone, leaving Rose heartbroken, alone…and pregnant.

Two years later, Rose comes face-to-face with the father of her daughter and can no longer hide the truth of that night. She knew he’d be angry, but never expected him to demand marriage! She longs to accept, but can her heart withstand life with a man who might never love her back?

‘Hold on!’ She shook her head decisively. ‘That’s not going to happen, Dante.’

He pulled her to her feet and stood staring down at her. ‘We made a child together—’

Rose held her ground. ‘I didn’t tell you about Bea to force you to marry me, Dante. I don’t want—or need—a husband.’

‘But this is not all about you, Rose,’ he flung at her. ‘My daughter needs a father. You have not considered this?’

‘Are you serious? Of course I have!’ She sighed wearily. ‘But I like being in charge of my own life—and of hers. If I married you, Dante, I suppose you would expect me to uproot us to live with you in Italy?’

‘Naturalmente. I have a home ready for you,’ he said swiftly.

Rose shook her head firmly. ‘It’s not the basis for a marriage, Dante.’

‘You would find it so hard to be my wife?’ he demanded, eyes glittering.

In some ways not hard at all, but that wasn’t the point. ‘I think it’s a mistake to rush into anything, Dante,’ she said at last.

Dante stood with long legs apart and arms folded as he stared down at her. ‘I will do whatever it takes to make it happen.’

ONE NIGHT WITH CONSEQUENCES

A high price to pay for giving in to temptation!

When succumbing to a night of unbridled desire it’s impossible to think past the morning after!

But with the sheets barely settled that little blue line appears on the pregnancy test and it doesn’t take long to realise that one night of white-hot passion has turned into a lifetime of consequences!

Only one question remains:

How do you tell a man you’ve just met that you’re about to share more than just his bed?

If you enjoy DANTE’S UNEXPECTED LEGACY

why not try these?

A SECRET UNTIL NOW by Kim Lawrence

A DEAL WITH BENEFITS by Susanna Carr

PROOF OF THEIR SIN by Dani Collins

Dante’s Unexpected Legacy

Catherine George

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CATHERINE GEORGE was born in Wales, and early on developed a passion for reading which eventually fuelled her compulsion to write. Marriage to an engineer led to nine years in Brazil, but on his later travels the education of her son and daughter kept her in the UK. Instead of constant reading to pass her lonely evenings, she began to write the first of her romantic novels. When not writing and reading she loves to cook, listen to opera, and browse in antiques shops.

MILLS & BOON

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This one’s for Justin

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EXTRACT

CHAPTER ONE

ROSE SAT RIGIDLY, every nerve on edge as the plane took off. No turning back now. For years she’d been turning down invitations to Florence, flatly refusing to be parted from her little daughter, or to take her child with her. But this time refusal had been impossible.

‘Please, please come,’ Charlotte had begged. ‘Just you and me in a luxury hotel for a couple of days. God knows you can do with a break, and I’ll pay for everything and send you a plane ticket, so absolutely no expenses on your part. You know Bea will be fine with your mother, so don’t say no this time. I really need you, Rose. So come. Please!’ she’d added, and because Charlotte was her oldest and closest friend and she loved her like a sister, Rose had finally given in.

‘Oh, all right. If it means that much to you I will. But why a hotel and not your place?’

‘I want you all to myself.’

‘Fabio can’t be cool about this. It’s your wedding anniversary, isn’t it?’

‘He’ll be away for it on some business trip,’ said Charlotte miserably. ‘Besides, he doesn’t know about the hotel yet. But I’ve already booked, so there’s nothing he can do about it—not that he would, of course.’

Rose wasn’t so sure. A possessive husband like Fabio Vilari would surely be anything but cool if his wife took a hotel break in Florence without him, even if it was with her lifelong friend and the bridesmaid at their wedding. But from the moment Rose had said a reluctant yes to the trip Charlotte rang every day to make sure that she hadn’t changed her mind, and in her final call sprang a surprise with instructions to take a taxi from Santa Maria Novella railway station to the hotel. ‘I’ll meet you there later in time for dinner, Rose. I can’t wait!’

Money, if the hotel brochure was anything to go by, was obviously not part of Charlotte’s problem, but if something was going wrong with her marriage Rose couldn’t see what earthly help a single parent like herself could give her friend, other than to provide a sympathetic ear. Still, the note of tearful desperation in her friend’s voice had been so worrying that Rose had enlisted her mother’s willing help, covered her child’s face with kisses and made for Heathrow with her shoulder ready for Charlotte to cry on.

On terra firma in Pisa Airport, Rose concentrated on collecting her luggage and finding the train for Florence, but once she’d boarded it the Tuscan scenery passed her by almost unnoticed in her worry about possible problems left behind and the all-too-probable ones awaiting her at journey’s end. Her daughter was used to spending time with her beloved gramma while Rose went out to work, but Mummy had always been home before bedtime. Rose blinked hard. The thought of her darling Bea crying for her in the night was unbearable. Yet Charlotte had been there for Rose through thick and thin in the past, and now her friend was the one needing help and support for once Rose had no option but to get to her as quickly as possible to provide it.

Rose came to with a start as the train pulled into Santa Maria Novella and was soon wheeling her suitcase through the heat and bustle of the crowds streaming from the lofty station into the late afternoon Florentine sunshine, so very different from the cool mists left behind. The taxi driver who eventually picked her up took a look at her hotel brochure and whisked her on a fast, chaotic drive past tall old buildings in narrow streets filled with honking cars and scooters en route to the banks of the River Arno. Rose stared, impressed, when they reached the hotel. Charlotte was certainly pushing the boat out for her. A flight of stone steps with a red carpet runner led up to an arched doorway crowned by a fabulous Venetian glass fanlight. Rose paid the driver, wishing she’d worn something more elegant than denim jeans and jacket for her red carpet entrance as she trailed her suitcase past marble statues and urns of flowers in the vaulted foyer. She approached the man behind the reception desk at the foot of a sweeping staircase and gave him her name.

‘Buonasera,’ he said courteously, but to her relief continued in English. ‘Welcome to Florence, Miss Palmer. If you will just sign the register? I am to inform you that Signora Vilari has ordered dinner for two in the hotel restaurant this evening.’

Rose smiled gratefully. ‘Thank you.’

‘Prego. If you require anything at all, please ring. Enjoy your stay.’

A porter took charge of the luggage to escort Rose to a lift rather like an ornate brass birdcage. It took them up two floors at such a leisurely rate she could have walked up faster, but she was utterly delighted when she reached her room. She tipped the porter and went straight out onto a balcony looking down on the River Arno, her feelings a heady mix of trepidation and excitement as she recognised the sun-gilded bridge farther upstream as the famous Ponte Vecchio. She was actually, unbelievably, here in Florence at last. She sent a text to Charlotte to confirm her arrival, and then rang her mother.

