Charlie reached out and covered his hand with hers. ‘I know this,’ she said softly. ‘I do know this, Matteo. I am so sorry to have made you feel that I’m blaming you for everything. To think that I consider you a bad person in any way. I don’t; I wouldn’t be here if I did. I know that actually the opposite is true. That you spend your life trying to do what’s right. That you might never have put me first but you were never putting yourself first either. I know you have huge commitments, bigger than the two of us. But, selfishly, I wanted to be first for a little longer.’
‘That wasn’t selfish, Charlie. That’s just the way it should be. The way I wanted it to be. But when I got back to London and I saw my grandfather looking vulnerable for maybe the first time in his life, knowing he needed me for the first time, I couldn’t let him down.’
‘Forgetting all the very qualified and very well paid people you employ to actually help you run Harrington Industries? You have to trust in them.’
He smiled wryly. ‘I know that, my grandfather knows that, but he made it clear that he could only relax, only heal knowing I was taking care of everything. Part of me knew that he was playing me even then. He can’t help it. But at the same time he was the one constant, Charlie. I may not like the way I was raised. I might have cried myself to sleep those first years at boarding school, resented him when he made me choose between the company and spending the summer here with my family, but he was there, and there was no one else I could say that about.’
He took a sip of his tart beer and stared out at the square, filled with tourists and locals, couples and families, chattering, happy people, secure and together. ‘It might have hurt every time he made digs about my parentage, the expectations he put on me. It might have been infuriating, knowing that no matter what I did, what deal I landed, the profits I made, he would expect me to do better. That doesn’t stop me wanting to make him proud. And he needed me then, for the first time. How could I have let him down? Even though I knew at some level that he was using the situation to drive a wedge between us. Part of me will always yearn for his approval, Charlie, even though I know it will never come. Even now, sitting here, doing my best to convince you that you are the most important thing in my life, there’s a bit of me replaying the conversation I had with him earlier and hearing the disapproval in his voice, the dig underlying every single word. But I choose to stay here with you. I choose you if you’ll have me. I’ve learned my lesson.’
Charlie blinked, her eyelashes damp. ‘Let’s not make any decisions now,’ she said, lacing her fingers through his, her thumb circling the back of his hand. ‘Not today, not when the sun is shining, we have cold delicious drinks and even more delicious snacks and beer and we are sitting in one of the most beautiful villages in the world.’ She smiled at him, the gesture a little wobbly. ‘I don’t need to forgive you, Matteo. I just need to know that if we do try again things will be different. That I can be me, faults and all, a little impulsive, sometimes reckless. Of course you can tell me if you’re not comfortable, but don’t try and curb me. And in return I’ll be respectful of your work and the hours you put in and I’ll make sure I am appropriately dressed for work situations, just as long as you never ever suggest a dress that can only be described as mushroom colour ever again.’
Matteo stared at her, his mind tumbling. ‘Wait there.’ He pushed his chair back, leaving Charlie looking after him in confusion as he strode across the square and around the corner where he knew there was a small pharmacy. It was so small and so localised he wasn’t sure it would have what he needed, but a quick perusal of the shelves yielded results and he chose a box almost at random, paid for it hurriedly and within seconds was back at the table where Charlie was sitting still, staring at him in confusion.
‘What on earth...?’ she began.
‘Here.’ He handed her the box. ‘I should have done this a long time ago.’
Charlie took the box and stared down at it, tears falling freely now. ‘Hair dye? Oh, Matteo, that is a gorgeous purple.’
‘It’ll suit you.’ He reached over to tilt her chin, wiping a tear from her soft cheek. ‘I mean it, Charlie. I do like your hair this way, but I miss the flash of colour.’ He grinned. ‘It makes you easy to find when we’re out.’
She swatted his hand away, but was laughing as she did so. ‘Whereas you need a tracking device. I never knew a man so likely to stop and not tell me. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve said something to you, only to realise you’re actually half a mile behind me replying to yet another email.’ She glared at his watch. ‘Curses to whoever invented smartwatches.’
