Not only that, but Charlotte had also gone to school with a host of girls from monied backgrounds. Girls whose parents were royalty, nobility, celebrities, or in the case of Jane, world-famous human rights lawyers. People who had a fortune at their fingertips and weren’t afraid to show it.
Deep down, Charlotte had always, always despised that kind of ostentatious wealth. She’d hated it. She’d hated the inequities, the essential imbalances in the world, the sense that so many people were living without and so many just had way too much.
She’d turned her nose up at all of them, had bonded with Jane over their love of high street clothes. Although Charlotte had developed a preference after school for couture, though only if she could find it in a charity shop and thereby feel she was somehow playing out a sort of Robin Hood-esque fantasy.
And she particularly loved getting the overly wealthy to part with their money, to help those most in need.
So while she was perfectlyau faitwith the world of wealth, she hadn’t been expecting a place like this when Dante had said he was bringing her home. It wasn’t so much ostentatious as biblically perfect. It was as if the Garden of Eden had been brought back to life, right here in the foothills of Tuscany. The whole property was surrounded by thick, lush pine trees, making it impossible to see beyond them. But as the car entered through the wrought iron security gates, gravel crunching beneath the tyres, the property opened up to reveal gentle undulations, so darkly green they were almost impossible to believe. There were more pine trees inside, too, but here they were dotted over the lawns, creating long, dark shadows that would be utterly perfect to sit beneath on a too-hot summer’s day. She could practically feel how the grass would be cool, the air degrees more bearable there. She turned to face Dante, face showing surprise. ‘This is where you grew up?’
His eyes raked her face. ‘You’re surprised.’
And wasn’t that the truth? She felt an unexpected hangover from the flight. The sense that Dante wasn’t at all as she’d thought. And now Charlotte was here with him, at his family estate, being forced to grapple with that on the fly.
‘You just—,’ her voice faltered, and she grimaced. ‘I suppose I am.’
‘Why?’
She turned back to her window and looked out once more, as the car cruised past a pond with a small timber jetty. Birds flew low over the pond, dipping down from time to time, as if looking for small fish.
Out of nowhere, she imagined Dante as a young boy, sitting on the jetty, feet dangling in the water.
‘It’s just so,’ she sought for the right word. ‘Natural.’
He made a sound, a gruff syllable of agreement. ‘And?’
‘You’re—,’ she turned back to look at him and something shifted into place, like all the lenses of a kaleidoscope being brought into focus. She was wrong to be surprised. Dante San Marino was nothing if not elemental and wild. True, he concealed that side of himself in his bespoke Sa-ville Row suits and urbane, arrogant manner, but she’d seen otherwise. She’d seen the side of him that was untamed and raw. Formed by the elements and totally wild, in so many ways. Best not think of that now, though.
‘Never mind,’ she said, focusing her attention through the middle of the car now, between the two front seats and the front windscreen. As the car swept around a corner of the drive, an amazing citrus grove came into sight. Not filled with small offerings, either, but rather, enormous, bushy citrus trees, heavy with blossoms, ready to start growing fruit. She could just imagine how sweet it would smell.
Beyond the grove was the house and at the sight of it, Charlotte lost her breath completely.
It was the quintessential Tuscan villa, with the sand-coloured lime washed walls and terracotta tiled roof. But it was also enormous and gracious, with a hot-pink bougainvillea scrambling up one side and large pots standing sentry at the double width front door, each with an established fig tree.
‘Dante,’ she whispered, eyes wide, lips parted, unconscious of the way he was staring at her. ‘It’s so utterly perfect.’
He made another gruff sound. ‘That’s one way to win your way into my grandmother’s affections.’
She blinked, trying to focus, to remember what she was doing here. Remembering that she needed to bring her A-game and that that started now.
Fortunately, it would not be at all difficult to show an admiration for this place. It was truly like heaven on earth.
‘It’s incredible,’ she repeated, turning to face him. Out of nowhere she felt a wash of unexpected feelings, a rawness, and tears threatened.
She swallowed the ridiculously vulnerable emotion away. ‘Are you ready?’ She infused the words with a confidence she wasn’t sure she felt.
His eyes roamed her features, and she had the unsettling sense that he’d perceived her momentary wrong-footing. But he smiled then, reached down and put his hand over hers. ‘You’re going to be a brilliant fake fiancé. Try not to worry,cara.’
Cara. Not Shaw. Somehow, just that single term of endearment threatened to undo a part of her she desperately needed to hold onto. Which was absurd, because he’d called her this before and it hadn’t made her heart beat like a trapped bird against her ribcage.
What on earth was happening to her?
As she stepped out of the car and was immediately enveloped by the heady fragrance of citrus blossoms, sunshine, nectar and pollen—so overpowering her nose tingled with the suggestion of a sneeze—she knew the answer.
Magic.
This place was sheer and absolute magic.
Allegra San Marino was both exactly like Charlotte had imagined, but also the complete opposite all at once. As Dante had described, his grandmother was incredibly elegant, in a pair of cream, wide-legged trousers and a pale-yellow singlet, that showed her toned arms and tanned skin. But she was also naturally very beautiful, with dark grey hair that she had coiled into a bun at the base of her neck and skin that looked to have been very well cared for all her life. She had eyes like Dante’s, so dark they were almost black but glittery and perceptive, watching Charlotte from the moment she stepped from the car.