‘No problems, darling; Bea’s as happy as a lark,’ Grace Palmer assured her. ‘She’s playing with Tom in the garden before her bath. Do you want to speak to her?’

‘I just long to, Mum, but I won’t in case it upsets her. If she’s happy let’s keep her that way.’

‘She’ll be fine. You know we’ll take good care of her, so for heaven’s sake, relax and enjoy yourself.’

Rose promised to try, said there was no news from Charlotte yet, but would report tomorrow. She chose a tonic from the minibar and sat back on one of the reclining chairs on the balcony to breathe in the scents and sounds of Florence as she watched the traffic stream past across the river. For the first time in for ever at this time of day she had absolutely nothing to do—but missed her child too much to enjoy it. Stop it, she told herself irritably. Now she was here it was only sensible to make the most of her short break in this beautiful city. But what on earth was going on with Charlotte and Fabio? Could Fabio be cheating on her? Rose glowered. In the unlikely event that she ever acquired a husband herself her gut reaction would be grievous bodily harm if the man started playing away. She checked her silent phone again, took a last look at the sparkling waters of the Arno and went inside to soak in the bath for as long as she liked for once.

With still no word from Charlotte, the uneasiness grew as Rose got ready for the evening. To keep occupied, she took longer over her appearance than she ever had time for normally and even coaxed her newly washed hair into an intricate up-do. She nodded at her reflection in approval. Not bad. Her long-serving little black dress looked pretty good now she’d lost a pound or two. Charlotte’s clothes were always wonderful, courtesy of a wealthy, besotted husband—Rose bit her lip, wondering if there lay the problem. Maybe Fabio Vilari was no longer so besotted. Or, worst scenario of all, was now besotted with someone else.

She leapt away from the mirror as the phone rang. At last!

‘Hello,’ she said eagerly, but her face fell at the news that a letter had arrived for her.

A letter?

‘Thank you. I’ll come down for it right away.’ And wait for Charlotte downstairs with a drink.

Too impatient to wait for the lift, Rose hurried down the imposing staircase as fast as she could in her kept-for-best heels and crossed the foyer to the reception desk. The bulky envelope, addressed in Charlotte’s unmistakable scrawl, was handed to her, along with the information that the gentleman who’d delivered it wished to speak with her.

‘Buonasera, Rose,’ said a voice behind her. ‘Welcome to Firenze.’

Her heart, which had taken a nosedive at the sight of Charlotte’s handwriting, flew up to hammer Rose in the ribs. To hide her horrified reaction, she turned very slowly to confront a tall, slim man with dark curling hair and a face that could be straight out of a Raphael portrait. A face she had never forgotten, though heaven knew she had tried. Here in the handsome, irresistible flesh was her reason for refusing all invitations to Tuscany—to avoid meeting up with her daughter’s father again.

‘Good heavens—Dante Fortinari,’ she said lightly when she could trust her voice. ‘What a surprise!’

‘A pleasant one, I hope?’ He took her hand, a light in his blue eyes that made her want to turn tail and run. ‘I am so very happy to see you again, Rose. Will you have a drink while you read your letter?’

Her first reaction was to refuse point-blank and tell him to get lost, but after a pause she nodded warily. ‘Thank you.’

‘Come.’ He led her to a table in the hushed sophistication of the lounge bar. ‘You would like wine?’

She felt in crying need of something even stronger than wine after the shock of seeing him again, but to keep her wits about her opted for water. ‘Sparkling water, please. Will you excuse me while I read this?’

Dante Fortinari gave the order to a waiter then sat watching intently while she read her letter. Rose Palmer had changed in the years since their last meeting at Charlotte Vilari’s wedding over four years ago. Then she had been an innocent just past her twenty-first birthday, but now she was very much a woman. Hair still the colour of caramello was swept up in a precarious knot that made his fingers yearn to bring it tumbling down. Combined with the severe dress, it gave her a look of sophistication very different from his memory of her. His mouth twisted. She had been so irresistible in her happiness for her friend that day, but the carefree young bridesmaid had now matured into a poised, self-contained adult who was very obviously not pleased to see him. This was no surprise. He had half expected her to snatch her letter and walk away, refusing to talk to him at all.

Rose, in the meantime, was reading Charlotte’s note in dismay.

You’ll want to hit me, love, when you read this—I don’t blame you one bit. Fabio woke me up yesterday morning with flowers, a gorgeous gold bracelet, plus tickets for a surprise trip to New York for today of all days.

God, Rose, the relief was enormous. I came across the tickets and hotel reservation by accident a while ago and immediately pole-vaulted to the wrong conclusion—that Fabio was taking someone else and pretending it was a business trip. And on our wedding anniversary! That was why I needed you so badly.

Sorry to be such a drama queen—I’ve been a total idiot. I was about to ring you to grovel and cancel your trip when Fabio insisted a little holiday would be very good for you after all your efforts to get away. I agreed wholeheartedly, so take it easy, Rose, and enjoy a taste of la dolce vita before you fly back. Lord knows you deserve it.

Enclosed is some spending money for meals and shopping—and Fabio says don’t dare refuse it or he’ll be very hurt. Buy presents, if nothing else. I’ll fly over to catch up very soon.

Love always, Charlotte.

‘Bad news?’ asked Dante.

Rose gave him a dazed look. ‘I flew here to meet Charlotte for a little holiday, but Fabio’s taken her on a surprise trip to New York today instead.’ She smiled valiantly to mask her crushing disappointment. ‘Never mind. I’ve always wanted to visit Florence.’

‘But in company with your friend, not alone.’ Sympathy gleamed in the vivid blue eyes that had haunted her dreams and given her many a disturbed night in the past. Not that she was ever short of those in the present.

Rose shrugged philosophically. ‘I’d prefer that, of course, but I certainly won’t lack something to do in a city like Florence. I’ll explore as many museums and galleries as possible, enjoy glorious meals and gaze into shop windows as much as I like.’ And even swallow her pride and spend some of the money sent with the letter.

‘But all that is for tomorrow. Tonight, it is time to dine. Charlotte has made a dinner reservation for two here tonight.’ Dante reached across to touch her hand. ‘Allora, since she cannot join you, it would give me much pleasure to take her place.’

Rose snatched her hand away. ‘Will you bring your wife along, too?’

‘Cosa?’ He sat back, his eyes suddenly arctic. ‘You forget. I no longer have a wife.’

Rose winced. Had his wife died? ‘I...I apologise. I didn’t know.’

He raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘Charlotte did not tell you that Elsa left me?’

