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‘Of course, of course,’ said the manager, eager to pacify her. ‘I will sort it immediately, signora.’

Everyone was watching as he strode over to the couple by the window, speaking to them in low tones. He clicked his fingers, signalling for two of the waiters to come over and help him. Working swiftly and in sync, they moved the pair’s drinks glasses, plates and cutlery, ushering them across the restaurant, hastily procuring a fresh tablecloth and resetting their table in the new position.

Lucia watched the whole process without a flicker of remorse, not even when Marco came across and touched her lightly on the elbow. ‘Lucia,’ he said softly, ‘is this necessary?’

‘Yes,’ she said hotly. ‘People try to take advantage of my good nature all the time, and I have to stand up for myself. I requested that table – why should they decide that I can’t have it?’

‘I understand,’ Marco nodded, and in that moment Lucia felt immensely grateful towards him. Handsome and kind. She’d chosen well.

‘Your table, signora,’ the manager said, extending his hand and inclining his head as Lucia swept imperiously past him. She was gratified to note that Marco pulled out her chair for her, his manners impeccable.

A waiter hurried over with a bottle of vintage champagne. ‘On the house, of course. We are immensely sorry for any distress.’

Lucia accepted the apology – and the champagne – as though they were her birthright. ‘Salute,’ she toasted, batting her eyelashes at Marco as they clinked glasses across the table.

‘What was that?’ Marco asked, distracted, his eyes darting to the window.

‘What?’ Lucia asked innocently.

‘I thought I saw … It doesn’t matter,’ Marco said, shaking his head.

Lucia smiled, rearranging her hair to make sure it looked perfect for the paparazzi outside. She’d asked them to be discreet; she hoped there weren’t too many more camera flashes to make Marco suspicious, but she would do her best to distract him.

She leaned forward, pushing her breasts together so that they were in danger of falling out of her dress. If this didn’t distract him, nothing would. ‘So,’ she purred, ‘tell me all about yourself. I want to know everything about Marco DiMaggio.’

‘That was incredible,’ Marco groaned, sitting back in his chair at the end of the meal. It had been superb. They had started with steamed lobster, followed by a primo piatto of squid ink risotto, and a secondo piatto of veal with baby vegetables. They’d both been too full for dessert, but the manager had insisted on bringing out an exquisite white chocolate mousse with berries, of which Lucia had eaten two spoonfuls before determinedly setting it aside. Lucia had never believed in starving herself, and loved her fuller figure, but she knew when to stop.

‘So, it was worth coming out for dinner with me after all?’ Lucia smiled. She had thoroughly enjoyed herself – Marco was excellent company, intelligent and funny – and he knew how to treat a woman.

‘You were very insistent,’ Marco laughed modestly. ‘Tell me,’ he continued, the alcohol and the candlelight making him feel mellower. ‘Why did you invite me to dinner?’

‘I like you,’ Lucia shrugged. ‘So many men are scared to approach me, so I have to approach them myself if I like them.’

Marco didn’t respond. He had the strangest feeling that Lucia wasn’t telling the truth. They’d had a great evening, and Lucia was undoubtedly entertaining, telling him endless outrageous stories and name-dropping wildly. He’d seen flashes of vulnerability too, and moments of honesty when she wasn’t trying to live up to her diva reputation.

‘Do you like me?’ Lucia pressed. She leaned across the table towards him so that their faces were barely inches apart.

‘You’re an incredible woman, and I’m sure you know that. But perhaps our lives are not so compatible.’

Lucia’s face hardened and Marco detected that it was hiding wounded pride. For all her arrogance, he could tell she was lonely. But he wasn’t going to flatter her for the sake of it; it was better to nip the situation in the bud before it could get out of hand. Getting involved with Lucia was way more stimulation than he could handle right now. He’d agreed to one date for Gina’s sake, but there were not going to be any more.

As though Lucia had read his mind, she asked coldly, ‘Is it because of Gina? Are you two having an affair?’

Marco was taken aback for a moment, surprised by the rancour in her voice. ‘No, Gina and I aren’t … together.’

‘You’re married, yes?’ Lucia said, glancing at his wedding ring. Marco was surprised she hadn’t raised it before now. Then again, if her love life in the gossip columns was anything to go by, she didn’t care whether her lovers were married or not.

‘I was,’ Marco said slowly. ‘My wife died … three years ago now.’

‘Oh.’ For once Lucia was speechless. ‘I’m very sorry. I didn’t realize. It hurts … to lose someone you love, I know this too.’

‘Yes,’ Marco agreed. ‘Yes, it does.’ He drained the last of his champagne; the bubbles had gone flat, and he felt tired suddenly. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to get home to his daughter. Daniela had been fine after last night, but he wanted to be there for her if she needed him. ‘Lucia, I’ve had a wonderful evening, and I’m very flattered you invited me, but it’s getting late and I have a five a.m. start tomorrow. I’m sure you need to get your rest too.’

Lucia looked at him for a long moment, as though she were considering saying something further, but instead she smiled at him, her feline eyes narrowing. ‘Of course. It’s been a pleasure.’

She reached across the table to squeeze his hand. Marco was surprised but didn’t pull back. Her nails were long red talons, her fingers encased in enormous jewelled rings. She threw back her head and laughed suddenly, her eyes growing soft. ‘You have something on your cheek,’ she murmured, reaching across to brush it off. Her fingertips lingered on his face. He frowned in confusion and then a round of flashbulbs lit up the night sky outside the window.

Marco recoiled instinctively. ‘What the hell …?’ he began. He jumped as a face appeared at the window, followed by a second; cameras thrust against the glass and flashbulbs popping.