Winning Back His Runaway Bride

by Jessica Gilmore

  What would happen if his memory never returned? This time would he always tell her she was beautiful, like the colours she chose for her hair, appreciate the bright vintage styles she preferred? Or would he once again come to find her too much for his moneyed, sophisticated world and seek to tame her, to suggest chartreuse and olive and slate dresses in draping fabrics, diamond studs and subtle make-up?

  Almost defiantly, Charlie pulled out a red polka dot halterneck dress with a full circle skirt and wide white belt, teaming it with huge hoops and a string of false pearls, each the size of a baby’s fist. She carefully outlined her lips in deepest red, filling in the colour before layering on the mascara. She added a jaunty hat and a pair of cat’s-eye sunglasses and gazed at herself in the mirror. It was months since she had been so very much her. This was the Charlie Matteo had fallen in love with, and this was the Charlie who didn’t fit into his world. If she was going to survive the rest of this trip with what was left of her heart intact, then she needed to be herself more than ever. Armour, weaponry and retreat wrapped into one red-lipsticked package.

  * * *

  Charlie looked good enough to eat. Lightly tanned to the colour of the milkiest coffee, she was like a delicious chocolate enticingly hidden in a polka dot wrapper, and all Matteo wanted to do was unwrap her.

  In fact, all he’d wanted to do for a whole week was unwrap her as she lay on a sunbed next to him, encased in a series of vintage-style bikinis, all ruffles and straps and tempting shades of pink and yellow and turquoise. But Charlie was adamant. He was meant to be resting and that, in her book, seemed to mean celibacy. Separate beds, separate rooms and barely a peck on the cheek at night. It was enough to make a man ill, not cure him.

  ‘Come on, wife.’ The word was still new to him, strange yet exotic, with all its connotations of belonging. He tapped a foot mock-impatiently as she emptied half the contents of one bag into another. He’d been cooped up for too long and, nice as it had been to be so uncharacteristically indulgently lazy, his body was now primed for movement, for exercise, to walk off some of this ache in his body.

  An ache that intensified as Charlie slowly and deliberately settled her outrageously huge sunglasses over her eyes and adjusted her hat to an even more jaunty angle, every curve exaggerated by the halterneck of her dress.

  How had he got so lucky?

  She gave herself one more long look then nodded. ‘Okay. Ready.’

  ‘Then let’s go.’ He held out his arm with exaggerated courtesy and, after a brief hesitation he couldn’t help but note, she took it. Her light touch on his arm was like a balm, soothing some of the ache inside him.

  It wasn’t just the physical distance between them that preyed on his mind. There was an emotional distance too that Charlie was trying very hard to hide, but he could sense all the same. She was clearly watching what she said to him, stopping or backtracking or changing the subject with an airiness belied by the anxiety in her expression, her eyes sometimes so haunted with sadness it hurt him to see. She’d assured him that both of their families were safe and well, that Harrington Industries was thriving, but something was responsible for those shadows. If it wasn’t their families, his business, then was it him? Was it them? Was their marriage less than perfect after less than a year?

  He could, maybe should, demand answers even though she’d made it plain she wouldn’t answer any questions, not yet. But in the end he’d decided not to notice her sudden pauses or abrupt subject swerves and didn’t press too hard with any questions, not sure if he wanted the answers after all. He’d never considered himself a coward before but forcing the truth out of Charlie was a step he just couldn’t face yet. Not when there were times when the shadows ebbed away and her smile tilted those provocative lips and he could tell himself he was imagining things.

  It took them less than fifteen minutes to reach the village square, the sun beating down relentlessly as they walked down the steep footpath leading from the villa gate to the village, a handy shortcut bypassing the windy road. The season was in full swing and every restaurant had tables and chairs spilling out onto the square, each filled with a mixture of tourists and locals.

  ‘It’s so busy,’ Charlie said in surprise. ‘I thought this was a sleepy hillside village.’

  ‘Once maybe, but not for many years—Ravello is filled with boutique hotels, exclusive villas, expensive shops and people prepared to pay outrageous prices to enjoy the views—although not as outrageous as Capri. I’ll take you over there one day soon. Prepare to be amazed at just how much a coffee can cost if you sit in the main square there. But it’s an experience not to be missed.’