‘No.’

‘You surprise me! In Fortino it was such a hot topic of conversation I was grateful when my travels took me to the vineyards of California for a while.’ He drained his glass. ‘But now you know I am solo again, and have been for years, may I have the honour of your company at dinner tonight, Miss Palmer?’

She studied him in silence. Her first instinct was to refuse. But she was secretly daunted by the thought of dining alone in such opulent and formal surroundings. Even so, after refusing for years to come to Italy in case she ran into Dante Fortinari again, it would be wiser to have some food sent to her room rather than accept the company of the man who’d caused total upheaval in her life after their first and only meeting. Her brain, which was still furious with him, ordered her to refuse point-blank, but her heart, the unruly organ which had got her into trouble in the first place, was urging her to forget wisdom for once. And, idiot that she was, that was what she was going to do. She would never come here again, so what harm in making use of him?

‘You are taking much time to decide, Rose,’ Dante pointed out. ‘Do you wish for my company or not?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’ She eyed him curiously. ‘How did you get involved in acting as delivery boy for Charlotte?’

He shrugged. ‘Fabio offered to deliver a package to a friend of mine in New York and Charlotte requested a favour in return. I was most happy to do this because it meant meeting you again, Rose.’ He signalled to a waiter for some menus.

‘But do you have a place here in Florence these days? I vaguely remember that you lived in the family home at the Fortinari vineyards.’

‘I did at one time, but now I own a house a few kilometres from our vineyards at Fortino. Now my father is retired I help run the business with my brother, Leo. He is maestro of production; I am good at the selling,’ Dante said without conceit.

No need to tell her that. ‘You came a long way just to deliver a letter.’

‘A trip to Firenze is always a pleasure,’ he assured her, and held her eyes very deliberately. ‘Also, I wanted very much to see you again.’

‘I’m surprised you even remembered me after all this time,’ she said tartly.

‘I have never forgotten you, Rose,’ he assured her, and for the first time gave her the bone-melting smile that had caused all the trouble in the first place. ‘Allora, what do you like to eat?’

‘Practically anything I don’t have to cook myself!’

He eyed her over the top of his menu. ‘You live alone?’

‘No. I share a house not far from my mother.’

‘I remember her well—a very lovely lady who looks much too young to be your mother.’

‘That she does.’ Rose returned to her menu. ‘What do you recommend?’

‘If you like fish the salmon will be good here. Or there is the bistecca alla Fiorentina, the famous steak of the region. You have travelled a long way today, Rose; you must be hungry.’

‘I am, but not enough to attempt a steak. I’ll have the salmon.’ Her stomach was in such knots that she was sure she’d only be able to manage a bite or two at the most.

Rose listened as he gave the order to the waiter, wishing she could understand the rapid, melodious interchange. She had once fancied learning Italian to add to her schoolgirl French, but studies of a different kind had taken up all her time.

Later, experiencing the effortless service Charlotte had described, Rose was glad of Dante’s company among the elegantly dressed diners. She would have felt uncomfortable dining alone. Instead, now she was over the first shock of meeting up with him again, she enjoyed the ravioli in sage-fragrant butter sauce Dante insisted she try for a first course, and ate her share of the exquisite little vegetables served with their main course. But she kept firmly to water instead of the wine he offered.

‘You drank champagne the first time we met,’ Dante reminded her. ‘You were such a delight in that charming dress.’

‘It was a long time ago,’ she said coolly.

‘You do not remember the occasion with pleasure?’

Her eyes clashed with his. ‘Of course I do. It was Charlotte’s wedding day. She was on cloud nine and I had just left university with a respectable degree. Euphoria all round.’

He held the look in silence for a moment then got up to escort her to the bar. ‘Will you take a little cognac with your coffee?’

‘Since I abstained over dinner, I will, please.’ Rose needed some kind of stimulant for once. A sip of the fiery spirit helped her to relax a little as she looked across at her companion. Now she could study him objectively without wanting to hit him, he looked a lot older and harder-edged than the effervescent charmer who’d made Charlotte’s wedding so memorable for the bridesmaid. There had been other young Italian men among Fabio’s relatives and friends at the wedding, but Dante had monopolised Rose so completely she’d had no eyes for anyone else.

‘You are very quiet,’ he observed.

‘It’s been a very eventful day.’

‘So tell me all about your life, Rose.’

‘I run a bookkeeping business from home.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘You did not take up your career in accountancy?’

‘No, though the qualifications come in very handy in my line of business.’ She changed the subject. ‘Dante, I know it’s a bit late to say this, but I was very sorry about your grandmother.’

‘Grazie. I miss her very much.’

‘Do you miss your wife, too?’

‘No. Not at all.’ His eyes hardened. ‘The marriage was a bad mistake. When Elsa soon left me for another man my brother said I should thank God for such good fortune. Leo was right.’

Rose looked him in the eye. ‘Odd you forgot to mention Elsa when we first met.’

His mouth twisted. ‘I did not forget. I refused to let thoughts of her spoil my time with you. I was very angry because she refused to cancel a fashion shoot to accompany me to Fabio’s wedding.’

‘So you made do with me.’

‘No! This is not true, Rose. I took great delight in your company.’ His eyes held hers. ‘Am I too late to apologise for leaving you so suddenly?’

‘I completely understood when I heard that your grandmother had died.’ She held the brilliant blue gaze steadily. ‘Not so much when I was told about Elsa.’

His jaw clenched as he beckoned to a waiter. ‘I need more cognac. Will you join me?’

‘No, thanks.’ She got up. ‘I’m a bit tired, Dante, so—’

‘No!’ He sprang up. ‘It is early yet. Stay a little longer with me, Rose, per favore.’

Since only sheer pride had forced her to make the first move, she nodded graciously and sat down again, eyeing Dante’s glass. ‘Should you be drinking that before a long drive?’

‘I am not driving. I have reserved a room here at the hotel tonight so that I can be your guide to the city tomorrow.’

Rose stiffened. ‘Charlotte asked you to do this?’

‘No, she did not. It was my idea.’ He lifted a shoulder, his eyes cold again. ‘Non importa, if you do not desire my company I will leave in the morning.’

That would be the best move all round, as Rose knew only too well. But she was a stranger in a city foreign to her and didn’t speak a word of Italian, so it was only practical to take advantage of someone native to the place. After all the trouble he’d caused her, he might as well make himself useful.

‘I’d appreciate your services as guide, Dante. Thank you.’

‘It is my great pleasure, Rose!’ He reached across the table to touch her hand, eyes warm again. ‘I will try to make your stay memorable.’

