CHAPTER EIGHT
Date three: Alessandro Al Fresco
Alis expertly negotiating his speedboat into a. . . berth? Car park for boats? Bit of space on the lake?
‘Please, let me help you on board,’ he stretches out his hand, a delicious shock of energy fizzing up through my hand as I take his.
‘We’re going out in your boat?’ I squeak. I genuinely did not expect to be voyaging on the seas today.
‘Yes,’ my dates smiles, the sun bouncing off his olive skin. ‘There are some incredible views from up across the lake, ones I don’t think you’ll have seen before. I thought you might like to photograph them.’
So I’m off on a speedboat date with an Italian aristo, guys. Just another bang average day for me. It’s a good job I’m so confident on boats. B A R F.
Safetyfirst! I insisted on wearing my life jacket for the entirety of the twenty-minute trip across Lake Como, even though it didn’t compliment my green dress. Meanwhile Al captained us effortlessly to shore while remaining one hundred per cent stylish in a cotton t-shirt and navy shorts.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask as I hitch my camera bag over my shoulder and follow him up a steep, dusty road.
‘To my olive grove.’
‘I’m sorry, did you saymyolive grove?’
‘It’s been in the family for years,’ he explains, resting his hand on the small of my back. ‘It’s just at the top of this hill.’
Use of the word hill isn’t entirely accurate here. It’s so steep it could be mistaken for a climbing wall. I’m trying really hard not to huff and puff as we scale Mount Everest and Al is now carrying my kit bag for me like a true gent. When we finally make it up to the summit, he takes my hand again and leads me along a path until we’re looking out over acres of trees.
I stop and gasp at the incredible view. The lake is a deep blue from up here, lakeside towns clustering at its shores like barnacles on a ship. The mid-morning sun dazzles on the water and the salmon pink villas, which are so big close up, look more like little toy houses.
My fingers itch to get at my camera and also run my hands along Al’s back. I’d been so transfixed watching his broad shoulders move as we walked that I almost tripped over a whole heap of vines on the way here. I think my date might be the hottest man on the planet.
‘Go,’ he stands back.
I blink a bit.
‘Youwant some time to take photographs, right? You have a passion and I admire that very much. I’ll still be here when you’re finished and perhaps we can taste some of my olive oil if there’s time.’
Right. Photos first, perving on Al next.
‘Okay, thank you. I’ll hold you to the olive oil tasting.’
‘I should hope so,’ he says, raising an eyebrow and making me nervous laugh.
It’s possible that I *may* have got a bit overexcited this morning. I ended up scrambling through the little olive trees to practise depth of field and then, when I saw an ancient tractor puttering along, I broke out in a run to grab some rustic shots of the farmer toiling in his fields. Then I ended up dangling precariously from a ledge of soil with a sheer drop just below, to get some hopefully amazing photos of the lake in the distance. From up here, the mountains are reflected completely in the water below which is simply stunning to shoot.
It’s almost midday when I pack my camera away. There’s a hot Italian waiting and I can’t keep him any longer. Emerging from the vines, I cast a quick look down at myself to see that my dress is torn and my skin is covered in grazes from muscling through bushes. Plus, I’m pretty sure I’m a bit sweaty. Why didn’t I date first, photo later?! Argh.
Al is cool, crisp and incredibly chic under an awning where a table has been laid out with little pots of olive oil and a vast bread basket.
‘It looks like you had a productive morning,’ he smiles.
‘I got a bit carried away,’ I motion to the cuts on my knees like a schoolgirl in pigtails.
‘You love your work,’ he laughs, handing me an ice-cold glass of water. ‘That’s a very attractive quality in a woman.’
‘Itis?’ I ask, taking a grateful slurp and instantly wishing I was more ladylike. How many times has Alessandro, King of Europe, been on date with a woman who has literally been scrambling through hedges and slurps her drinks? I’m going to plump for zero times.
‘A lot of the people I date are not in it for the right reasons. They see my background before they see me, you know?’ I get it. He’s practically royal, for the love of god. ‘Often I feel like I attract the wrong type of person.’
‘You mean, like, gold diggers?’
