‘Doing what?’
‘Asset management.’
Giselle made a face.
‘It probably is as boring as it sounds,’ he said. ‘What about you?’
‘Holiday. I’m here with my sister and her friends from uni. Well, nothere, exactly – they’re in Milan. Fashion Week. Venice didn’t appeal to them.’
‘But it does to you?’
‘Definitely. It’s so romantic.’
‘I suppose it is. So, you’re in Venice on your own?’
‘Yes.’ She stared at him defiantly, daring him to make a comment, likethat’s brave of you.
‘Me too. Kind of. I’m actually here with a mate, but he’s got one hell of a hangover and refused to leave the hotel this morning, so I’m exploring the city on my own. We’re only here for a couple of days and there’s so much to see. I don’t intend to waste it.’
The waiter reappeared, bearing an assortment ofbruschette, the toppings held in place with toothpicks.Gosh, Rocco has a good appetite, Giselle thought in astonishment.
‘Oops, it seems I’ve ordered too much,’ he said.
She narrowed her eyes. There was no ‘oops’ about it. He’d known what he was doing, but the food looked delicious, and she was too hungry to care, even though it was eye-wateringly expensive.
‘Help yourself,’ he urged.
So she did, and as she lifted a piece ofbruschettaonto her plate he said, ‘Tell me about yourself.’
‘Not much to tell,’ she replied. Her life was boring compared to her sister’s.
He tried again. ‘What are you studying?’
‘I’m not a student.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘Oh, I thought—’
‘That because my sister is at uni, I am too?’
‘It’s a reasonable assumption. So, whatdoyou do?’
‘I’m working in a bar at the moment.’ If she sounded defensive, it was because she felt it.
‘Not decided what you want to do when you grow up yet?’ he asked.
Some of the tension seeped out of her shoulders. He wasn’t judging her. ‘Not yet.’
‘Any leanings towards one thing or another? Not fashion, I take it?’
‘Because I’m not dressed like a Venetian model?’
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his expression adorably dismayed – until he realised she was teasing, and he raised his glass, acknowledging that he’d been had.
‘Anything arty, really,’ she said. ‘Painting, textiles, pottery… You name it, I’ve tried it. But I haven’t found my passion yet. Not like my sister. Isadora – Izzy – has always loved fashion.’
‘Maybe you’ll find it in Venice.’ He smiled, and her heart did a somersault.
‘Maybe.’