He wouldn’t have to try hard. In spite of her initial rage at the sight of him, it had taken only a minute in Dante’s company again to remember how easy it had been to fall in love with him all those years ago. He’d been a charming, attentive companion who’d shown unmistakable signs of returning her feelings on Charlotte’s wedding day, which had made it all the more devastating when she’d learned about his missing fiancée after he’d gone. In sick, outraged reaction to the blow, she had immediately blanked him out of her mind and pretended she’d never met him. And because she’d flatly refused to listen whenever his name came up, Charlotte had eventually given up mentioning him. Yet Charlotte had sent Dante to the hotel with her letter. Rose made a note to have words with Signora Vilari on the subject next time they spoke.

She took her hand away. ‘Won’t it be boring for you, Dante, showing me round a city you know so well?’

He shook his head. ‘Firenze will seem new to me, seen through your eyes. But why have you not been here before, Rose? I had hoped so much to see you again when you visited Charlotte, but you never came.’

‘Too much work to get away. And I see her regularly when she comes to visit her father.’

‘She told me Signor Morley shares his life with your mother. You are happy with this?’

Rose nodded. ‘It’s a happy arrangement all round.’

‘It was plain that you were all close at the wedding. I am fortunate to possess both my parents, but no longer, alas, my grandmother. I adored her and miss her still.’ Dante’s eyes lit with sudden heat. ‘Only the message telling me she was dying could have torn me away from you so suddenly that night, you understand? But, grazie a Dio, because I left immediately I arrived at the Villa Castiglione in good time to say goodbye to Nonna and hold her hand in mine before she...she left us.’

‘I’m glad of that,’ said Rose quietly. Though at the time she hadn’t believed a word of it, convinced the call had been from some girlfriend—a theory which had seemed proved beyond all doubt next morning when she found out about Elsa.

‘Nonna left her house to me.’ Dante’s eyes darkened. ‘At first I did not want the Villa Castiglione, afraid I would miss her there too much. But because it was Nonna’s greatest wish my parents persuaded me to live there.’

‘Alone? You’ve found no replacement for Elsa yet?’

‘No.’ He arched a wry black eyebrow. ‘You think such a thing is easy for me?’

‘I don’t think about you at all.’ She shrugged. ‘After all, I only met you once.’

His eyes narrowed to an unsettling gleam. ‘And you did not look back with pleasure on that meeting!’

‘Oh, yes, most of it. I had a great time with you all day. But once I knew you were spoken for I never gave you another thought.’ She smiled sweetly and got to her feet. ‘Now I really must go to bed.’

He walked with her to the ornate lift. ‘I shall take much pleasure in our tour of Firenze, Rose.’

‘You must tell me what to see.’

‘When do you fly home?’

‘Thursday morning.’

‘So soon!’ He frowned. ‘But that gives you only one day for the sightseeing. We must meet early for breakfast.’

‘I thought I’d have it sent up—’

‘No, no.’ Dante shook his head imperiously. ‘I will take you to breakfast in the Piazza della Signora to begin on the sightseeing as we eat. We shall meet down here at nine, d’accordo?’

Rose nodded. ‘I’ll enjoy the luxury of a lie-in for once.’

‘You rise early for your work?’

‘Much too early.’ She smiled politely as the lift glided to a halt and pressed the button for her floor. ‘Which one for you?’

‘The same.’ He showed her his room number. ‘So if you are nervous in the night you can call me and I will come.’

Rose shot him an arctic look. ‘Not going to happen, Dante.’

‘Che peccato!’ When they reached her room, Dante opened the door and stood aside with a bow. ‘Now lock your door to show me you are safe.’

Rose nodded formally. ‘Thank you for your company this evening, Dante.’

His lips twitched. ‘Because it was better than none?’

Rose let her silence speak for her as she closed and locked the door.

Dante made for his room and went out onto his balcony, deep in thought as he stared down at the Arno. Rose Palmer was very different now from the girl he’d fallen more and more in love with as the hours passed during that memorable day. Even in the rush to reach his grandmother’s side, and the searing grief that followed, it had been impossible to stop thinking of the girl he’d been forced to abandon so suddenly that night. He had made a vow to apologise to Rose in person when she first visited the Vilaris. But she never came and the apologies were never made.

It was no surprise that she had been hostile at first tonight. Whereas he had felt a great leap of his heart at the first sight of her, and an urgent need to offer comfort when she found Charlotte wasn’t joining her. He had seized the chance to propose his own company instead. He smiled sardonically, well aware that Rose had accepted the offer only because it was marginally preferable to spending her brief time in Florence alone. Tomorrow, therefore, he must do everything in his power to make her stay pleasurable before she went back to her bookkeeping. He shook his head in wonder. Could she not do something more interesting with her life?

* * *

Convinced, for a variety of reasons, that she’d lie awake all night, Rose fell asleep the instant she closed her eyes. When she opened them again the room was bright with early sunshine, and with a gasp she shot upright to grab her phone, and smiled in relief when she saw a message from her mother. Grace Palmer had come late to the skills of texting, and the message was brief:

Everything fine. Have lovely day.

Reassured, Rose sent off a grateful response and then stretched out in the comfortable bed, feeling rested after the surprise of the best night’s sleep she’d had for ages. Eventually, she wrapped herself in the hotel robe and went out on the balcony, face uplifted to the sunshine. Since she was here at last, doing the last thing she’d expected to do, pride urged her to make herself as presentable as possible now Dante Fortinari was to be her guide.

In the years since she’d last seen him she’d persuaded herself he couldn’t possibly be as gorgeous as she remembered. And she was right. Now Dante was in his early thirties maturity had added an extra dimension to his dark good looks—something her wilful hormones responded to even while the rest of her disapproved. So since a capricious fate—or Charlotte—had brought them together again, she would make use of his escort for a day and then tomorrow, back home in the real world, erase him from her life. Once again.

Dante had worn a suit cut by some Italian master of the craft the evening before, so if he’d decided to stay on the spur of the moment it seemed likely he’d have to wear the same thing again today. With that in mind, Rose went for pink cotton jeans instead of the denims worn for travelling. With a plain white cotton tee, small gold hoops in her ears and her hair caught back with a big tortoiseshell barrette, she slid her feet into the flats brought for sightseeing with Charlotte and felt ready to take on the day.

Dante was waiting in the foyer when she went downstairs shortly before nine, his look of gleaming appreciation worth all her effort. ‘Buongiorno, Rose. You look delightful!’

So did Dante. She raised an eyebrow at his pale linen trousers and crisp blue shirt. ‘Thank you. You’ve been shopping?’

He shook his head. ‘It is my custom to keep a packed bag in the car.’

Her lips twitched. ‘Ready for unexpected sleepovers?’