  ‘Sounds fun.’

  Matteo took Charlie on a circuitous route through Ravello. He wanted to show her everything. It had been several years since he’d spent more than a couple of days here, but with every step he felt more and more as if he had come home. Every alleyway, every ancient villa, every peep of a courtyard garden, every hidden restaurant and café was as familiar to him as his Kensington square. He exclaimed over several changes of ownership as they walked past shops and restaurants, insisting on buying Charlie gelato from his favourite ice-cream maker, even though she protested that she was too full from breakfast to manage more than a few bites.

  ‘The cathedral is definitely worth taking a look at,’ he told her as they wandered down another alleyway. ‘And there’s a little museum with some rare Roman finds in it as well, but the main attraction in Ravello is the villa and the botanical gardens. They’re on every Amalfi coast must-see tour.’

  ‘It all sounds amazing,’ she said, taking another lick of the ice cream she managed to almost finish despite her earlier protestations. ‘Ravello may be small, but it’s definitely not sleepy.’

  ‘That’s its charm,’ he said. ‘Being here feels like living in the perfect Italian hillside village, only you get spectacular views, five-star food, concerts with world-renowned artists and high-end shops as well. But, of course, there’s so much to do all round here; you can get a boat from Amalfi over to Ischia and Capri, travel up the coast to Positano or to Sorrento, further afield to Naples or Pompeii or Herculaneum...’

  ‘You’ve missed your calling as a tourism expert.’ Charlie grinned up at him. ‘If you ever get bored of being a business tycoon you could turn the villa into a B&B and take people all over the coast. I’d sign up. Hang on.’ She looked down at her hands in surprise. ‘Where did that ice cream go? I could have sworn I wasn’t going to manage more than a couple of bites.’

  Matteo laughed, taking her hand in his, and her fingers closed round his as they fell into step together. He’d been an idiot, seeing things that weren’t there. Those concerns, the imagined silences were just because she was worried about his concussion. Everything was perfect between them, just as it should be. As he had known it would be. His grandfather had told him he was a fool to marry a girl he hardly knew, a girl with no connections, without a family name to use or a business to utilise. But Matteo had known what he wanted, what he needed. And, for once, his views weren’t the same as his grandfather’s. He owed the old man a lot, everything. The only stability he’d ever known for a start. But that didn’t mean he could dictate who Matteo fell in love with.

  They continued wandering along, looking in the shop windows and reading the menus of every café and restaurant they passed, planning what they’d have in each one until, turning a corner, Matteo heard his name called and, stopping, saw a slim dark-haired woman pushing a buggy, with children either side, hurrying towards him, her face wreathed in smiles.

  ‘Lucia, how lovely to see you. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Matteo, I wondered when I’d see you. Maria told me you were in town. This must be your beautiful wife...’ She held out a hand to Charlie and, when Charlie took it, embraced her with a quick triple kiss. ‘I am Lucia, Matteo’s cousin, not that you’d know it, for all the communication I have with him.
’

  ‘Hi, Lucia, I’m Charlie,’ Charlie said, smiling back, although her smile seemed a little forced. ‘It’s lovely to see you. I’ve not met any of Matteo’s Italian family so far. In fact Maria is the only person I’ve met since I’ve been here.’

  ‘In all the ways that count, Maria is family. We were all terrified of crossing her when we were younger but we wouldn’t be without her now. I moved here several years ago, Matteo. Giuseppe, my husband, is a wine merchant and specialises in the region. And these...’ she waved her hand at the buggy and the children standing by it ‘...these are my children, not that you probably remember them.’

  ‘I do,’ he protested and she grinned.

  ‘Go on, name them.’