Matteo unbuckled it and handed it to her. ‘Here.’
‘What? Seriously?’
‘I was quite happy for the two weeks I didn’t have it, not checking emails every minute, and I even survived without knowing my step count. Go on. Give it away, sell it, whatever you want. I’m free.’
‘You’ll be begging me for it back within twenty-four hours,’ she said, sliding it into her bag and standing up. ‘Okay, let’s go. I’ve already paid.’
‘What’s the hurry?’
She winked. ‘I have to dye my hair—and then I intend to thank you very, very thoroughly.’
‘In that case,’ he said, grabbing her hand and towing her away from the table, ‘what are you dawdling for?’
And as she slipped her hand through his arm, laughing, Matteo dared to hope that maybe they would be all right after all.
CHAPTER TEN
CHARLIE ROLLED OVER onto her back and half opened one eye, only to instantly close it again against the bright morning sun filtering in through the curtains. But, although she tried to regulate her breathing and slide back into sleep, she knew it was a waste of time; she was wide awake.
She lay there for a moment, trying to figure out why she felt a little peculiar, touching at her emotions gingerly as if testing a sore tooth. But there was no twinge, just a blanket calm. Contentment. Contentment? That was it, why she felt so odd. She had often been happy, exhilarated, full of joy and, just as often, could find herself despairing, covering it with her usual insouciant brand of get-up-and-go and mixing things up. But she rarely felt this calm contentment.
Squinting against the morning light, she reached out a toe and rubbed it lightly against the hard muscles of Matteo’s calf. She waited a moment but he didn’t stir, not even when she ran her hand suggestively along his arm. Rolling back onto her side, she looked at him, learning him by heart all over again. He was naked, half covered by a sheet, his expression surprisingly relaxed in sleep, a marked improvement on the habitually pinched look he’d worn the last few months of their marriage. But then he’d rarely slept, working all hours.
But that was then and this was now. Charlie drank in the sharp, haughty slant of his cheeks, accentuated by high cheekbones, the strong, straight nose, not quite large enough to be called Roman, and the full sensual mouth, now relaxed, but so often severely set.
To those who didn’t know him, Matteo could seem remote, serious, even curt and yet that façade hid so much more depth than she had realised possible when she’d first met him. When he’d first introduced himself she’d been desperate to impress him, wanting him to think her worthy of a grant. But, for those first few minutes, she had thought him little more than a suit with power. A handsome suit, admittedly, one who made her pulse beat a little bit faster and her throat dry up with every glance from under those straight brows. But a suit nonetheless and Charlie wasn’t interested in suits. But he’d whisked her out for dinner and by the time her first course had arrived she’d seen that behind the tailored handmade clothing was a man who seemed genuinely interested in her project—more, interested in her. A man who asked probing questions, drew her out and listened intently to every answer. Whose hard-won smile gave her a sense of satisfaction, of fulfilment.
If Matteo thought that she had brought light and laughter into h
is life then she needed to acknowledge that he had brought depth to hers. He validated her and all she was. Had seen through the costume and colour to the heart of her.
Reaching up, Charlie pulled at a lock of her hair and looked at the purple-tipped ends, that same new contentment warming her through as she stretched out luxuriously, feeling aches in all her secret places, a reminder of just how much she had thanked Matteo the night before and why. Impatient, she nudged him.
‘Wake up, sleepyhead,’ she said, and it was his turn to roll, stretching out with a yawn. She watched the movement appreciatively as he looked sleepily at her.
‘What time is it?’
‘No idea. You got rid of your watch, remember, and we agreed phones had no place in the bedroom.’ She couldn’t help a smile curving her mouth as she spoke, remembering how they’d rushed up the stairs the evening before, barely making it to the bedroom, phones left on the coffee table, unneeded and unwanted.
His own smile was suggestive, a deliberate sensual curve that sent her stomach tumbling in desire. ‘So, did you wake me for anything in particular, Mrs Harrington?’
