‘Um . . . ’ Cesca hesitated. She’d had a few conversations with strangers since she’d come to Varenna, but none as good-looking as this.
‘If I tell you I’ve seen you around, will that make you feel any better?’ He leaned forward, as if to share a secret. ‘I’m staying in the villa next to yours. When I saw you here this morning, I decided it was time to introduce myself.’
Knowing he was a neighbour made Cesca feel slightly less agitated.
‘I didn’t know there was anybody living there. I haven’t seen you down at the beach.’
‘I only arrived last week, and I’ve been busy exploring the area. I’ve rented it for the summer, an attempt to get away. To leave work behind for a while, or at least try to.’ He leaned forward, conspiratorially. ‘Though I’ve already arranged some meetings here. Everybody keeps telling me I’m a workaholic.’
Cesca smiled. She wondered what he’d say if she told him she was pretty much the opposite, barely able to hold down a job for more than a week. ‘Then a break sounds exactly what you need.’
‘I’m so sorry, let me introduce myself. My name is Gatto. Cristiano Gatto. I’m from Roma.’
‘I’m Cesca. From London.’ She reached out to take his proffered hand. ‘What is it you do in Rome?’
‘Cesca, that’s a beautiful name.’ He was still smiling. ‘I’m in the hospitality business. I have a number of restaurants in the capital.’
She felt her eyes get wide. Probably best not to tell him she’d been in the hospitality industry herself for a few weeks, even if she had been mostly dealing with cats. ‘And you were able to get away?’
He looked down at the table. ‘It was difficult. I find it hard to let things go, you see. But now I’ve met my beautiful neighbour I’m glad I made the effort.’
Oh, he was a smooth talker. She couldn’t help but smile back at his handsome face. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Cristiano. I’m glad you made the effort, too.’
The waiter came over and took their orders, returning a few minutes later with two steaming cups. Cristiano continued to talk about his restaurants, about Rome, asking Cesca what she was doing here in Varenna.
‘Tell me, Cesca, what are you doing drinking coffee all alone? Are your friends back at the villa?’
‘I’m not staying with friends.’ She shook her head, her voice cautious. She wasn’t sure how much she should reveal about herself. After all, she was a single woman in a strange country. ‘It’s a working holiday.’
‘No boyfriend either?’ His eyes twinkled. She wasn’t sure whether it was simply the reflection of the sun.
Damn, he was good looking though. In a delicious, dark Italian way. Flirtatious, too. It was almost impossible not to flirt back. ‘Not at the moment.’ She smiled at him. ‘Though I’m falling in love with your beautiful country. I feel very lucky to be here.’
‘A beautiful girl in a beautiful country. It’s the perfect combination.’ He lowered his voice again. ‘I’m very glad I found the courage to introduce myself.’
That made her laugh out loud. He didn’t seem the type who was backwards at coming forwards. Still, she accepted his compliment with a smile. It had been a long time since somebody had flirted with her, and she had to admit it felt good.
By the time they finished their drinks, Cesca’s bad mood had all but disappeared. She tried to take the bill as it arrived, but Cristiano insisted on paying, shaking his head vehemently when she offered some euros to cover her half. ‘It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Cesca. Perhaps we can meet for coffee again later this week? Or maybe I’ll see you down by the beach some time.’
Cesca thought she’d like that, more than she was willing to admit. And as she agreed readily, she realised she’d already made her mind up about staying here in Varenna. There was no way she was going to let Sam Carlton chase her out of Villa Palladino. Not after everything he’d already done to her. If Sam wanted a fight, then that’s what he would get.
She wasn’t going to let him win this time.
The house was strangely quiet when Sam woke up. He was used to being in the villa, of course – he’d spent most of his childhood summers here, after all – but he was usually surrounded by noise. Today, though, everything in the building was silent. His stomach growled, reminding him that part of his body at least was still on US time. And he’d barely eaten for nearly forty-eight hours.
Emerging from his bedroom wearing fresh shorts and a T-shirt, he padded onto the marble landing, still listening to hear if Cesca was up. He tipped his head to the side, brows dipped, but all he could hear was the faint birdsong drifting in from the gardens beyond. Maybe he was lucky, and she hadn’t yet awoken.
‘What the hell is her problem, anyway?’ he murmured.
He pulled open the refrigerator, grabbing an almost-empty carton of juice from the shelf. Without bothering to pour it into a glass, he swallowed the dregs straight from the spout. Leaving the carton on the side, he went back to look for food. There was some fruit in there, along with some platters of uncooked meat. Tomatoes – of course – all luscious and ripe, and some fresh pasta, too.
No snacks, though. No beer either – not that he wanted any yet. But it was just occurring to him that he might want some later, and if there was none in the villa, he’d need to find some. Gabi and Sandro knew what he liked to eat and drink – hell, they knew all the habits of the Carltons – but of course they hadn’t bothered stocking up for his arrival. Not when they’d known nothing about it.
Groaning, he raked a hand through his hair. Any other time and he’d either go out and buy some snacks himself, or at least find some mobile reception in Varenna and call his PA in Hollywood who could arrange for some sort of delivery. But if he left the villa, he risked exposing himself and letting people know he was here. Which was really against the point.
He supposed he could try going out in the evening, under the cloak of darkness, and hope for the best. But after everything he’d been through, he was unwilling to risk it right then. The fewer people who knew he was here the better. A phone call to his PA would almost certainly alert his exagent and possibly his parents to his whereabouts. As far as Sam was concerned, that was almost as bad as the paparazzi finding out.
The front door slammed, and Sam lifted his head up, stepping away from the fridge. Footsteps approached, echoing against the marble floor, then Cesca walked in.