  Matteo held up his hands in surrender. ‘I wouldn’t want to deprive you of the pleasure of introducing your children.’ He knew he’d sent gifts for each birth—or, rather, Jo had; gifts for christenings and Christmas and all his cousins’ children’s birthdays were programmed into his work calendar so Jo could send a generous cheque in their direction, but that was as far as his knowledge of the younger generation went. His lack of engagement didn’t bother him, usually. But today he felt a slight inkling of something that felt a little like guilt, and possibly an acknowledgement that in some ways he had missed out. They had all been so close as children and he hadn’t even attended a single wedding or birthday party, hadn’t contacted them when he was over on a duty visit to his mother. If he and Charlie had children, this would be their family. He would want them to grow up as surrounded by love and laughter as he had—during the summer holidays at least. Not the lonely austerity of the rest of his childhood, the many months he’d spent in England at school or rattling alone around his grandfather’s country estate or the cold, forbidding house on Richmond Hill.

  ‘This is Elena.’ Lucia indicated the small girl sleeping in the pushchair. ‘Lorenzo.’ She laid a hand on the head of a boy of around six. ‘And this is my Rosa.’ She put an arm around an older girl of eight or nine who had red-rimmed eyes and a sulky look on her face, then gave Matteo a hard stare. ‘Your goddaughter, Matteo.’

  Charlie shot him a quick glance. ‘You have a goddaughter?’ She sounded surprised and Matteo shifted slightly uncomfortably.

  ‘Haven’t I mentioned it? Her, I mean.’

  ‘No.’

  He shifted again, searching for the kind of diplomatic words that might get him out of this awkward situation, only to grin a little sheepishly as Lucia and Charlie looked at each other, identically pursed mouths before laughing.

  ‘Completely useless,’ his cousin said, nudging him affectionately and Charlie nodded.

  ‘He is. I am so sorry. I wish I’d known; I’ve always wanted to be an aunt. I am an only child so am already planning to spoil any children my cousin has as much as possible. You will have to let me take you out for ice cream or something when I’m here, Rosa. If that’s okay, of course.’ She clapped a hand over her mouth, looking embarrassed. ‘I forgot, of course, she doesn’t speak English. She must think I’m a right idiot, babbling away to her in a foreign language.’

  At that Rosa’s mouth twitched into something close to a smile. ‘Oh, she speaks a little,’ Lucia said. ‘She’s just not speaking very much at all right now. She is very disappointed, and I can’t do anything to fix it.’

  ‘Oh?’ Charlie took off her sunglasses and looked sympathetically down at the small girl, her smile understanding. ‘Is there anything I can do to help cheer you up? I am sure Matteo owes you at least eight years’ worth of treats; do you want to claim one today?’

  Matteo had never really seen Charlie around children. He knew, of course, that not only was she a primary school teacher but that she also worked some evenings in a local dance school. It stood to reason that she would like children, be interested in them. But seeing her display such empathy warmed him. His own parents had been so disinterested in him, and he himself knew very little about children. But he couldn’t help a vision of him and Charlie walking down a street, surrounded by their own sons and daughters, just as his cousin was—and for the first time such a thought didn’t terrify or bore him. It excited him.

  ‘She’s a good person to tell problems to, Rosa,’ he said. ‘And she has a point about those treats.’

  Rosa slowly shook her head, tears welling up and spilling over, splashing down onto her thin cheeks, and Lucia sighed. ‘There’s no point crying, Rosa,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing to be done and you just have to accept it.’ She looked up at Matteo and Charlie and shrugged. ‘Rosa here is a very keen ballet dancer and she is very lucky to learn with a wonderful teacher. They have been working towards a gala in two weeks’ time, to raise money, you see, for the refugee children who live in the region. It is a good cause. And Rosa was to have a solo. But, unfortunately, her teacher’s mother has just been taken into hospital and so Signora Natalia has had to go back to Roma. So no gala, no solo for Rosa, and right now it feels like the end of the world.’

  ‘It’s not just a solo,’ Rosa ventured in a little voice still thick with tears. ‘It is because of Violeta...’ Her voice wavered again and then broke. Matteo quickly translated so Charlie could understand and Charlie crouched down to look into Rosa’s woebegone face.

  ‘Violeta?’