He grinned, looking suddenly more like the youthful Dante she remembered. ‘You are thinking the wrong thing, cara. I do this to impress the clients. Here in Italy, image is everything.’ He looked at her feet with approval. ‘Bene, you are prepared for walking.’

‘Always.’ As they left the hotel she looked at the sparkling river in delight. ‘Though my daily walks at home are in rather different surroundings from these.’

‘But the town you live in is a pleasant place, yes?’

She nodded. ‘Still, it’s good to take a short break from it. My only time away from home before was in university.’

‘I remember your pleasure at doing well in your final exams, and the celebrations which followed them.’ He frowned as they began to walk. ‘But you did not continue with the accountancy.’

‘No, I didn’t.’ She waved a hand at the beautiful buildings they were passing. ‘So talk, Signor Guide. Give me names to go with all this architecture.’

Dante obliged in detail as they walked with the river on one side and tall, beautiful old buildings on the other. But eventually he steered Rose away from the Arno to make for the Piazza della Signora with its dominant fifteenth century Palazzo Veccio that still, Dante informed her, served as Town Hall to Florence. He steered her past the queues for the famous Uffizi Gallery and the statues in the Loggia dei Lanzi on their way to the Caffe Rivoire. ‘You may look at all the sculpture you wish later,’ he said firmly and seated her at an outdoor table with a view of the entire Piazza. ‘But now we eat.’

Rose nodded. ‘Whatever you say. Breakfast is a rushed affair at home, so I shall enjoy this.’ In the buzz of this sunlit square packed with people—and pigeons—she could hardly fail. She sat drinking it all in to report on later.

‘I will buy you a guidebook so that you may show your mother what you have seen,’ said Dante as the waiter brought their meal. ‘You will take orange juice?’

‘Thank you.’ As she sipped, her eyes roved over the statuary she could see everywhere, and felt a sudden stab of envy for the man sitting so relaxed beside her.

‘That is a very cold look you give me,’ commented Dante, offering a plate of warm rolls.

‘I was thinking how privileged you are to live in a place like this. You probably take all this wonderful sculpture for granted.’

‘Not so. I do not live in the city,’ he reminded her. ‘Therefore, I marvel at it every time I return. And, Signorina Tourist, these statues were erected for more than decoration. The big white Neptune in the fountain with his water nymphs commemorates ancient Tuscan naval victories.’

‘How about the sexy Perseus brandishing Medusa’s severed head over there? Just look at those muscles!’

Dante laughed, his eyes dancing at the look on her face. ‘He is a Medici warning to enemies, while the replica of Michelangelo’s David represents Republican triumph over tyranny.’ He shook his head. ‘Enough of the lessons. What would you like to do next?’

‘Could we just sit here for a while, Dante?’ Rose refused to feel guilty because she was enjoying herself so much. She could go back to resentment and hostility later.

‘Whatever you wish.’ He beckoned to a waiter for more coffee.

Rose tensed as her phone beeped; she read the text, replied to it quickly and put the phone away. ‘Sorry about that—one of my clients.’ She smiled radiantly at the waiter who topped up her cup. ‘Grazie.’

‘Prego!’ The man returned her smile with such fervour Dante frowned.

‘It is good I am here with you,’ he said darkly when they were alone.

‘Why?’

‘To keep my beautiful companion safe from admirers.’

Rose shook her head impatiently. ‘Hardly beautiful—I’m just reasonably attractive when I make the effort.’ But sometimes the effort was hard.

‘You are far more than just attractive, Rose,’ he said with emphasis, and signalled to the offending waiter. ‘I will pay, and then we shall see more of Firenze.’

‘Dante,’ she said awkwardly, ‘could I pay, please?’

He stared at her in blank astonishment. ‘Cosa?’

She felt her colour rise. ‘You’ve given up your time to show me round. I can’t expect you to feed me as well.’

‘It is my privilege,’ he said, looking down his nose. ‘Also a great pleasure.’

‘But I feel I’m imposing.’

Dante shook his head. ‘You are not.’ He took her hand and stayed close enough to make himself heard as they threaded their way through the crowds in the Piazza. ‘I was forced to rush away from you last time, Rose, with only a brief apology. This time perhaps you will think better of me after we say goodbye tomorrow.’

Less likely to murder him, certainly. ‘When you’ve been so kind, how could I not?’ she said lightly. She stood looking up in wonder as they reached Perseus and his grisly trophy. ‘Wow! I’ve seen Renaissance art in books but the bronze reality is something else entirely.’

‘Cellini was a master,’ he agreed, and moved on to the next, graphic sculpture. ‘So was Giambologna, yes? You like his Rape of the Sabine Women? It is carved from a single block of marble, but it is flawed, as you see.’

Rose wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m not so keen on that one.’

‘Then let us go to the Bargello, which was once a prison, but now houses sculpture. Donatello’s bronze David from a century earlier is there. You will like that, I think. Then you cannot leave Firenze without a visit to the Accademia to gaze in wonder at the greatest statue of all—the marble David by Michelangelo.’

Rose found that Dante was right when they arrived at the rather forbidding Bargello. On the upper loggia, it needed only one look at Donatello’s jaunty David, nude except for stylish hat and boots, for Rose to fall madly in love. She turned to Dante, her eyes bright with recognition. ‘I’ve seen him before on a television programme.’ She grinned. ‘The handsome lady in charge of his restoration couldn’t help smoothing his bottom!’

He laughed, his eyes alight as he squeezed her hand. ‘You have not changed so much after all, bella. But now you must have a tramezzini and a drink. We may have to wait for some time in the Accademia.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t need anything yet after all that breakfast, Dante. Let’s go now.’

As Dante had forecast, at the Academy of Fine Arts they had quite a wait among throngs of tourists with cameras and students with backpacks, but when they finally gained entrance to the star attraction Rose stood motionless in pure wonder at the sight of the monumental white figure gazing sternly far above their heads, the sling he would use to kill Goliath at the ready over one shoulder.

‘You are impressed?’ murmured Dante in her ear.

‘How could I not be?’ With reluctance, she dragged her eyes from the statue. ‘Thank you so much for bringing me here.’

‘It is my pleasure as much as yours, Rose. But now, if you have looked at David long enough, we shall go in search of food. Shall we go back to Caffe Rivoire, or would you like to try a different place?’

‘The Rivoire again, but just coffee and a snack, please.’

‘You shall have whatever your heart desires.’

CHAPTER TWO

TO DANTE’S AMUSEMENT Rose took surreptitious glances at her phone from time to time when they were seated among the greenery at a table close to the building, a little away from the press of crowds and pigeons in the Piazza.

‘You are expecting a call from your lover?’ he demanded at last.

