‘Then it’s my pleasure to welcome you here today. We have some refreshments, which will be served at the gazebo overlooking the lake. Would you like them now, or a little later?’
Leo looked over at Simone, his eyes raised, and she shook her head.
‘Grazie, later,’ he said. ‘We’ll explore some of the gardens first.’
‘It’s a good time to visit, we’ve had recent rains. The grounds are open to you for as long as you wish today. Should you need assistance, please ask one of the staff or come to my office. It’s in an outbuilding near the house. I’ll be here all day.’
The man waved and went on his way as they followed along the jetty till they reached a paved promenade stretching along the waterfront.
‘Where to now?’ she asked, the charged moment on the dock seemingly forgotten, by her at least.
‘Pick a direction. There’s no bad choice and we have plenty of time.’
Simone hesitated then turned left, the pathway taking them up through a series of garden rooms. From towering trees near the waterfront like some ancient forest, walking through to a riot of annual flowers, morphing into a wild looking meadow garden. Prizewinning and world-renowned, the only place most people other than a privileged few, would ever see all this beauty, was in photographs. As they moved further up the hillside the sound caught his ears. Rushing water. Although if you didn’t know where the path led, you might mistake it for the sound of wind in the trees.
‘Whatisthis place?’ Simone asked, stopping at a particularly beautiful view, framed by clipped olive trees and huge pots spilling over with red geraniums. Simone removed her sunglasses in the shade of the trees, took her phone out of her bag and snapped a photograph, slipping the phone into the pocket of her shorts.
‘A privately owned residence. I helped the owner source some items for a renovation after he’d inherited it. Building a pavilion.’
‘Are the owners here?’
‘It’s not the family’s main residence. They spend most of the year out of Italy.’
‘Why would you own this and not live here?’
‘I have homes all over the world that I don’t spend much time in.’
Though Leo was inclined to agree about this place. Its beauty needed to be experienced, not hidden away. When he’d come to know the place, he’d offered to buy it. The owner wouldn’t sell, although they’d struck up a friendship and his client had said Leo could come back to visit. For Simone, Leo had called in the favour.
She rolled her eyes. No one else would have dared but he’d always enjoyed her sass. ‘You forget. I know your property portfolio and you don’t haveanythinglike this.’
Simone was the only woman on the planet who might leave him feeling a little chastened.
‘Are you trying to make me feel inadequate because of the size and breadth of my personal real estate?’
She cocked her head, her cool grey gaze almost assessing. The slightest wash of pink drifted across her cheeks again.
‘I think you’re doing just fine on the personal real estate front, Leo.’
The comment could have been innocent. It could also have meant something else entirely. The former was the safe conclusion. The latter, far more enticing.
Simone blew out a breath in a huff, lifting some stray hairs falling to her face. She brushed them out of the way, then she turned and kept walking like he’d been dismissed. It didn’t matter. They were getting close to the place that held the real magic of the home. His heart beat a little faster. What would she think when she saw it?
She stopped at another beautiful view. Pink nerium vivid against the backdrop of the blue lake. Simone slipped her phone out of her pocket and took another photograph. There was something about her wanting memories that pleased him.
She turned to look at him, a slight frown creasing her brow. ‘Do you want a selfie together? To show us in wedded bliss?’
He’d never taken a selfie in his life. ‘Where would we post it? I don’t do personal socials.’
There were enough fan sites extolling his imagined and not so imagined virtues. He didn’t have the time or inclination to do anything more. His business sites were carefully managed by his marketing department. He supposed Simone could have posted something on hers, if she had any. Except when he and Simone had made the decision to marry, his marketing department suggested she make her own sites private. She’d told them she had none.
Simone Taylor was a ghost. A mystery.
She nibbled on her bottom lip. ‘Send it to PR and see what they say.’
There was something about her, a little uncertain. He wondered whether it wasn’t PR she was thinking of for the photograph, but herself. Once again, that pleased him in a way that was entirely foreign.
‘Good idea. Then we’ll let them decide.’
