‘Remedy?’ She felt slow-witted this morning with so much playing on her mind.
‘Absolutely.’ His expression was grave but his eyes laughed and she felt the urge to get closer and bask in that glow. ‘You’re probably in shock after that collision. Fortunately I know the best treatment.’ That serious expression disappeared, replaced by a grin she felt all the way to her bones. ‘Sunshine and a gelato. There’s nothing like it. And Rome’s best gelateria is across the square. What do you say? Can you spare ten minutes?’
Ten minutes for sunshine and a gelato? And the warmth of this man’s company?
He was charming but not sleazy. If anything he stood a little further away from her than necessary, as if not wanting to crowd her.
Stella wasn’t in the habit of trusting strange men. She’d had too many encounters with people drawn to her because of her family, interested in her connections or her supposed wealth rather than in her personally.
But hadn’t she come to Rome for a break from that world?
If her father had his way, she’d never be free to do anything as innocently impulsive as share an ice cream with a handsome man. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been impulsive.
Apart from yesterday when she’d boarded the first plane to Rome, telling the office she was taking a week’s leave with immediate effect. It was probably the first time she’d acted impulsively since coming to Italy. She’d been so busy toeing the line, trying to please her family.
Her knees threatened to give way at the thought of what waited for her back in Sicily. Her furious father. An expectant bridegroom. A career that would stall unless she gave in to Alfredo’s outrageous demand.
‘Sunshine and a gelato sound perfect.’
Her mouth tilted into a smile and for a second she thought she read awareness in eyes that darkened from pewter to stormy grey. But almost instantly the illusion disappeared. She put it down to a trick of the light.
‘Bene.’He inclined his head and gestured towards the door. ‘It’s a perfect day for it and I haven’t had a gelato yet today.’
She couldn’t help darting a quick glance at his lean form as they headed for the glass doors. In chinos and a dark grey polo shirt, with designer sunglasses hooked into his collar, he looked fit and athletic. His chest was broad, his arms strong and the fabric of his trousers had strained against muscled thighs when he squatted.
‘You don’t look like a man who indulges in sweet treats every day.’
Laughter made his eyes crinkle at the corners and sent a bolt of fire to her core. ‘I take that as a compliment. But what’s life without a few treats? You need to find enjoyment when you can. You never know what’s around the corner.’
Stella heard a discordant note in his voice but saw only good humour in his features.
An employee opened one of the glass front doors and they walked outside. It was only spring but today felt like summer.
Because you’ve run away from your real life, pretending this is a holiday rather than a chance to determine your future.
The thought of her real life stirred her innate caution. Was it wise, going with a stranger, even if she could see the gelateria across the way?
She halted on the pavement. ‘How did you know I spoke English?’ Had he been watching her? Was their meeting planned rather than accidental?
He lifted his shoulders in an expansive shrug and she found herself admiring wide, straight shoulders. ‘You spoke English when you comforted the boy.’
‘Of course.’ She really was slow today. The child had called out in English and she’d automatically answered in the same language.
‘Do you speak Italian?’
‘I do.’ She was bilingual and proud of it. Then she thought of the way her half-brother Rocco rolled his eyes at her Australian accent and at her occasional confusion when someone spoke in a strong dialect or used unfamiliar colloquialisms. ‘But not well.’
It was a white lie but there was a strange freedom in speaking her mother tongue. Nowadays she only used it when talking to tourists. Being far from her father’s home, speaking the language he’d decreed she couldn’t use if she were to perfect her Italian, felt good. As if, for a short time, she could shuck off the worries weighing her down.
When she’d checked in she’d used English, thinking that if her family searched for her they’d ask for an Italian speaker. Which was why she’d checked in under her legal name, rather than her father’s. She used the latter day-to-day for convenience but wasn’t legally entitled to it.
Another reminder that she was an outsider.
‘Perhaps you want to practise your Italian?’
She met his surprisingly intense stare and shook her head. ‘I’d rather listen to you speak English.’
Too late she realised how she sounded, like a woman breathlessly hanging on his words, and it was true, she could listen to his voice for hours. But instead of preening he laughed and the sunny day grew even brighter.