She nestled closer, running a hand across his arm again, and this time felt him quiver ever so slightly under her touch. ‘Well,’ she breathed, ‘I thought we might finish what we started last night...’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘Finish? Oh, I thought we finished all right. You’re telling me that you want more?’
She allowed her gaze to travel slowly over him, deliberately lingering on every inch of his torso. ‘If you’re up to it, that is.’
‘Up to it?’ In one fluid movement he turned over and pinned her to the bed, and she wriggled under the delicious weight of him. ‘Do you want me to show you how up to it I am?’
‘Oh, yes, please.’ She wound her arms around his neck. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’
Matteo didn’t move for one eternally torturous moment, just looked steadily into her eyes, his own gaze full of heat and desire. And then, when she thought she couldn’t wait any longer, he dipped his head and kissed her.
She’d been expecting his kiss to be hard. Their lovemaking over the last few days had been frantic, passionate, as if they were both trying to make up for lost time, almost punishing themselves for the time apart. But this kiss was different, sweet, slow and so sensual she could feel her toes literally curl.
Matteo took his time, muttering to her in a mixture of Italian and English as he trailed kisses along her throat, pausing at the pulse in the hollow of her neck, his knowing hands sliding along her body, making her gasp against him. Desperate to speed things up, to take some control, she reached out for him and he captured her hands in one of his, holding her lightly but purposefully.
‘No, you don’t,’ he told her. ‘I believe you threw down a challenge, my lady, and I’m never one to back away from a challenge.’ Anticipation rippled through her at his words and she submitted. It was a most delicious torture, to lie and wait as he leisurely explored her body with his clever, clever hands and teasing kisses. She closed her eyes, giving herself up to sensation, to the feel of him, his touch. This was where she belonged. They fitted together. He and she. For now at least.
* * *
‘Capri at last!’ Charlie said rapturously as Matteo expertly steered the small boat towards the harbour. She watched him do something complicated-looking with the tiller and grinned. ‘I had no idea you were such an accomplished sailor. It’s bringing out all my pirate fantasies.’
‘Later,’ he promised her, and her body weakened at the look in his eyes. A look just for her.
They moored at the main harbour and as she disembarked Charlie looked around excitedly. She’d heard a lot about this fabled isle, home to emperors and sirens. But, although the harbour was undeniably pretty, it wasn’t noticeably fancier than Amalfi, where they had sailed from, or Positano, yesterday’s post-rehearsal destination. Matteo was delivering on his tour guide promise and she was loving every sun-drenched second.
There were boats everywhere, clustered around jetties and moored out at sea, every conceivable style from small rowing boats and dinghies to fancy cruisers. A larger jetty served the ferries and hovercrafts and groups of tour guides waited at the end for the day trippers to disembark, offering them trips to the fabled Blue Grotto. A row of painted houses lined the bottom of the tall peaked cliff, many of them home to shops, cafés and hotels.
‘This way,’ Matteo said, gesturing towards a little building that resembled a station at the foot of the high cliff. Charlie gave him a questioning look and he laughed. ‘We can take the funicular up or if you prefer we can walk, but I warn you, it’s pretty steep.’
‘Funicular every time,’ Charlie said emphatically, and he took her hand as they dodged amongst the tour groups and large family groups in order to join the queue for the steep ascent to the top of the cliff.
They waited in line, hand in hand, just two lovers amongst the many couples day-tripping over from the Amalfi coast and she revelled in the sheer ordinariness of it. As Matteo bought the tickets Charlie adjusted her huge sunglasses and smoothed down her trousers. She’d opted for cut-off capris today, in honour of the island for which they were named. Lime-green, she’d teamed them with a white tank top patterned with tropical fruit. A matching scarf held back her hair and offered some relief from the sun and she’d opted for the large white hoop earrings again. The only thing that didn’t match were her sensible white trainers. Matteo had warned her they would be doing some climbing and so she’d left her heeled sandals behind although she had packed some sparkly flip-flops for later.