‘Sorry. Just checking for any client problems,’ she lied. No way was she telling him she was checking on her child—who just happened to be his daughter. She thrust the phone in her bag, feeling suddenly cold. Would Dante try to lay claim to Bea if he found out about her? No way was she sharing her child with him. Bea was hers and hers alone.

‘You look tense. Forget the work for today,’ commanded Dante. ‘Let us enjoy this unexpected gift of time together. First you must rest for a while in your room and then later we shall go wherever you wish.’

Rose forced a smile and insisted that she couldn’t waste precious time in resting, but after some of the café’s famous hot chocolate conceded that Dante’s idea was a good one after all.

‘Bene,’ he said as they walked back to the hotel. ‘Those beautiful eyes look heavy. We shall meet in the foyer at three, yes?’

She frowned. ‘Look, Dante, I’m taking up a lot of your time. If you have other things to do—’

‘What could be more important than spending time with you, Rose?’

‘If you’re sure—’ A yawn overtook her mid-sentence, and Dante laughed.

‘You see? A rest is good, yes?’

Rose nodded, embarrassed to feel glad of the rococo gilded cage instead of trudging up the stairs. ‘If I stayed in Florence for any length of time I’d get very lazy.’

Dante smiled indulgently. ‘It is good to be lazy sometimes, Rose. I shall see you at three—unless you would like to sleep longer than that?’

She shook her head. ‘I’ll be ready on the dot.’

Rose rang her mother for a brief update and learned that Tom had collected Bea from nursery school, and afterwards the three of them had gone for a walk in the park to feed the ducks and buy ice cream.

‘Did she cry for me in the night, Mum?’

‘No, darling. She told me I wasn’t quite as good at reading stories as Mummy, but otherwise settled down fairly well, and went off happy to school this morning. So do stop worrying. Enjoy yourself.’

Reassured, Rose had a brief rest on the bed, showered herself awake afterwards and changed the white tee for a navy polo shirt. When she saw Dante waiting for her in the foyer downstairs her unruly heart gave a thump as his eyes lit up at the sight of her. He was too good-looking by half, she thought resentfully as he took her hand.

‘You slept, Rose?’

‘I had a shower instead.’

‘So did I.’

Since he was wearing a fresh shirt, his black curls were damp and he smelt delicious, Rose had already gathered that.

‘Where now?’ she asked as they left the hotel.

‘To look at shops, naturalmente!’

Their first stop was on the Ponte Vecchio to look at the jewellery on display, but with her eyes popping at the prices Rose soon abandoned the jewellers for a shop selling silk ties.

‘You want a gift for the boyfriend?’ asked Dante.

Tempted to lie and say yes, she shook her head. ‘For Tom, Charlotte’s father.’ She pointed to one in cream-dotted bronze silk. ‘What do you think?’

‘A good choice. What will you buy your mother?’

‘I think I’ll go for one of these silk scarves. Which do you fancy?’

Dante pointed to one in colours similar to the tie. ‘That one, yes?’

Rose was very pleased with her purchases, sure she would have paid a lot more without Dante’s help. Later, window-gazing at designer clothes in the Via da Tornabuoni, they spent fantastic pretend fortunes on a wardrobe for her before Dante took her to the Piazza della Repubblica to browse through La Rinascente, a department store where Rose could have spent hours.

‘Next time stay longer and linger here as long as you wish. Also explore the Palazzo Pitti and the Tivoli Gardens,’ Dante told her. ‘But now, if you are not too tired, let us walk to Santa Croce to visit the Bar Vivoli Gelateria. The best ice cream in the world is made there.’

‘An offer I can’t resist!’ She laughed up at him and saw his eyes light up. ‘What?’

‘At last you laugh! For a moment I saw the younger Rose again.’

The smile faded. ‘A fleeting illusion, Dante.’

Their progress was slow on the way to the Vivoli due to the lure of the small shops in the Santa Croce area. In one of them Rose spotted attractive plaques in papier mâché painted with vegetables and bought a pair for her mother and Tom. ‘They both love gardening, and these will be light enough to stow in my suitcase.’

He smiled. ‘You have done much shopping for others, but nothing for yourself.’

‘I don’t need anything,’ she assured him. She felt guilty enough about spending Fabio’s money as it was. ‘I’ll settle for this ice cream you promised.’

At the Bar Vivoli Rose rolled her eyes in ecstasy when she tasted her strawberry ice cream. ‘It’s gorgeous—aren’t you having any, Dante?’

He shook his head, smiling indulgently. ‘I will protect the shopping from your gelato while you enjoy. Is there more you wish to buy? Or we could explore the great church of Santa Croce here.’

‘I’d like to very much, but I’d better leave that for another time.’ Not that there would be another time. She looked up at the magnificent facade with regret. ‘Shall we go back now?’

‘Whatever you wish, Rose. Where would you like to dine tonight?’

So he meant them to dine together again. Irritated by her pleasure at the prospect, she told him that at that moment, her palate still rocking with strawberry gelato, it was difficult to think of food. ‘Maybe we could eat in the hotel again?’ At least that way the cost of dinner would appear on her hotel bill and she would feel less obligated.

Dante frowned. ‘If you really wish to. But there are many restaurants in Firenze. One of my favourites is right here in Santa Croce. We could take a taxi if you are tired. You can decide later when you have rested.’

She nodded. ‘Fine.’

‘I will see you at nine then, Rose.’

‘I’ll be ready. Are you taking a rest, too?’

He nodded. ‘Also I must make a few phone calls, touch base, as you say. Ciao.’

Rose waited to make sure Dante stayed put in his room and then, praying she wouldn’t get lost, hurried out of the hotel to make her way back to the Piazza della Repubblica to buy some of the delightful things she’d seen earlier in the department store. It might be Fabio’s money, but he would approve of presents for Bea. When she got back she stowed her packages away in her suitcase and, feeling hot and grubby after her rushed, guilty shopping spree, checked her messages, grateful to find a brief but totally reassuring one from her mother. The other, at last, was from Charlotte, so obviously happy Rose felt a searing pang of envy for an instant before stepping into the shower, but afterwards fell into instant sleep so heavy it took the phone to wake her.

‘Willow House Bookkeeping,’ she muttered sleepily, and bit her lip at the sound of Dante’s chuckle.

‘You are in Firenze now, cara. You obviously slept well!’

She stifled a yawn. ‘Very well.’ She sat bolt upright after a look at her watch. ‘And much too long!’

‘Bene. You obviously needed this. Sleep longer if you wish.’

‘No, indeed. Just give me half an hour and I’ll be ready.’

‘I shall knock on your door.’

Rose shot off the bed to wash and get to work on her face. Wishing she had something different to wear, she brushed her hair loose to ring the changes a little with the faithful black dress, and flung the scarf bought for her mother over one shoulder.

