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.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Stella.’ She saw he was waiting for more but she didn’t want to give it. She liked the untethered freedom that anonymity provided. She wanted to savour it. ‘Just Stella.’
If word got out about where she was, her father would send someone to bring her home and she desperately needed time alone. That was why she’d chosen a hotel owned by Giancarlo Valenti. Given her father’s hatred of the Valenti family no Barbieri would stay on the premises. At least she hoped that was what he’d think.
‘A pretty name. It means star.’
‘Yes. That’s what my mother used to call me, her little star.’ She stopped abruptly, aware she was babbling again. ‘And you are?’
‘Gio.’ His gaze held hers with curious gravity. Almost as if he expected her to know the name.
