‘Just hum, but don’t commit yourself,’ she advised, eyes flashing open to spear him as she spoke. ‘That’s what I do when I don’t want to answer questions—and it’s obvious you’re about as interested in answering questions as I am.’
‘Point taken,’ he said, interest spiking again as they stared into each other’s eyes.
‘I’ll stop talking now,’ she said, resting back against the wall next to him.
‘Is that a promise?’
She turned her head. ‘It’s as close as you’re going to get.’
The fact that they were still talking was nothing short of a miracle. Since Pietro’s death, he’d had no patience for anyone or anything. Discovering his brother had wanted a family so badly, yet had not mentioned this to Luca, had rocked his selfish world on its axis. How could he have been so self-absorbed he had remained oblivious to his brother’s distress? He had a lot to learn if he was to avoid letting down his country, as he’d let down Pietro.
‘Where are you heading when you leave here?’ his companion asked.
He turned to face her. ‘I thought you promised not to talk.’
‘It wasn’t a forever promise, and you look as if you need a distraction.’
He smiled in spite of himself. There was something about Samia that forced him to see a lighter side of life. It also made him want to kiss that cheeky mouth into silence.
‘Are you going home soon?’ she prompted.
Home to him was either on board his sailing yacht, or on a bunk in a spartan barracks. A sumptuous palace with servants waiting on him hand and foot was his least favoured choice. That had been his brother’s life, while Luca had joined Madlena’s special forces where he had believed he could be of most use to his people. He had never imagined his parting from Pietro would be so final, or that the memories they’d shared would be tainted by the pain of knowing he’d let his brother down.
‘You look sad and angry,’ Samia commented with a frown. ‘Is that my fault? Have I said something to upset you?’
‘I’m not sad.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it. Being Italian can only be a cause for celebration.’
He wavered between wanting to leave and ending their encounter, and staying to allow Samia to distract him from memories of his brother that threatened to splinter his mind. When his grandmother had been widowed and had gone off to live her own life, Pietro had raised him and cared for him, and where had he been when Pietro had so badly needed him?
‘All that delicious pasta—’
‘What?’His tone was harsh. Samia’s intrusion into his private grief had jolted him—and even that was an indulgence. But seriously. Pasta? Of all the things she could have said about Italy—the art, the music, the architecture and stunning scenery—in her uniquely uninhibited way, she had gone straight for a decent plate of food. With a wry huff, he shook his head.
‘There you are, you see,’ she asserted. ‘You’re not so grim, after all. And I bet you’re as hungry as me...’
‘Are you hungry?’
‘What do you think?’ she teased. ‘But I don’t have enough money, and there’s no chance we’ll get fed here, even if I could afford it. With the best will in the world, the maître d’ couldn’t find us a table.’
He didn’t disillusion her, though he only had to raise a brow for a table to be made instantly available.
‘We’re sunk,’ she said.
‘We’resunk?’ he queried.
‘Of coursewe. I’m hungry and you must be too. After your swim,’ she reminded him.
Okay, he did have an appetite, and not just for food.
‘Hamburger?’ she suggested.
He followed her gaze to the public promenade where a hamburger stall was placed conveniently in the shadows.
Momentarily distracted as a text pinged on his phone, he saw that it came from the head of his PA team in Madlena. A Red Box, that indispensable piece of royal equipment designed to hold documents relating to vital matters of state, would be delivered to his study on board theBlack Diamond.
He texted back.