‘You glow, cara,’ Dante told her when she opened the door to him later.

‘Surprising what a little nap can do for a girl.’ She smiled guiltily. ‘I thought Mum wouldn’t mind if I wore her present just once first, but I must be careful not to get anything on it—no more gelato, for a start.’

‘Should such a tragedy happen, I will buy you another. So, Rose, do you still wish to dine here, or would you like something more animado, where locals eat?’

‘Animado with locals, definitely. And I’m perfectly happy to walk.’ Maybe she could persuade him to let her go halves with the bill.

‘Then I shall take you to a trattoria near the bar where you had your gelato. It is basic and traditional, and so popular it is always crowded.’

‘Sounds good. Lead on.’

After her hot, furtive dash earlier on it was dangerously pleasant to stroll with Dante through the balmy warmth of the Florence evening. For one night like this she would pretend he was just a friend she was enjoying an evening with, rather than the man who’d once broken her heart and turned her life upside down. The trattoria was packed, as he had forecast, but a place was found for them in a long red-walled dining room filled with laughing, talking, gesticulating diners sitting elbow to elbow, in total contrast to the formality of the night before, and Rose loved it.

After discussion with the waiter who brought their menus Dante ordered wine and mineral water and sat back, amused to see Rose so obviously enjoying the proximity with her fellow diners.

‘This is more like it,’ she said with satisfaction, sneaking a look at the dishes set down at the next table. ‘Will you help me choose, Dante?’

He leaned close to translate the names of the dishes, and after much discussion about the various delights on offer Rose settled on a mixed grill of fish with spinach. ‘I don’t cook fish much at home, so this is a treat for me. What are you having?’

‘I like your choice. I will have the same.’ Dante nodded in approval as he studied the bottle of wine a waiter offered for his inspection. ‘Grazie. Try the wine, cara, and give me your opinion.’

‘Mmm,’ she said with relish. ‘Gorgeous. What is it?’

‘A Fortinari Classico,’ he said with pride. ‘I am impressed that they keep this range here.’

‘Which means it’s very pricey.’ Rose drank a little more. ‘I can see why.’ She raised embarrassed eyes to his. ‘I’m putting you to so much expense, Dante. Please let—’

‘No!’ he said flatly. ‘To see you enjoy your dinner is reward enough.’

‘I’m enjoying everything.’ She looked round the packed, noisy dining room with pleasure. ‘I love it here.’ Her eyes sparkled as plates were set in front of them. ‘Grazie,’ she said to the waiter.

Dante laughed indulgently as she sniffed in rapture. ‘Enjoy, carina.’

‘I will! It’s a long time since that gelato.’

‘So tell me about this house you live in,’ Dante said later, after Rose had refused a dolce in favour of coffee.

‘It’s my own family home. Mum signed it over to me when she moved in with Tom. He wants them to get married,’ she added, ‘but Mum is happy the way things are, afraid that formalising the arrangement might change it. She believes in the saying “If it ain’t broke don’t fix it”.’

Dante’s eyes darkened. ‘She is wise.’

Rose looked at him questioningly. ‘Were you heartbroken when your wife left you?’

He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Dio, no! My brother, as always, was right. I had a fortunate escape—forgive me, Rose. You cannot want to hear this.’

How wrong could a man be? ‘Is Elsa still with the new man she left you for?’

‘Yes, though new is not the right word.’ Dante’s expressive mouth turned down. ‘Enrico Calvi is old enough to be her father, but so wealthy Elsa is now enjoying a life of idle luxury.’

‘She wanted to do that?’

‘Oh, yes.’ He smiled sardonically. ‘Younger faces—and bodies—were winning the top jobs. She was glad to abandon her career while still known as a supermodel. Allora, I no longer see her face on magazine covers everywhere to remind me of my folly.’

‘Is she very beautiful still?’

He nodded carelessly. ‘I have not seen her since she left, but Elsa was obsessed with her looks and I doubt she has changed much. Calvi has children from a former marriage and does not demand the babies that would ruin his trophy wife’s perfect body. I, fool that I was, wanted children very much.’

Rose drank some water, suddenly sorry she’d eaten so much as her stomach lurched at Dante’s heartfelt admission.

His mouth tightened. ‘She waited until our wedding night to tell me she had no intention of having babies. Ever. But no more talk of Elsa.’ Dante looked at Rose in silence for a while, his blue eyes intent. ‘Now I must take you back. I wish you could stay longer, Rose.’

‘Not possible, I’m afraid.’

‘Que peccato! In the morning I will drive you to the airport in Pisa—unless you would prefer the train journey?’ He beckoned to a waiter to bring the bill.

‘No, indeed. But won’t that take up too much of your time?’

‘It is not far out of my way home,’ he assured her, ‘and will give me the pleasure of more time with you before you leave. But this will not be goodbye, Rose. I shall see you when I come to England again next.’

Her heart lurched. If Dante still wanted babies no way was she letting him anywhere near Bea. He took her arm to steer her past an approaching entwined couple as they walked back, the contact raising her pulse rate even higher.

Rose paused when they reached the foot of the hotel steps, her eyes raised to the handsome, intent face. ‘This has been a lovely evening, Dante. Not the kind of thing that features much in my life as a rule.’

‘Yet Charlotte told me you have someone in your life.’

‘He’s a friend from my college days.’

‘But surely you will marry one day, Rose?’

She shrugged. ‘I doubt it.’

Dante held the door open for her. ‘When you see Charlotte so happy with Fabio, do you not wish for a relationship like theirs?’ His eyes darkened as they made for the lift. ‘I have always envied them their marriage.’

‘They’re very lucky.’

Dante halted when they reached her room. ‘Ascolta, it is early yet, Rose. I would so much like to sit with you on your balcony and talk for a while longer like old friends. I can order tea. You would like that?’

She looked at him in silence for a moment. ‘All right, Dante.’ She gave him a wry smile. ‘But only because you said the magic word.’

His smile mirrored hers. ‘Friends?’

‘No—tea!’

Dante laughed and rang room service. After a waiter arrived with a tray Dante tipped him and closed the door behind him then pulled up two of the chairs to the metal table on the balcony overlooking the moonlit Arno. Rose poured tea and the coffee Dante had ordered for himself, and sat back in her chair, eyeing him warily.

‘So what shall we talk about?’

‘You, Rose. Tell me why you started your own business.’

‘I applied for accountancy jobs but didn’t get the ones I wanted, so I decided to use my training for something else and eventually hit on bookkeeping.’

‘Ah,’ said Dante, nodding. ‘You went to college again for this?’