It didn’t take the funicular long to ascend to the top of the hill. Charlie looked down at the steep drop and shivered. ‘I always find these things unnatural,’ she murmured to Matteo and he squeezed her hand reassuringly. But she was relieved when the doors opened and she was back on solid ground. Within seconds she found herself in the main square of Capri town and she took in every detail eagerly. The square wasn’t large and most of the space was filled with tables, waiters bustling around, little alleyways and wide paved streets leading enticingly off, all thronging with tourists.
‘What do you want to do first?’ Matteo asked. ‘There’s a really lovely walk up through Capri town to the tip of the cliff and to Tiberius’ villa, then back through some beautiful woods right by the sea. The views are incredible; best not to think about the poor slaves that he threw off those cliffs though. Or we could go across to Anacapri and get the chairlift. It’s up to you.’
‘I’ve had quite enough of being held up in the air by machinery for now,’ Charlie said. ‘I vote for the walk, gory history or not. But first, did you say something about coffee being an essential experience here?’
‘I believe I did. How about that café there?’ He gestured towards the tables and they took a seat at a recently vacated one in a shady corner spot with excellent views all around the square. He leaned forward confidentially. ‘Just remember how horrified you were by the price of those drinks we had overlooking the Pantheon in Rome.’
‘We could have bought an entire meal for the price of two small beers,’ she protested and he laughed.
‘Well, those beers may seem quite reasonable compared to what we are about to pay. Consider yourself forewarned.’
‘Then why don’t we go somewhere else; we don’t need to sit here.’ She half rose but Matteo laid a hand on her arm, staying her.
‘It’s a tradition. You’re paying for the view, the location. Besides, it’s not as if we can’t afford it.’
She shook her head at him. ‘Not all of us are accustomed to such wealth, you know; there’s no harm in being a little frugal.’
‘I like to treat my wife; is that such a crime?’ he asked, and she smiled.
‘I guess not.’
The coffee was ludicrously expensive, but luckily it was also delicious. They took their time, people watc
hing, Charlie making up as outrageous a story as she could about many of the people they saw walking by, challenging herself to make Matteo laugh, to coax a smile out of him. It wasn’t hard; his memory might have returned but he was still like the Matteo of old, easy company, interested in everything she had to say, his mind on her and where they were, not on his phone or his tablet. As promised, his watch had been locked away in a drawer back at the villa and he had barely checked his phone since they’d left the villa earlier.
When she finally felt as if she’d got as much value out of the coffee as she could, they started to explore the small town, Charlie treating Matteo and herself to ice creams, watching the cones made fresh as they stood there, the hot batter expertly shaped and immediately hardening and cooling ready to receive her raspberry and lemon and his dark chocolate and liquorice gelato. Slowly, enjoying the intense flavours, they wandered along the route they’d chosen.
The road to Tiberius’ villa was well signposted and obviously popular. Shops lined the street, well-known designer names to cater to the privileged clientele who came to this beautiful island, and soon they ended up in a residential area, gorgeous villas hidden behind high walls and locked gates. Charlie peeped through every chink she could find, seeing just enough to whet her imagination. ‘Imagine living here,’ she said every ten or so yards as they passed yet another beautiful villa.
‘Ravello not good enough for you now?’ Matteo asked mock indignantly and she nudged him.
‘I have quite fallen in love with Ravello as you know, but this place is iconic; it was the playground of some of the biggest stars in the fifties and sixties. It’s obviously my spiritual home.’ She stopped to stare longingly at a white villa poised on the cliff, its infinity pool perfectly positioned as if a swimmer might dive straight into the sea far below. ‘That must be the worst part of being rich,’ she said. ‘You see a glorious place like this and you could buy it if you wanted. Where’s the fun in always getting what you like? While us more down-to-earth folk get to play If only and daydream. Much more fun.’
Winning Back His Runaway Bride Page 12
