Leaning on the workbench, his chicken wire forgotten, he asked, ‘Is she trying to push you into dating?’
She considered her answer for a long moment, framed in his shop windows with the ornate lettering announcingFiorista Gabriele Orzati, with the sailboats in the marina in the distance.
Finally, she took a deep breath and said, ‘I think she doesn’t want me to be a widow any more. It doesn’t make sense, because I always will be. You can’t undo a marriage; you can’t unbreak something that’s damaged.’ Her lips snapped shut when she heard her own words. ‘I mean, you can break it, but you can’t?—’
Brushing his hand over hers, he gave her a rueful smile of reassurance. ‘I know what you meant.’ He hesitated before uttering his next sentence. ‘My mother would love to see me married again,’ he added with a grimace. ‘That would be proof for her that it was all Rosalba’s fault. She refuses to see what’s broken about me too.’
‘I do understand. It’s hard for them to see us hurting,’ she said softly. ‘It’s not that I’m ashamed of you,’ she began, which only made him think she was a little ashamed, ‘it’s just that I’ve lived my wretched relationship history in front of the whole world. Everyone knows Cilli’s father died tragically and they feel they have a stake in my situation.Youcan be mysterious, or even mention your divorce and people will leave you to your private problems. I don’t want people to think my life is so hard, so lonely that I needed a short-term affair with the handsome florist.’
There was so much to unpack in her words, his thoughts spun for a moment. ‘The handsome florist?’ was what he blurted out in response, when he was smarting somewhere deeper at the way she’d reduced their friendship to a short-term affair, framed it as an itch to scratch, rather than a tentative step into intimacy that he suspected could be transformative, if they allowed itto flourish. ‘I thought you were telling your mama that not all Italian men are handsome.’
‘I’m sure they aren’tallattractive.’ The wave of her hand was a gesture he was coming to recognise.
‘Just the ones you’ve seen so far?’
‘Now who’s teasing?’ Her smile faded quickly. ‘I am sorry about how this is working out, with my mum coming,’ she said, her brow low.
‘I understand.’ He just wasn’t sure he was happy about it.
‘There’s one important thing I need to say, though.’ Her expression was grave and he was equal parts wary and drawn in. ‘I know you don’t like kids, so I’m sure this won’t be a problem, but I don’t want you to talk to Cillian. I don’t want him to have any idea that this happened. As he gets older, I already worry he blames himself for so much of what’s happened in my life. I won’t give him the impression I’m anything other than completely fulfilled.’
Gabri was glad he was already leaning on his workbench, because her words socked him in the gut with more gusto than he would have expected. He got the message:Stay away from my son. He was only too glad to comply.
‘Of course,’ was all he said in reply, swallowing the rest. ‘As you say, I don’t like kids anyway.’
19
What a change a week could make.
Toni lazed on Gabri’s sunlounger, occasionally reading a chapter of her book, then staring out at the gently rolling sea, the blue-green horizon with the shadow of distant mountains – the island of Corsica, Gabri had explained, the view which had taunted Napoleon all the more with the proximity of his homeland to the place of his exile.
There wasn’t another soul within earshot. When she’d pictured Italian beaches, she’d thought of rows of umbrellas and fashionable bars, delicately fried seafood and Aperol Spritz in a glass that glinted in the sunshine, bare feet and elegant, strappy sandals.
But this little cove, the spiaggia delle Buche, on the western side of the island, was accessible only on foot and required sturdy walking shoes. It wasn’t a long, sandy beach, but dark, smooth rock disappearing into impossibly clear water, where she’d spent the morning snorkelling among darting fish glinting silver and gold, urchins and sea-grass.
With her legs stretched out before her, the last remnants of a scab on her left one were a startling reminder of her first full dayon the island, when relaxation had felt a chore she was supposed to complete, rather than a state of mind she couldn’t force.
It wasn’t precisely relaxation she’d attained now. It was a fresh perspective on her life – time and space to let things unfold inside her. She even begrudgingly admitted to herself that her mother had been right. She’d needed this.
Not the steamy affair part.Thathad been entirely unexpected. The sting of desire she felt when she looked at Gabri still scared her, but she wouldn’t regret opening herself up to this.
He was casting a fishing line into the water from the rocky point to her left, feet and chest bare. He was tanned and rugged all over, so much a part of this island. She still found it difficult to picture him working on algorithms in an office in Milan, even though he’d finally shaved properly and trimmed the moustache in preparation for wedding week.
Today felt a little like her last night before a new, stressful job – the calm before the storm. Tomorrow, she had to pull out her presentable clothes and greet Alison Falkirk and Nathaniel Mason and promise that all their dreams would come true.
At least in this little paradise, there would be no storms or avalanches or other disasters that seemed to regularly befall her colleagues. Maybe even she would be able to believe in their happily ever after if they got married in such a beautiful place, where the forest and the sea and the sunshine provided everything people needed.
She must have dozed off for a moment, because when she opened her eyes again, Gabri was wading through the shallows, regarding her with his head tilted, a smile on his lips, the sun making a golden shadow out of him. The familiar shape of his face – his body – gave her another shot of endorphins. That she’d had the courage to push the attraction in its naturaldirection, despite the guardedness in him she could still feel in every touch, gave her a particular satisfaction.
She was a thirty-nine-year-old widow, well past her own expectations of happily ever after. But she’d certainly enjoyed him for now – and he’d enjoyed her. She wasn’t sure what their friendship would be like during this week to come and after she went home. Chatting freely the way they’d used to seemed unlikely, a thought she didn’t dwell on because it did sadden her. But tomorrow’s problem belonged to tomorrow and today, she had the glow of the setting sun on her skin, memories of salt water and good food – and that smile Gabri was giving her.
‘You caught something,’ she guessed.
‘È già,’ he confirmed, dropping his bucket beside her with a flourish. She gave him an indulgent smile as she glanced in to see two silver bream. ‘Not the most popular fish, but tasty enough. I’ll have to put them on ice until tomorrow, though, since we will eat dinner here tonight.’
Just the mention of food made Toni’s stomach rumble and she sat up to snag another square of schiacciata from the bag.
‘I should learn how to bake this at home.’