‘No. I did an eighteen-month home study course accredited by the Institute of Certified Bookkeepers, and managed to complete it in just over three months.’ Rose drained her cup and refilled it. ‘My mother was a huge help. So was Tom. He found a web designer for me and made sure I informed HM Revenue and Customs, and took out indemnity insurance to cover me while working in clients’ offices. I also got a practising licence...’ She paused, biting her lip. ‘This is probably boring you rigid, Dante.’

He shook his head decisively. ‘I am enthralled. You were so young to achieve all this, Rose. I am impressed.’

‘I had a lot of things going for me,’ she reminded him. ‘With such wonderful support from my mother and Tom, a home of my own with a room I can use for an office—and with my brain still in gear from my finals—I managed to get the new qualification quickly. I now divide my time between working at home and in travelling to small businesses grateful enough for my help and my reasonable charges to pass on my name to new clients.’

‘You make a good living from this?’

‘It was a slow start, but I’ve now done well enough to pay back the money my mother lent me for the original expenses for certification and optional exams and the web design and so on.’ Rose took a look at the clear-cut profile outlined by the light from her room. ‘So now you know all about me, Dante.’

He shook his head. ‘I think not. One day I hope to learn much, much more—but not tonight. I will leave you now to your sleep.’ He raised her hand to his lips. ‘Buonanotte. I shall see you in the morning. Since we must leave early, you would like breakfast brought to your room?’

Rose nodded. ‘Will you order it for me, please?’

‘Subito. And in the morning I shall ring you when it is time to leave.’ He went to the door and turned to smile at her. ‘Now lock it, per favore.’

* * *

Rose spent a restless night after the conversation with Dante. His talk of babies terrified her. If he found out that Bea was his child what would he do? What would she do, if it came to that? She eventually lapsed into a restless doze but woke early, and after a horrified look in the mirror stood under a hot shower until she felt, and looked, more human. By the time her breakfast arrived her hair was dry and she was dressed for travelling, her bags packed.

Soon afterwards, Dante rang. ‘Buongiorno, Rose.’

‘Good morning. I’m ready. I just have to sort the bill.’

‘I will be with you in one second.’

When Rose opened her door Dante smiled at her denim jeans and casual jacket. ‘You look so young, like a student again.’ He took her suitcase. ‘I will put this in the car, which is waiting outside. Forgive me if I stay there with it until you are ready to leave.’

‘Of course. I’ll join you as quickly as I can.’ Armed with her credit card, Rose approached the suave receptionist to ask for her bill.

‘All was settled in advance; there is nothing to pay.’ He handed her a receipted bill. ‘Signor Fortinari waits outside in the car,’ he added. ‘I trust you enjoyed your stay?’

She smiled. ‘I did. Very much. Goodbye and thank you.’

‘Arrivederci and safe journey, Miss Palmer.’

Rose felt uneasy as she left the hotel, wondering if she should have asked for an itemised version of the bill for Fabio, but forgot her worries when she saw the car waiting at the foot of the steps. It was sleek and scarlet and as handsome as the man who jumped out of the driver’s seat as she approached.

‘Wow, Dante, great car!’

He laughed as he handed her inside. ‘This is my one indulgence—she’s a sports car but also practical. She has four doors, also four-wheel drive, which is of much use to me in some parts of the country. You like her?’

‘What’s not to like? She’s obviously the love of your life.’

‘Davvero—see how she responds to me?’

Rose laughed and sank back in the seat, feeling the power vibrate through her body when Dante switched on the ignition. ‘What more can a man ask?’

He shot her a sidelong glance as he drove away from the hotel. ‘Those things a machine cannot do for a man.’

Annoyed to feel her face flush, Rose made no response as she settled down to enjoy the drive, content just to look at the passing landscape as they left the city. She relaxed as she breathed in the aroma of expensive new car, and whatever Dante had used in the shower. ‘This is a big improvement on the train journey,’ she commented when they were speeding along the autostrada. ‘I tried to look at the scenery I was passing through on the way here in the train, but I couldn’t concentrate.’

‘Why not?’

‘I was tired after all the effort it took to juggle appointments and so on before getting away.’ Plus her worries that Bea might be unhappy without her, and the strain of wondering what was wrong with Charlotte.

‘If your mother is looking after your business while you are away she will be pleased to see you back, Rose.’

‘Unless she’s cross with me for buying presents.’

Dante laughed. ‘If so, you may blame me for encouraging your extravagance. But you are very close to your mother, yes?’

Rose nodded, smiling. ‘But we have clashes of temperament sometimes.’

‘My mother had many with my sister Mirella in the past, but now she is Nonna to several grandchildren the clashes happen only when she spoils them too much.’

‘How many nieces and nephews do you have?’

‘Five. Mirella and Franco have two sons and a daughter, and Leo and Harriet one of each.’

‘Harriet?’

Dante nodded. ‘My brother’s wife is English. You would like her.’

Rose was intrigued. ‘How did they meet?’

‘It is such a strange story I shall leave it until next time I see you. I must concentrate now as the traffic is heavy.’

Dante insisted on waiting at Galileo Galilei Airport with Rose until she was ready to board the plane, and took note of her telephone numbers and her address while passengers surged around them as constant announcements filled the air. ‘I will be in London next month to meet an old friend of mine, Luke Armytage,’ he told her. ‘He is a master of wine and owner of a chain of wine stores which retail our best vintages. I shall come to see you then, Rose, but I will consult you first to make sure you are free.’

‘Goodbye then, Dante.’ Rose smiled at him brightly as her flight was called. ‘And thank you yet again.’

‘Prego.’ Without warning, he seized her in his arms and kissed her full on the mouth. He raised his head to stare down into her startled eyes and then kissed her again at such length they were both breathless when he released her. ‘Arrivederci, Rose.’

Afraid to trust her voice, she managed a shaky smile and hurried away after the other passengers.

Dante stood watching as his heartbeat slowed, his smile wry when it became obvious that Rose had no intention of looking back.

* * *

The flight home was tiring. Rose spent most of it convincing herself that there was no danger of falling in love with Dante Fortinari again, even after the electrifying effect of his goodbye kiss, which, from the look on his face, had affected Dante in pretty much the same way. She was human and female enough to find this deeply gratifying, but she would make sure it never happened again. No way could she let him back into her life. She would have to tell him about Bea, and then she would be forced to tell her mother the truth at last, that Dante Fortinari was her child’s father. And then Tom would know, and so would Charlotte, and Fabio, and everyone else involved once she started the ball rolling. By the time Rose boarded the Pennington coach at Birmingham Airport, she had decided against any such dramatic upheaval in her tidy little life. If Dante did ring to ask to see her again she would take the coward’s way out and refuse to see him.

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