by Kate Hardy
‘That,’ he said, ‘is manipulation worthy of my mother—in fact, it’s worthy of my grandmother.’
Maybe. But she had a feeling that Gio had given up his music as a penance for what he believed he’d done wrong. And maybe playing to someone else would help make him see that he’d more than paid his dues. That he could have his music back.
So she simply sat there. Waiting.
He sighed. ‘I should warn you, I’m out of practice. Not like I used to be.’
‘I’ve never heard you play before, so I don’t have anything to compare it with,’ she pointed out.
‘Even so.’
But he was wavering. She could see it. ‘Just one piece? Something short and simple.’
He was silent for what seemed like a long, long time. To the point where Fran thought maybe she’d pushed him too far.
She was about to slide off the desk, apologise and leave him be, when he picked up the guitar.
The notes rang out, sweet and clear, in the office—a slow, pretty tune that Fran half-recognised. And then he changed it; it was the same tune, but this time it sounded incredibly different, as if it were being played by a Venetian gondolier on a mandolin. Then he switched back to the slow, sweet version.
‘Wow,’ she said, when he’d finished. ‘I’ve heard that before, but I’ve got no idea what it’s called.’
‘“Spanish Ballad”.’
‘Spanish? That middle bit sounded more Italian than Spanish.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s a technique called tremolo—and it’s used in Spanish music as well as Italian. Tarrega’s “Alhambra” is probably the best-known example.’
Not one she knew—at least, not by name. ‘You didn’t sound rusty to me. I liked it.’ She paused. ‘Can I be really greedy? More, please?’
He blew out a breath. ‘As long as you don’t ask me to play “Cavatina”. I loathe that piece of music. My sisters used to warble it around the house just to annoy me.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t mind what you play. Pick something you like.’
He played Bach’s ‘Air on a G String’, and she ended up closing her eyes and letting the music flood through her senses; the sound was so beautiful that it brought her close to tears. She didn’t recognise the next two pieces, though the style reminded her of the Mozart piano pieces Suzy used to practise as a teenager; and then Gio launched into a fast, flamenco-sounding piece. It sounded as if there were two people playing different guitars, though she knew that was a crazy idea. She opened her eyes just to check that someone hadn’t just appeared out of thin air to accompany him—but, no, it was just Gio.
And he looked as if he were enjoying himself, as if the speed and sudden loud flamenco licks were releasing all the tension that had built up inside him.
‘That was incredible,’ she said when he’d finished. If this was what he called ‘out of practice’, he must’ve been a truly fantastic musician in his late teens. Gio had a real talent for music, she thought; but he’d sacrificed it for the sake of his family.
‘That was Albéniz’s “Asturias”,’ he said. ‘A bit showy-off.’ He grinned. ‘But since I’m being a show-off…’ He launched into another piece, slightly jazzy.
‘I really like that. What is it?’
‘“Verano Porteño”. It’s by an Argentinean composer, Piazzolla.’
The mischievous twinkle was back in his eye, Fran noticed with pleasure. Music definitely brought out the best in Gio. ‘Should I have heard of him?’
‘Probably not—unless you dance the tango.’
She laughed. ‘Not with my two left feet.’
‘Dancing a tango’s easier than making latte art.’ He gave her a speculative look. ‘Maybe I’ll teach you.’
Being musical and having a good sense of rhythm, Gio would probably be a superb dancer. And the idea of dancing a tango with him—breast to breast and cheek to cheek, their bodies moving as one—sent little ripples of desire down her spine.
‘In Argentina, there’s a saying that everything may change except the tango…but Piazzolla changed it,’ Gio said. ‘He fused the old-fashioned style with jazz, to make something called nuevo tango.’
Given that saying…‘And it went down badly?’ she guessed.
‘At the time, yes—though nowadays most people think of him as the Tango King. He ended up living in Italy, where his parents’ family came from, in the late nineteen-seventies. Nonna actually saw him play in Rome, and said he was completely amazing.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I normally only play Piazzolla for Nonna.’
