by Daisy James
‘It’s not all about the villa, though, is it?’ interjected Jonti. ‘That’s not what kept you in San Vivaldo for four months or why Meghan spends every penny she earns on airfare!’
‘Oh, I don’t know…’
But Jonti was right. Since arriving back in London, Luca had never left her thoughts. Not a day had gone by when she hadn’t contacted him in some way to relay a snippet of news, ask for his opinion on a pasta dish, or a new Italian wine she’d come across. So it had come as a shock when he’d waxed lyrical about how Harry’s project to upgrade four farm cottages would be a fabulous opportunity to showcase her rejuvenated talent for creating cutting-edge interiors and that if she wanted to withdraw from the Snowflakes & Christmas Cakes course, then he would understand.
She had refused his offer, desperate to see Villa Limoncello again, even if it was just to say goodbye and to thank all the people she had met in Tuscany for their friendship, their love, and their support in setting her firmly back on the road towards a life in which her grief no longer defined her. She had loved Anna with every fibre of her being, but she had also grown to understand that her sister would not have wanted her to cloak herself in misery for the rest of her days, but to embrace every single moment and live her life to the full for the both of them.
‘Hey, cheer up, Izzie, you look like Eeyore’s little sister! Look, you don’t have to make any decisions just yet. Fly over to Tuscany, spend a delicious week with Luca by your side and when the guests have left to sing their merry hearts out at their Christmas concert, you can relax in that gorgeous limonaia you’re always going on about, and talk it over with Luca face-to-face, read his body language, see from the look in his eyes how he truly feels. And, I actually wanted this to be a surprise but you know me, can’t keep a secret if my life depended on it. Guess what? Your week in snowy Tuscany just got even better because…’
Jonti paused for dramatic effect, his eyes wide, his smile bright.
‘What? Come on, Jonti! What?’
‘Brace yourselves, darlings! I’ve decided to pack up my Gucci holdall and join Meghan on that plane next Saturday to indulge in my own little slice of Tuscan paradise and to inspect those Italian stallions who’ve stolen the hearts of my two best friends in the whole wide world.’
‘That isn’t the reason you gave me when you asked me which flight I was booked on!’ Meghan smirked.
‘Well, I might have an ulterior motive.’
‘Which is?’ asked Izzie.
‘That I’m desperate to make the acquaintance of the celebrated Carlotta and to ask her if she could sprinkle a little bit of her matchmaking magic on yours truly! Now that would be a Christmas present made in heaven. What do you say?’
‘Oh, Jonti, I’d love that!’
Izzie pulled Jonti into a tight hug, her heart blossoming with love and gratitude for the staunch support of her friends and, despite the fact that the previous two courses at Villa Limoncello had been fraught with challenges, from severed electricity cables to allegations of food poisoning and the repercussions of clandestine affairs between the guests, it was surely third time lucky, wasn’t it?
Chapter Two
Villa Limoncello, San Vivaldo, Tuscany
Colour: Sugar pink
Izzie grabbed her wheelie suitcase from the carousel and made her way towards customs. She had already decided to hire a car, one of those cute little Cinquecentos in a gorgeous sunshine yellow colour, instead of taking a taxi. She felt a warm glow of affection when she thought of her usual choice of transport when she was in Italy – the sugar-pink Vespa, currently slumbering amongst the gardening paraphernalia in one of the outbuildings at the back of the villa. She smiled – it was a shame Jonti wouldn’t get a chance to ride it when he arrived. She knew he would adore the nippy little scooter even though it was more like something Barbie would use for a day out chasing rainbows.
However, when the plane had started its descent into Florence Airport, she’d been surprised to see a light dusting of snow which made the whole of the medieval city look as if it had been topped with a generous layer of royal icing. It was picturesque, certainly, but not the kind of weather she wanted to travel around on a Vespa in.
