“No, I never learned. And looking at this traffic, I don’t think I want to learn in Italy.”
“City traffic takes getting used to,” he acknowledged. “Out in the country where I—we live, it is much easier to drive. I will teach you.”
“Maybe when I adjust to the cars on the wrong side of the road,” she replied quietly. She stared out the window at the passing scenery, seeming so calm, serene.
“It is such a beautiful country,” she commented as they left the motorway and started to drive through the village. “I’ve hardly been out of London. Have you always lived in this part of Italy?”
“Yes, I was born not far from where we now live. My mother is originally from Sardinia, so I went there for summer holidays while my grandparents were alive. Then I lived in Milan in my twenties. When the villa came on the market, I jumped at the chance to buy it. Of course, it was in a derelict state, and it took almost a year to restore. I have only lived in it for six months. I am hoping you will have some suggestions on how to make it feel more like a home. Perhaps your interior design skills will help.”
“How did you know I was studying interior design?” Sophia’s eyes narrowed.
“Olivia mentioned it. I do not remember if it was before or after she told me that she would hunt me down and castrate me if I ever hurt you,” he replied, with a mock shiver.
Sophia laughed, finally “Olivia is a bit protective.”
“Protecting you is my job now. But she seems like a good friend.”
“Olivia’s the best. Would you mind if she came for a visit in a couple of months?”
“She can come any time you wish. There is plenty of room.” He drove through the new steel gates and pulled into the semicircle driveway.
“This … this is your house?”
“Our house,” he corrected as he stopped the car. Her reaction surprised him. He knew she’d married him for his money, and it seemed, the chance to leave London, but clearly she hadn’t expected this level of wealth. It suited him that she’d been easy to persuade. But at the back of his mind, he wondered what had made her desperate enough to accept his proposal.
They had a lifetime to get to know each others' secrets—starting tonight. His blood rushed to his groin as it had when he’d first seen her in her wedding gown. Never having experienced such instant lust before, he was as intrigued as disconcerted.
He dragged his mind from the bedroom and helped her out of the low-slung sports car. “Come, I will introduce you to Maria and Vittore.” His hand found its way to the small of her back of its own volition.
“Who are they?” Sophia looked around as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
“Maria is the cook and Vittore is the gardener. They live on-site. The girl who cleans comes in from the village each day.”
“You have staff?”
“Of course, you do not think I brought you here to clean and cook, do you?”
“It’s a good thing, because I can only cook beans on toast and jacket potatoes.”
“That does not even qualify as cooking.” He winked.
• • •
Sophia wiped damp palms on her trousers. Staff? What did she know about directing staff? And what would they think of her, the bought bride who knew nothing of their language or culture?
They climbed the five stone stairs to the massive double front doors. Luca had to take his hand from her back to open the door with a massive ornate key.
“Shall I carry you across the threshold?”
She smiled at his effort to pretend this was a proper marriage. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
He looked almost disappointed. “Welcome to your new home.” He flung his arm wide and waited for her to enter first.
The entrance was wide and tiled in white marble. A round, wooden table stood in the center of the room with a large vase of fresh flowers. A curved staircase on the left side of the hallway led to an upstairs gallery. The walls were painted a pale cream and dotted with sepia-toned pictures of vineyards and olive groves. Understated elegance came to mind, but no hint of warmth or comfort.
“I will give you the quick tour and you can wander around at your leisure later.” Luca opened a door on the right, revealing a sitting room that looked stiff and uncomfortable. There was no hint of his personality. He continued through glass doors from the sitting room to a large dining room, furnished with a heavy oak table and high-back chairs. The furniture would fit in a medieval castle—an Italian villa, not so much. From the dining room they returned to the entrance hall through an arched doorway.
“That door leads to the kitchen,” Luca said, as though that part of the house was some foreign territory to which visas were seldom issued.
They crossed to a paneled door that led to another sitting room. This one was a lot cozier and the first room in the house where Sophia could imagine spending any amount of time. She pictured herself in winter time on the large, overstuffed cream sofa, snuggled under a blanket, reading a book with a fire crackling in the tall fireplace across the room. Or better yet, snuggled in Luca’s arms watching the firelight play across his handsome face. To distract herself from the fantasy, she moved over to the mantel to look at the photos displayed there.
“My mother,” Luca said, coming to stand close behind her, “taken on her recent wedding day. I have not told her about our marriage yet. There will be plenty of time for her to meet you later.”
She moved the frame so it was straight on the mantel and glanced up at Luca. Had he not told his mother because their marriage was simply a business arrangement to him, a transaction like purchasing a piece of property? Whatever the reason, she was relieved she didn’t have to deal with a mother-in-law at the moment.
“Let me introduce you to Maria.” He took her hand in his and walked through to the kitchen.
A couple were sat at the table, having a hot beverage and a slice of cake, but jumped up as Luca entered. A flurry of Italian followed, and Sophia took the opportunity to look around. The kitchen was gorgeous. Brass-bottomed pots hung from a rack above the marble-topped island. Bottles of oil with various peppers and spices inside were lined up on the counter like soldiers waiting for a call to duty. And the smell—her stomach rumbled with one sniff. The scent of a hundred homemade meals, cooked with love and attention, lingered in the air. She’d been too nervous to eat at lunchtime, and her body took the opportunity to remind her.