‘Then I consider myself honoured,’ Fran said. ‘What does “Verano Porteño” mean?’
‘Summer—well, it’s meant to be an evocation of summer in Buenos Aires. It’s from his Four Seasons,’ he said, ‘which is sadly not as well known as Vivaldi’s.’ He played a couple of bars she recognised from ‘Spring’, then put his guitar back in the case. ‘Enough for now.’
‘Thank you for playing for me,’ she said.
‘Well, I guess you earned it. Seeing as you passed your exams.’ He smiled. ‘And I’m glad you came to tell me.’
‘Even though, strictly speaking, it could’ve waited until tomorrow,’ she admitted. ‘But you believed in me, Gio. I couldn’t wait tell you.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Actually, what I’d intended to do was drag you off to a bar and buy you a glass of champagne to celebrate.’
‘That’s very sweet of you.’
At his tone, Fran felt her stomach swoop. Oh, no. Now he’d think she was trying to hit on him. And he was going to be kind about it and refuse very politely.
‘But I think champagne is overrated. There’s way too much snobbery about a few bubbles in some wine. I’d rather have a good Margaux any day. Or there’s this amazing Sicilian red wine Netti found that actually tastes of chocolate. It’s fabulous with puddings.’ He switched off the computer. ‘Have you eaten yet?’
‘No.’
‘Good. Do you like dim sum?’
She nodded.
‘Then how about we swap the champagne for Chinese food?’
‘Don’t tell me.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You know the best Chinese in London, and it’s something to do with your family?’
He laughed. ‘Yes to the first, no to the second. Actually, there were a couple of things I wanted to run by you.’
‘So we might as well multi-task it.’ She threw his favourite phrase back at him.
‘We want to celebrate your exam. We both need to eat.’ He spread his hands. ‘And we can talk at the same time, can we not?’
Jasmine tea really hadn’t been the way Fran had intended celebrating, but when they were seated in the restaurant, having chosen a mixture of dishes to share, she realised that this was just about perfect.
‘So, what did you want to run by me?’ she asked.
‘We’re just about into week four of your trial. Which is practically a month.’ His eyes glittered. ‘We said a month’s trial, with a week’s notice on either side.’
Fran went cold. Her boss had told her about the studio merger over lunch. Was Gio about to tell her that he’d changed his mind about her working with him, over dinner? Was this going to be her week’s notice?
Then her rational side kicked in. They were celebrating her exam results. And he wouldn’t have suggested having dinner or said that he had some things to run by her if he was about to terminate her contract. ‘So we did,’ she agreed coolly, and sipped her jasmine tea.
If he noticed that the bowl clattered when she returned it to the saucer, he didn’t comment. ‘I’m happy with the way things are going. What about you?’
She nodded. ‘I’m enjoying the work and I like the staff.’
‘So can we consider you a permanent member of the team, now? Don’t look so worried,’ he added.
‘I wasn’t worried,’ she fibbed.
‘Then you’ll stay?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’
That was the first hurdle over with. No
w for the biggie. Gio decided to wait until they were eating and Fran had filled her bowl with choice morsels.
‘There was something else.’
‘What?’ She paused with the chopsticks held over her bowl.
‘You know my grandmother’s coming over from Milan at the weekend?’
She nodded.
‘It’s for our family birthdays.’
She frowned. ‘Birthdays? Sorry, I’m not with you. Are you saying you have an official birthday as well as a normal one—like the Queen?’
He choked. ‘Not quite. My sisters and I,’ he said, doing his best impersonation of the Queen’s opening to her Christmas speech, ‘well, our birthdays are all within a fortnight of each other. Four family parties in that short a space of time is a bit excessive, even for my family. So we tend to celebrate them all at one really big family party.’
‘Makes sense. Though I do hope you celebrate individually, as well.’