As she emerged into the arrivals hall, she glanced down at her chosen outfit and groaned. Why hadn’t she listened to Luca and chosen more suitable attire for the dash from the car hire desk to the car park? Of course, she knew it would inevitably be a trek and she resigned herself to turning up at Villa Limoncello with hair like a bird’s nest rather than Sunday best – though that was nothing new.
She shrugged. No matter how much time she devoted to her appearance, with a profusion of curls like hers there was no way she could hope to achieve the polished elegance of the travellers milling around her, greeting family and friends with hugs and kisses, sporting sharply cut designer overcoats, soft leather loafers and looking as though they’d just stepped from a catwalk or the beauty salon – the women and the men. Even those who were clearly students possessed a certain panache that spoke of the effortless style Italians seemed to exude in abundance.
Izzie looked around the brightly lit concourse; something was strange, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Then it came to her. Despite Christmas Day being less than three weeks away, there were no over-the-top decorations – no oversized fir trees laden with baubles and wrapped in yards of tinsel, no fake snow sprayed on the glass partitions, and no tinny Christmas music being pumped through the loudspeakers – in complete contrast to the extravagance she had seen in the avenues of Heathrow, which she suspected had been displaying its gifts and garlands since the first week of November, if not before!
At last she spotted the familiar yellow and black logo of the car hire company and, once through the metal barrier, she swung off to her right, her heels click-clacking on the marble flooring. She’d taken only a few paces when she halted, her heart crashing against her ribcage in disbelief and delight.
‘Luca! Oh my God, what are you doing here?’
Luca laughed at her surprise, his dark brown eyes crinkling attractively at the corners, those cute dimples she loved so much bracketing his lips like commas as he ran his palm over his stubbled chin in a familiar gesture.
‘What do you think I’m doing here, Is… a… bella?’
Oh, that accent! thought Izzie. The way her name rolled from his tongue, coated in that sexy Italian cadence that caused ripples of desire to travel the length of her spine and fizzle out to her fingertips.
It had been two months since she’d said arrivederci to him – to fulfil a contract to renovate a friend’s house in Knightsbridge that would allow her to pay the rent on her flat until the end of the year – and if it were possible, Luca looked even more handsome than she remembered in his buttock-hugging black jeans and pale lemon sweater with sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms to reveal a smattering of dark hairs. But it wasn’t his appearance that caused her to lower her lashes and inhale a long lingering breath – that particular pleasure was caused by the faint whiff of citrussy cologne that would forever remind her of the long summer days she had spent at Villa Limoncello, strolling around the grounds, soaking up the sunshine and kissing Luca underneath the magnolia tree.
She smiled, taking a step forward to receive the customary greeting, and when his lips lingered briefly at her earlobes, she shivered with delight. When Luca held her gaze for a few moments longer than necessary, Izzie’s heart bloomed, overjoyed at seeing him again, grateful that he’d taken time out of his busy day at the trattoria to collect her from the airport. Then her eyes snagged on something he was holding in his left hand.
‘Oh, yes, these are for you.’
Luca handed her a bouquet of smiling yellow sunflowers, artfully arranged with glossy foliage and wrapped in cellophane, which she immediately recognised as her friend Francesca’s work.
‘Thank you, they’re gorgeous.’
She smiled again, still unable to believe Luca was standing there in front o
f her, his eyes boring into hers, sparks of electricity snapping through the space between them. All she wanted to do was melt into his arms and kiss him until she was breathless – irrespective of their audience of travellers and tourists. She hoped that Luca felt the same way, but just as she took a tentative step forward, Luca reached out to grab the handle of her suitcase, spun on his heels, and headed for the door.
Disappointment and confusion whooshed through her body, but she followed in his wake, happy to save their real reunion for the journey back to the villa, but when they arrived at the exit she stopped in her tracks.
‘Oh my God! It’s freezing!’
Luca looked at her and she saw the familiar flash of amusement in his eyes.
‘I knew you’d say that! Everyone thinks Tuscany is blessed with wall-to-wall sunshine all year round. It’s December, Izzie. We get snow, but you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve come prepared, even if you haven’t.’
