The Italian's Future Bride

‘I stayed in the bath too long,’ she explained as naturally as she could.

He turned back to what he was doing. ‘Want a sandwich?’

Her stomach gave a hungry growl. ‘What’s in it?’

‘Take your pick,’ he invited, pointing to the variety of salad things he had already sliced up. ‘There’s cheese in the fridge, some chicken and ham.’

Choosing the ham because she saw it first, she took over and handed it to him. Then surprised herself by staying there watching as he layered fresh bread with salad stuff.

‘Not going to offer to do it for me?’ He arched a look at her.

‘Not me,’ she said. ‘I might grow the produce but I can’t cook it,’ she confessed. ‘Ask me to make a sandwich like that and it will fall apart the moment you pick it up.’

‘No culinary skills at all, then.’

‘Not a single one.’

‘Any good with a coffee machine?’

‘Hit and miss.’ She grimaced. ‘I’m an instant coffee girl.’

‘Tragic,’ he murmured. ‘Give it a try anyway.’ He nodded to where the coffee machine stood. ‘It’s loaded and ready to hit the cup like the instant stuff does, only it tastes better.’

‘That’s an Italian opinion.’ She moved across to the machine and fed it a cup as she’d done two days before.

Two days, she then thought suddenly—they felt like years. How had that happened?

‘Tony tells me you have been treading the miles again,’ he murmured.

She turned to look at him curiously. ‘How often does he report in to you?’

The wide shoulders gave a shrug inside expensive white shirting that didn’t quite stop the gold of his skin from showing through. ‘Each time you stop somewhere.’

‘Do you think it’s necessary? I mean, I haven’t seen a glimpse of a reporter in the two days I’ve been out and about.’

‘Then you would make a lousy detective.’ Turning he pointed to the newspaper lying on the table.

Going over to it, Rachel saw a photo of herself sitting at a table in a top Knightsbridge restaurant drinking morning coffee with its famous chef owner. A flush arrived on her cheeks because, not only was she aware that she had not seen the lurking reporter but she’d now realised that the only reason why she had been sitting there at all was because the chef had recognised her and his curiosity had been piqued.

‘Where was Tony when this was taken?’ she demanded. It was his job after all to stop this from happening.

‘He did clear the reporter off, but not before he had managed to take this one photograph. Then the guy waited until you had left the restaurant and went back to quiz the chef.?

??

The chef had given an interview, getting a plug for his restaurant by happily telling the reporter what Rachel Carmichael did for a living. There was another photograph in a different paper showing Raffaelle kissing her cheek as he helped her on with her jacket.

‘What it is to be famous,’ she murmured cynically.

‘Well, your secret other life is now out,’ Raffaelle declared. ‘Which means you can stop hiding behind the mask of Elise when we go out.’

‘Daniella is going to love it.’

He turned with two loaded plates in his hands. ‘I’ve spoken to Daniella.’

Rachel froze as he put the plates down on the table.

‘She sends you her apologies and promises to behave the next time that you meet.’