‘Yes.’ Well, the girls did. He hadn’t bothered, the last couple of years, though he’d invented dinner out with friends so his parents wouldn’t worry about him. ‘I was wondering if you’re busy, a week on Saturday. If you’d like to come to the party.’
Her eyes widened, but he couldn’t quite read her expression: horror or delight?
‘Me?’ she asked.
Surprise, then. Well, he could work with surprise. ‘Yup. I can guarantee the food’ll be good.’
‘And your birthday is when, exactly?’
He coughed. ‘In the next fortnight.’
‘That’s approximate. I asked for exact.’
‘Are you coming to the party?’ he asked, trying to evade the question.
‘Are you going to tell me when your birthday is?’
He scooped more food into his bowl. ‘You’re not supposed to answer a question with a question. It’s rude.’
She smiled at him. ‘Of course, as the office manager, I have access to the personnel records. So if you don’t tell me, I can simply go into the system and look it up for myself.’
‘That,’ Gio said, ‘is flagrant abuse under the Data Protection Act, Francesca Marsden. It’s illegal.’
‘I could still do it. Or…I could ask your mother.’ Fran was inexorable.
He knew when he was beaten. He leaned back in his chair. ‘All right. It’s next Wednesday.’
‘Thank you.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I think it’s your turn to answer the question.’
‘Thank you for the invitation.’
He really couldn’t tell if her answer was going to be yes or no, and he was shocked by the way his skin suddenly felt too tight. It really shouldn’t matter whether she said yes or no.
But it did.
It mattered a lot.
He wanted her there.
‘I’d love to come,’ she said softly.
Which was when Gio realised that he’d actually been holding his breath.
Oh, lord. He was already in way too deep.
‘What’s the dress code?’ she asked.
He spread his hands. ‘Whatever. It’s a party. Wear what you want.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Men. Do I have to ask your mother?’
‘I’m beginning to think,’ Gio said, ‘that’s you’re just as scary as Mum, Nonna and Netti rolled into one.’ But she’d said yes, so far.
Would she say yes to the next question?
‘There’s, um, a bit more.’ He took a deep breath. So much for thinking he’d felt tense before. What he was feeling right at that moment was G-force tension—the sort you got on one of those rollercoasters that sent you round a corkscrew spiral and then round a series of loops. ‘I love my grandmother.’
Her smile definitely said, I already know that. Are you going batty or something?
‘And because she lives in Italy, I don’t get to see as much of her as I’d like. I speak to her a couple of times a week, but it’s not the same as seeing her.’
Fran stopped eating, rested her elbows on the table and propped her chin on her linked hands. ‘It’s not like you to beat about the bush. What’s up?’
There wasn’t an easy way to put it. And however he phrased it, it was going to sound wrong. ‘You know my family has this thing about wanting me to settle down—especially Nonna?’
‘Ye-es.’
She sounded extremely cautious, and Gio just knew she was going to say no. But he asked anyway. ‘Would you pretend to be my girlfriend while Nonna’s in England?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘LET me get this straight.’ Fran wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. ‘You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend while your grandmother’s visiting.’
He nodded. ‘No strings. If you say no, that’s fine—it won’t change anything between us at work.’
‘Why on earth do you need a pretend girlfriend?’ Gio was gorgeous enough to have women lining up to be the real thing. If they could put up with his working hours and always having second place in his life to Giovanni’s, that was. Which was exactly why she’d never have a relationship with Gio for real: she wanted to come first.
‘I told you, I’m not looking for a relationship right now. But…’ He raked a hand through his hair. ‘There isn’t an easy way to put this.’
‘Try starting at the beginning,’ she suggested.
‘Just don’t get offended by anything I’m about to say. Please.’ He sighed. ‘My mother doesn’t believe you’re just my office manager. So she and Netti have been talking to Nonna—who now thinks that you’re my secret girlfriend. And when Nonna rang me last night…I don’t think I’ve ever heard her so happy at the idea I’ve finally found someone and settled down.’ He pushed his bowl away. ‘Bottom line—I can tell her the truth and make her believe it, but it’s going to hurt her terribly. She’s only staying for a few weeks. And…’ he looked away ‘…this is going to make me sound either like a sentimental fool or incredibly morbid, but Nonna’s not going to be around for ever.’