Izzie wrinkled her nose, looking from left to right to see if that meant he’d parked his scarlet Alfa Romeo Spider nearby, but instead Luca unzipped the rucksack he was carrying, withdrew a bulky package, and handed it to her.
‘What is it?’
Luca smirked. ‘Open it.’
She hesitated as she accepted the soft, squashy gift, then ran her finger under the join. She chanced a quick glance at him again and saw a spark of mischief dash across his expression.
‘Luca?’
But he simply shook his head and waited.
Izzie removed the wrapping paper and pulled out a pair of grey hand-knitted mittens and a matching hat.
‘Oh, these are lovely. Thank you.’
Luca simply raised his eyebrows, still watching her closely but saying nothing.
‘What?’
She looked back down at the hat-and-gloves combo, slotted her hands into the mittens and unfolded the hat, then burst into laughter.
‘What’s it supposed to be?’
She stuffed her hands into the hat and held it out in front of her for closer inspection. Two long pink-and-grey ears flopped from the top of the hat.
‘È un asino!’
Luca watched her reaction carefully and suddenly she realised the significance of the gifts he had given her – the sunflowers, the woolly hat topped with a pair of donkey ears – and without further hesitation she flung her arms around him, unconcerned about what people thought as they pushed past them, anxious to be on their way home.
‘Remember?’
‘Of course I do!’ she giggled.
‘I’ll never forget the way we met, or how you looked when you realised it was me who ran you off the road and sent you scooting into the field, interrupting that poor donkey’s lunch of sunflowers and artichokes.’
‘Neither will I!’ laughed Izzie, pulling the hat over her curls and striking a pose. ‘What do you think?’
‘Attractive!’
With her arm linked through Luca’s, Izzie followed him to the car park, grateful that their previous awkwardness had dissipated. Meeting Luca had been the best thing that had happened to her since losing Anna and even if it had meant she’d had to endure the indignity of communing with the local mule, then it had been worth every moment. Whilst an ember of pain still simmered whenever she thought of her beloved sister, she had learned to stitch her sadness into the fabric of her life and move forward, and the person she had to thank for steering her in the right direction was sitting next to her, revving the engine of his Alfa Romeo like Lewis Hamilton’s younger brother.
Whilst Luca navigated the serpentine roads of the Tuscan countryside with the calm nonchalance of a seasoned local, Izzie settled back in her seat to enjoy the picturesque scenery that flashed by her window. She exhaled a long, contented breath – she was happy to be back. Luca flicked on the radio and instead of the cheesy Christmas songs that were played back-to-back at home, the car was filled with a classical aria that soothed her traveller’s nerves.
‘How did your baking practice go?’ asked Luca, glancing sideways at her, a smile playing at his lips.
‘The honest version?’
‘Sure.’
‘Not so good. I think I’ve got three of the recipes sorted, but I’m struggling with the last two.’
‘Then you will be pleased to know that I have the perfect solution.’
‘You do?’
‘I had a phone call this morning from Nick Morgan, the choir’s leader and also the guy who booked the Snowflakes & Christmas Cakes course. Apparently, one of our guests stumbled across the fact that Isabella Jenkins is an award-winning interior designer and has asked if you’d mind running a couple of Christmas craft workshops.’
‘Really?’
Izzie’s spirits shot up a notch – give her a paint brush or a staple gun over a whisk and a wooden spoon any day!
‘I told him I’d float the idea by you. What do you think?’
‘I think it’s a fantastic idea. Oh, I could do a glass bauble-painting tutorial, or a Christmas wreath-making session, or we could make home-made advent calendars, or candles infused with dried flowers and winter spices, or…’
‘They all sound fabulous. I thought we’d do three days of baking and two of crafting?’
Izzie beamed, and the nugget of dread that had festered since her Swiss roll practice sessions hadn’t turned out as she had hoped was replaced by a tickle of excitement.