  Lucia nodded. ‘Yes, Violeta Costa, the ballet dancer? She is the prima ballerina at La Scala and she and her partner are coming to Ravello to give a gala performance at one of the concerts. Rosa’s teacher was at school with her when they were younger and so Violeta agreed to do a solo at the gala and to be guest of honour.’

  Charlie took Rosa’s hand and squeezed it. ‘Violeta Costa? No wonder you’re disappointed; what an opportunity. And nobody else can take over? You’re so close, just two weeks to go, surely you must know your roles by now? You only need a rehearsal director.’

  Lucia shook her head. ‘There’s no one suitable in the whole area, not to the standard needed. No, we must postpone until next year and try not to be too sad, hey, Rosa?’

  Matteo grinned. ‘And you said I am a useless godfather? I might just be able to help you out, Rosa.’

  Charlie froze as Lucia laughed. ‘You? Don’t tell me that you’re qualified to teach ballet, Matteo?’

  ‘Hardly, but Charlie is. She can help you get ready, can’t you, Charlie?’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHARLIE FOLLOWED MATTEO into the villa’s hallway and slipped off her sandals before heading into the deliciously cool sitting room, glad of the chill of the tiled floor against her hot, bare feet. Matteo looked at her, eyebrows raised quizzically.

  ‘Okay. You’ve been quiet all the way home and not just because it’s a steep climb back. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong.’ She paused. That wasn’t exactly true. ‘I just wish you had checked with me first before telling Rosa I’d take on the ballet gala.’

  ‘I guess I should have done. I’m sorry.’ Matteo leaned against the door, his smile contrite, like a kid caught stealing biscuits, knowing he was in trouble but sure he would be swiftly forgiven. ‘I was just so pleased we could help—you can help. I know the language barrier is a slight issue...’

  ‘Just a small one!’

  ‘But I can translate. I’d like to be involved. Is that what was worrying you? After all, you’re a qualified ballet teacher.’

  ‘Not to that standard! Rosa’s ballet teacher trained at one of Italy’s top ballet schools. It’s not the same.’

  ‘Charlie, they are kids, not professionals. They’ll just be happy someone can make this happen. And it’s for a really good cause.’

  Charlie flopped onto the sofa, taking her hat off and shaking her hair out. ‘Oh, yes, the cause is really important and I’d like to support them. But Matteo, think about it. You have volunteered me to prepare fifty children I don’t know and who speak a different language to me for a gala in front of their pro
ud parents and one of the world’s top dancers. In just two weeks! That’s a big ask.’

  It was a big ask, huge in fact, but normally it was the kind of challenge she loved, language barriers and all. And she understood why he’d jumped in with the offer, which was why she hadn’t said anything while they were with his cousin. How could she have crushed the fledgling hope on Rosa’s wan little face?

  ‘Besides, we might not be here in two weeks.’

  She might not be here. There was no doubt that Matteo was getting better by leaps and bounds; she didn’t need a medical degree to see how much more colour he had, how much more energy. Once the doctor gave him a clean bill of health then her promise not to give him any shocks would be at an end and she would be free to tell him the truth. Free and morally obliged. And then what? She could hardly stay here in the same villa as the man she was divorcing.

  But if she agreed to take on the dance gala then she would have to stay in Ravello for two more weeks at least. Which, under different circumstances, would be perfection but, as it was, the sooner Matteo knew the truth and she was out of Italy the better. Every day it got harder to remember that none of this was real, to remember that her marriage was over.

  ‘Why wouldn’t we be here?’ Matteo sounded surprised. ‘I promised you a second honeymoon, didn’t I? Lovely as the last week has been, it’s not exactly been honeymoonish, has it?’ He grinned at her, a wolfish gleam in his eyes that sent her pulse racing despite all her attempts to stay calm.

  ‘Matteo...’ She couldn’t find the right words. She threw up her hands in defeat. ‘I just wish you’d checked.’

  He gave her a quick keen look, then strode across the room to sit beside her, taking her hands in his. His touch lit her up inside and it was all she could do not to sway towards him. It was too dangerous being here with him. Her heart was too susceptible, her body too unreliable, forgetting all the reasons to keep him at bay.