Shameful Secret, Shotgun Wedding

‘Cassie?’ Giancarlo’s voice broke into the swirl of her thoughts.

‘Sorry?’ Biting her lip, she looked up at him to find his ebony gaze washing over her. What on earth was she doing—thinking about women staying the night here?

‘You were miles away.’

‘Was I?’ She helped herself to a portion of chicken from the dish he was holding towards her. ‘Sorry, I was just thinking…’

‘What were you thinking?’

Hastily, Cassie reassembled her thoughts, glad that the candlelight hid her sudden rise in colour. ‘That I’ve never met anyone who has staff before. Gina’s Italian, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, she is.’

‘And what about the others that you mentioned—the cook and the gardener—are they all Italian?’

‘Do you want me to go through the CVs of my entire staff?’ he questioned softly, taking the bowl from her and placing it in the middle of the table. ‘Yes, they are all Italian. They’ve been with me a long time and know my tastes. Now relax, bella—and eat your dinner. I’m much more interested to hear about you and how you came to be working at the store.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’

‘Well, I live in Cornwall—I may have mentioned that.’

‘And what is it like, living in Cornwall?’ he murmured.

She shot him a shy look. ‘Oh, it’s gorgeous—with the most beautiful beaches and the biggest waves you’ve ever seen. It’s a surfers’ paradise and does the best cream teas in the world—have you never been there?’

‘No, I haven’t.’ His lips curved, because her enthusiasm was really very sweet. ‘Tell me more.’

‘I live close to the sea—in Trevone,’ she said.

‘On your own?’

‘No, with my mother. She runs a B&B—that’s bed and breakfast—though there are hardly any guests during the winter. My father…’ She swallowed. ‘Well, my father died a couple of years ago.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Thank you.’ Cassie put her fork down. People always said that. I’m sorry. As if somehow they were responsible for the death of a stranger. She guessed it was just what people said when they didn’t really know what to say—though she couldn’t imagine that Giancarlo Vellutini was often stuck for words. She shot him a quick glance as he ate a mouthful of chicken and pushed a bit more food around on her own plate. ‘I suppose you’re shocked that a woman my age is still living at home?’

He shook his head and shrugged. It meant that there would be no liaisons in her home town—but so what? He wasn’t planning long-term.

‘I am from Italy,’ he said softly. ‘Where such a scenario is common. Living with your parents has many advantages—for both parties—although, naturally, it can curtail individual freedom.’

She couldn’t have put it better herself. ‘Exactly!’

‘Is that why you came to London, Cassandra? Because you wanted to be free?’

‘Yes, well—sort of,’ she said slowly—because only now had her mother come out of her frozen grief, and allowed Cassie to think that it was okay to leave her on her own. But it was more than that. Hadn’t her father’s death made her rethink everything? Hadn’t it brought home how frighteningly fragile life was and made her examine her own and find it wanting? Making her realise that it was whizzing by and she had done very little with it. ‘I wanted a break. Felt I was in a bit of a rut. You know.’

She paused to allow him to agree, but he didn’t—and when she thought about it, a jet-setting man like him was unlikely to get bored with the daily grind, was he?

‘You see, I’ve only ever lived in one place and felt it was time for a change,’ she continued. ‘I work in a shop in Padstow—a really pretty little gift shop which sells trinkets and craft kits and fancy food. Cornish clottedcream biscuits and crystals—that sort of thing. I’d like to get promoted to manageress—and the owner said that it might be a good idea if I got a bit of experience in London first. She knows one of the buyers at Hudson’s—and she arranged for me to get a temporary job there during the Christmas rush. And so, here I am.’

‘Here you are,’ he agreed, sitting back in his chair and looking at her. ‘With your eyes the colour of those little bunches of violets you sometimes see on city market stalls—all dewy fresh amid the dust and grime.’

She blushed and glanced down at her plate, feeling the sudden skitter of her heart. ‘I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.’