She knew exactly what he meant. ‘And you want to make her happy while you still have the chance.’
He nodded. ‘I’m the only one of my generation who isn’t settled down. Even Marcie—my youngest sister—is engaged. All my cousins are married, mostly with children or planning them.’
‘So all the pressure’s on you to follow suit.’
He sighed. ‘Yup.’
‘This isn’t the right thing to do, Gio. If we pretend we’re an item while your grandmother’s here, what happens when she goes back to Milan?’
‘I haven’t thought that far ahead,’ he admitted. ‘We can split up gracefully—it’ll be my fault because you can’t stand me being a workaholic, or something like that. And then we can get back to normal.’ He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Look, I’m trying to buy some time. And there isn’t much. Nonna’s going to be here in two days.’
‘I’ve worked with you for nearly a month. And I’ve never seen you panic,’ Fran said thoughtfully. ‘You’re panicking now.’
‘Because I can’t see a way out of this without shattering Nonna’s illusions. Hurting her. Which I really, really, don’t want to do. She’s special to me, Fran. She’s always been there for me. Listened to me when I wanted to talk about things I couldn’t tell my parents.’
She frowned. ‘Gio, this is the twenty-first century. It’s perfectly OK to be single, you know.’
‘Not according to my family.’ He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘And I’ve already disappointed them enough.’
Fran guessed immediately what the root of that particular worry was. And why it was so important to him to please his family now. She reached across the table and took his hand. ‘Listen to me, Giovanni Mazetti. You’re not a disappointment to your family. Look at you: twenty-eight years old, and you’ve built your dad’s business into a chain with the plan to expand it even more. And you were not responsible for your dad’s heart attack. It could have happened any time—even if he’d been sitting down relaxing at home that
evening, it could still have happened.’
Gio didn’t look in the slightest bit convinced.
‘Gio, you went to the concert because that was the right thing for you to do at the time—if you hadn’t gone, you’d have disappointed your teacher and your family because you hadn’t tried, and you’d have spent the rest of your life wondering if you were good enough.’
He lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug.
She squeezed his hand. ‘I mean it, Gio. It was the right thing to do, to go. And you were good enough. You could’ve made a career in music, if you’d wanted to. But you gave it up for your family. You put their needs before your own. So no way have you disappointed them. If anything, they probably feel guilty that you gave up your music for them—and I bet they think you’ve sacrificed your personal life, as well as your dreams, to run the business.’
Gio was silent.
‘It’s true,’ she said gently. ‘That’s why they fuss about you so much. They love you and they worry about you and they want the best for you. So don’t be so hard on yourself.’
‘Hmm.’ He looked her straight in the eye. ‘So was that a yes or a no?’
‘Yes or no to what?’ a voice enquired next to them.
Gio looked up and groaned. ‘I don’t believe this! Why is it, everywhere I go, I run into one of my family?’
‘Because we’re on a mission to take over London and call it Mazettiville,’ the man said with a grin. ‘Imagine how many of us there’ll be in our children’s generation. Or our grandchildren’s. Or our great-grandchildren’s.’
‘That’s too scary to think about.’ Gio rolled his eyes. ‘Fran, this is my cousin Ricardo—Netti’s eldest son. Everyone calls him Ric. Ric, this is Fran.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Fran.’ Ric eyed their joined hands. ‘Hmm. I’d heard the rumour. I thought your mum was just hoping a bit too hard. But obviously the family grapevine was right, this time.’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake…’ Gio began.
Fran laughed. ‘So much for trying to keep things quiet. Pleased to meet you, too, Ric. And, yes, I’m Gio’s girlfriend.’
Gio gave her a grateful look. ‘As well as my office manager. But relationships at work are a seriously bad idea, so we were trying to keep it to ourselves.’
