The Italians: Alessandro, Luca & Dizo: Alessandro's Prize / In a Storm of Scandal / Italian Groom, Princess Bride

Everything was in place by early evening, the table set, wine chilling, the torte resting in the refrigerator.

Time to dispense with jeans and top, shower, don something feminine, fix her hair, and add a touch of lip gloss.

The in-house phone buzzed at seven-thirty, and when she picked up it was Alessandro’s visual image displayed on the video monitor, not Sophia and Carlo as she’d hoped would appear first.

Lily felt her heartbeat quicken its pace as she released the external door allowing entry into the downstairs lobby.

All too soon he reached her apartment, and she let him in with what she hoped was a welcoming smile, accepted the gift bottle of wine, offered her thanks, then her eyes flew wide as he cradled her face and kissed her.

A little too thoroughly, for her peace of mind.

‘Nice,’ Alessandro murmured appreciatively as he lifted his head to regard her with quizzical warmth.

Nice? Apropos the kiss, her, the apartment, the tantalizing aroma of food simmering on stove top and in the oven?

Like she intended to ask?

Fortunately it was only a matter of minutes before the in-house phone buzzed, announcing Sophia and Carlo’s arrival.

Did her relief show? She hoped not.

Lily felt the tension ease a little as she assumed the hostess role, offering wine.

‘Let me take care of it,’ Alessandro said as he moved to her side, and her eyes flared a little as he expertly dispensed with the cork before pouring a portion of wine into each of the four goblets.

With ease he passed them around, then lifted his goblet and offered a toast. ‘Lily. A new and happy life.’

Five minutes, maybe ten, and she’d retreat into the kitchen, set the pasta to cook, transfer the chicken into a serving dish, arrange the vegetables, then as soon as the pasta was ready she’d serve the starter.

There seemed no valid reason for the onset of nerves. She didn’t do nerves when it came to food. So why the feeling she was treading on eggshells? It didn’t make sense.

Although, nothing made sense when she happened to be in Alessandro’s presence. The air seemed to shimmer with sensual electricity, so much so it almost became a palpable entity.

Was it just her fanciful imagination … or did he sense it, too?

For heaven’s sake,she silently chastised.Get with the programme. Go do what you do best, put the final touches to the starter, retrieve herb bread from the oven, and put food on the table.

‘If you’ll excuse me?’

‘Would you like some help?’ Sophia queried.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

It only took a matter of minutes to drain the linguini, set it on plates and add the delicate funghi sauce. The main course rested in warming dishes, ready to transfer to the table.

Lily took a spot check, set the herb bread into a napkin-lined basket, then she called her guests to be seated.

The linguini was declared perfecto, the chicken ambrosia, and the fruit torte followed by mango sorbet excellente.

It was, even in Lily’s critical opinion, a satisfactory dinner. Even if she’d been dogged by more nerves than she could remember. A fact she laid solidly at Alessandro’s feet.

‘Miei complimenti,’ Carlo added quietly.

‘Grazie,’ she accepted with a warm smile, and almost froze as Alessandro brushed light fingers to her cheek.

‘Superb, Lily.’

Her eyes dilated, and for a moment she lost the power of speech. ‘Thank you,’ she managed at last. ‘Would you like to move into the lounge while I clear the table? Then we can relax in comfort.’

‘It’s pleasant to sit around the table for a while, don’t you think?’ Sophia said wistfully. ‘It reminds me of my family, when we caught up with each other, laughed a little and talked a lot.’

‘The table it is,’ Lily agreed gently. For, like her aunt, she associated food with family camaraderie, for it had been the one time of the day when they were all together … the closeness mattered, and the love.

Any further wine was declined as both men had to drive, and coffee was delayed as they sat informally at the table and exchanged anecdotes.

‘Do you remember, Lily,’ Sophia began, ‘when you visited with your parents? You were, I think, fourteen, or was it fifteen years old?’

Lily chuckled. ‘Please don’t. I had braces, wore my hair in a tail, I lived in jeans and bewailed the fact I would never be tall.’

‘I recall your mother endeavouring to persuade you to wear a dress.’

‘While I thought jeans made my legs seem longer, and therefore added the illusion of height.’

‘A cute teenager,’ Alessandro drawled, sparing her a gleaming look.

Cute? That was what he remembered? Better that, than the way she’d secretly fantasized, no, tell it how it was. drooled over the tall handsome young man with a wicked past, whose image invaded her dreams far too often.

Except that was more than ten years ago, and there had been a lot of changes in her life, some good, as she recalled time with her parents, her travels, success as a chef. And more recently, the not so good.

Lily turned towards Alessandro. ‘And what of your teenage years, Alessandro?’

His eyes held her own, dark obsidian and bearing an edge of mockery. ‘I’m sure you’ve heard how Giuseppe and Sophia took me into their home, their lives, and shaped me into the man I’ve become.’

‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I have. But very little of your life before then.’

‘It’s something I share with very few people.’

‘That bad?’

Living hand to mouth, with no home to go to; learning to fight dirty in order to survive on the streets; being one step ahead of the polizia, constantly watching his back.

‘Sì.’

He bore the scars from the slashes he’d taken from knives; tattoos now removed by laser, and the few he’d kept as a reminder of a life he’d left long behind him.

‘I’ll make coffee,’ Lily ventured. ‘It’s becoming late, and Carlo and Sophia need to return to Como.’

It was a simple matter to grind the coffee beans and set up the coffee machine. She set out the requisite crockery on a tray while she waited for the machine to percolate. Then when it was done, she added the sugar bowl and took it to the table.