From Florence With Love: Valtieri's Bride / Lorenzo's Reward / The Secret That Changed Everything

‘I haven’t lost it. I didn’t want to give you the chance to avoid me.’

‘You thought I would?’

‘I thought you might want to, and I didn’t want you to run away without hearing me out.’ He looked around, studying the dusty room with the saddle racks screwed to the old beams, the saddle horse in the middle of the room with Bruno’s saddle on it, half-cleaned, the hook dangling from the ceiling with his bridle and stirrup leathers hanging from it, still covered in mould and dust and old grease.

Just like her, really, smeared in soapy filth and not in any way dressed to impress.

‘Evocative smell.’ He fingered the saddle flap, rubbing his fingertips together and sniffing them. ‘It takes me back. I had a friend with horses when I was at boarding school over here, and I stayed with him sometimes. We used to have to clean the tack after we rode.’

He smiled, as if it was a good memory, and then he lifted his hand and touched a finger to her cheek. ‘You’ve got dirt on your face.’

‘I’m sure. And don’t you dare spit on a tissue and rub it off.’

He chuckled, and shifting an old riding hat, he sat down on a rickety chair and crossed one foot over the other knee, his hands resting casually on his ankle as if he really didn’t care how dirty the chair was.

‘Well, don’t let me stop you. You need to finish what you’re doing—at least the saddle.’

She did. It was half-done, and she couldn’t leave it like that or it would mark. She scrunched the rag in her fingers and nodded. ‘If you don’t mind.’

‘Of course not. I didn’t know you had a horse,’ he added, after a slight pause.

‘We don’t—not any more.’

His eyes narrowed, and he leant forwards. ‘Lydia?’ he said softly, and she sniffed and turned away, reaching for the saddle soap.

‘He died,’ she said flatly. ‘We don’t need the tack, so I’m going to sell it. It’s a crime to let it rot out here when someone could be using it.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. He was ancient.’

‘But you loved him.’

‘Of course. That’s what life’s all about, isn’t it? Loving things and losing them?’ She put the rag down and turned back to him, her heart aching so badly that she was ready to howl her eyes out. ‘Massimo, why are you here?’

‘I promised you some olive oil and wine and balsamic vinegar.’

She blinked, and stared at him, dumbfounded. ‘You drove all this way to deliver me olive oil? That’s ridiculous. Why are you really here, in the middle of harvest? And what was that about not wanting me to run away before hearing you out?’

He smiled slowly—reluctantly. ‘OK. I have a proposition for you. Finish the saddle, and I’ll tell you.’

‘Tell me now.’

‘I’ll tell you while you finish,’ he compromised, so she picked up the rag again and reapplied it to the saddle, putting on rather more saddle soap than was necessary. He watched her, watched the fierce way she rubbed the leather, the pucker in her brow as she waited for him to speak.

‘So?’ she prompted, her patience running out.

‘So—I think Carlotta is unwell. Luca says not, and he’s the doctor. He says she’s just old, and tired, and needs to stop before she kills herself.’

‘I agree. She’s been too old for years, probably, but I don’t suppose she’ll listen if you tell her that.’

‘No. She won’t. And the trouble is she won’t allow anyone else in her kitchen.’ He paused for a heartbeat. ‘Anyone except you.’

She dropped the rag and spun round. ‘Me!’ she squeaked, and then swallowed hard. ‘I—I don’t understand! What have I got to do with anything?’

‘We need someone to feed everybody for the harvest. After that, we’ll need someone as a housekeeper. Carlotta won’t give that up until she’s dead, but we can get her local help, and draft in caterers for events like big dinner parties and so on. But for the harvest, we need someone she trusts who can cater for sixty people twice a day without getting in a flap—someone who knows what they’re doing, who understands what’s required and who’s available.’

‘I’m not available,’ she said instantly, and he felt a sharp stab of disappointment.

‘You have another job?’

She shook her head. ‘No, not really, but I’m helping with the farm, and doing the odd bit of outside catering, a bit of relief work in the pub. Nothing much, but I’m trying to get my career back on track and I can’t do that if I’m gallivanting about all over Tuscany, however much I want to help you out. I have to earn a living—’

‘You haven’t heard my proposition yet.’

She stared at him, trying to work out what he was getting at. What he was offering. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, because she had a feeling it would involve a lot of heartache, but—

‘What proposition? I thought that was your proposition?’

‘You come back with me, work for the harvest and I’ll give your sister her wedding.’

She stared at him, confused. She couldn’t have heard him right. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said, finding her voice at last.

‘It’s not hard. The hotel was offering the ceremony, a reception for—what, fifty people?—a room for their wedding night, accommodation for the night before for the bridal party, a food and drink package—anything I’ve missed?’

She shook her head. ‘Flowers, maybe?’

‘OK. Well, we can offer all that. There’s a chapel where they can marry, if they’re Catholic, or they could have a blessing there and marry in the Town Hall, or whatever they wanted, and we’ll give them a marquee with tables and chairs and a dance floor, and food and wine for the guests. And flowers. And if they don’t want to stay in the guest wing of the villa, there’s a lodge in the woods they can have the use of for their honeymoon.’

Her jaw dropped, and her eyes suddenly filled with tears. ‘That’s ridiculously generous! Why would you do this for them?’

‘Because if I hadn’t distracted you on the steps, you wouldn’t have fallen, and your sister would have had her wedding.’

‘No! Massimo, it wasn’t your fault! I don’t need your guilt as well as my own! This is not your problem.’

‘Nevertheless, you would have won if you hadn’t fallen, and yet when I took you back to my home that night you just waded in and helped Carlotta, even though you were hurt and disappointed. You didn’t need to do that, but you saw she was struggling, and you put your own worries and injuries out of your mind and just quietly got on with it, even though you were much more sore than you let on.’

‘What makes you say that?’

He smiled tenderly. ‘I saw the bruises, cara. All over your body.’

She blushed furiously, stooping to pick the rag up off the floor, but it was covered in dust and she put it down again. The saddle was already soaped to death.

‘And that dinner party—I know quite well that all of those dishes were yours. Carlotta doesn’t cook like that, and yet you left an old woman her pride, and for that alone, I would give you this wedding for your sister.’

The tears spilled down her cheeks, and she scrubbed them away with the backs of her hands. Not a good idea, she realised instantly, when they were covered in soapy filth, but he was there in front of her, a tissue in his hand, wiping the tears away and the smears of dirt with them.

‘Silly girl, there’s no need to cry,’ he tutted softly, and she pushed his hand away.