‘Great. I’ll amend the itinerary and order the supplies this afternoon before I laminate the instruction cards and finalise everyone’s folders. Have you made any changes to the Italian patisserie recipes?’
‘Would I dare? You worked so hard to get everything sorted and order in all the organic, free-range and locally produced ingredients. The files look very professional, by the way. I’m sure our guests will be relieved to see their photographs on the front of them – just in case they forget what they look like!’
‘Well, after what happened during the Painting & Pasta course, I really want everything to run as smoothly as possible and that means preparation, preparation, preparation!’
‘Everything will run smoothly! This time our guests will be focusing on their choir rehearsals – which Nick was at pains to make sure I understood. I thought you were obsessed with timetabling and schedules, but it looks like you might have met your match! The other guests might think they’re here to relax and have fun, and create a few delicious desserts for their fellow choir members, but Nick has got every single one of their singing sessions over in the old barn planned out with military precision. He kept stressing over and over again that he would not tolerate our cookery classes extending even one minute beyond the one o’clock deadline. I assured him that with Isabella Jenkins in charge, nothing could possibly go wrong.’
Izzie thought it was probably prudent not to list the potential pitfalls waiting for them so soon after she’d arrived, so she decided to change the subject.
‘How are Gianni and Carlotta?’
‘Gianni talks of nothing but his wine – which is apparently going to be the best Chianti Tuscany has ever produced – as well as the snowboarding trips and spa treatments he’s organised for when Meghan arrives. Carlotta and Vincenzo have just got back from visiting his grandson who’s at university in Milan, and you won’t be surprised to learn that whilst they were there, Carlotta struck up a conversation with a waitress in a cafe next to the theatre, introduced Matteo, and as they say, the rest is history. How does she do it?’
‘Well, she’ll have another assignment on her hands at the end of the week!’ And she went on the fill Luca in on Jonti’s imminent arrival and his hopes for a sprinkle of Carlotta’s matchmaking magic.
Izzie felt the Alfa Romeo’s engine change its tone as they negotiated the steep incline that led up to Villa Limoncello and within moments the wide wrought-iron gates hove into view. An intense feeling of homecoming suffused her body as Luca swung the steering wheel to his left and they crunched down the pebbled driveway lined with a parade of cy
press trees pointing proudly into the clear azure sky. When her gaze fell on the house, a plethora of emotions welled up inside her. Until that moment she hadn’t realised how much she had missed the place, how much a part of her life the careworn building with its terracotta roof tiles, its honeyed façade and its green, paint-blistered shutters, had become.
She loved it there; the wisteria-covered pergola where she took her early morning coffee, the whitewashed gazebo where she had held her painting classes, even the dilapidated tennis court that she and Luca hadn’t yet got around to renovating despite their good intentions. But the part she loved the most was the limonaia, the large glasshouse on the south gable wall that had given the house its name – Villa dei Limoni. Whenever she strolled through the gardens, inhaling the sweet smell of rosemary and lavender, a feeling of complete serenity descended. Time didn’t seem to knock so ferociously here as it did in London, and that had provided her with the space to deal with the numerous poison-tipped arrows life had fired in her direction.
She jumped out of the passenger seat, leaving Luca to wrestle her wheelie suitcase from the back seat of his Spider. He followed her to the terrace where they paused, side by side, to take in the view. The sun had climbed higher in the sky, warming the air and washing the whole vista with a golden hue, highlighting the higgledy-piggledy rooftops of San Vivaldo and bestowing the vineyards and olive groves with an almost Tolkienesque quality, and the final vestiges of Izzie’s anxiety melted from her bones.
‘Ah, I’ve missed all this. It’s an oasis of calm in a world of chaos and confusion!’
Izzie turned to smile at Luca, but instead of returning her gesture, she saw him stuff his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, his jaw taut, a pensive expression on his face.
‘And it’s the perfect place to contemplate what the future might hold,’ he said, his accent thicker and more pronounced than usual. ‘When did you say Harry needed an answer by?’
