by Kate Hardy
‘Bene. I will arrange everything, and I will text you when I’m done,’ Gina said.
‘Thank you, Gina. I really appreciate your help,’ he said.
He could see Tia walking back to their table, so he ended the call swiftly and pretended he’d simply been looking at something on his phone.
‘Is everything all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes, thank you.’
Now all he had to do was to keep her away from the house for a couple of hours.
‘Shall we go and look for decorations?’ he asked.
‘Of course. Do you want a particular colour scheme?’
Like the ones in the palace? He had a feeling that she’d like something a lot more informal. ‘This will be my first Christmas tree all of my own,’ he said. ‘So I’m happy to hear your suggestions.’
‘Let’s see what they have in the shops and what you like,’ she suggested.
‘What do you need for a tree?’ he asked.
‘Lights, maybe tinsel, something for the top of the tree and some ornaments,’ she said promptly.
Lights turned out to be incredibly complicated.
‘First of all, do you want white lights or coloured ones?’ she asked when they were in the middle of one of the shops.
‘Do you have a preference?’ he asked.
‘I like white ones,’ she admitted. ‘So they look like the stars.’
‘Then we’ll have white ones.’
But then it was about choosing string lights or LED lights; warm white or ice white; and did they want lights that twinkled, or glowed, or flashed, or moved in a pattern, or came with sound effects?
He didn’t actually care, but he did need Tia out of the house so Gina could organise the ingredients for his surprise Christmas dinner, so he pretended to be much more interested in all the different functions than he really was. Ordering Tia about simply wouldn’t work. He knew from his army days that if your team felt they had a stake in things and you were listening to them, they’d go above and beyond the call of duty for you.
They’d do this together. The personal way. So Tia would be sure he’d listened to her and wanted to work with her instead of imposing his Royal will. He’d prove to her that they were a good team. And then perhaps she would agree to marry him and the baby would have his protection.
Once they’d chosen the lights, they wandered into the decorations department. Antonio paid close attention to the things she passed over and the things she seemed to like. In the end she chose silver and blue baubles, filigree silver stars, blue tinsel and a large silver star for the top of the tree.
She paused by the stand of glass baubles; there was a special one etched with a picture of the mountain and the words ‘Picco Innevato 2019’.
Hadn’t she said that she, her parents and Nathan had chosen a new, special decoration together each year?
He was fairly sure from her expression that she really liked the glass bauble. He was also fairly sure that she thought it was way too much money for one little decoration.
‘May I buy this for...?’ He paused, getting the strongest feeling that she’d say no if he asked to buy it for her. But for the baby, perhaps... ‘For our baby?’ he said.
She nodded, and he thought he could see the sudden sparkle of tears in her eyes. Oh, no. He hadn’t meant to upset her. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
‘Yes. It’s just...’
Part of her family tradition that would never be the same again, because her brother was no longer with them. He knew how that felt.
‘It’s a new beginning,’ he said softly. ‘We can’t share this Christmas with Nathan or my father. But we can still share it with others. My new sister. Our baby.’
‘Yes,’ she said, and this time a single tear really did slide down her cheek.
He brushed it away with the pad of his thumb. Funny how such a light contact sent a shard of desire through him.
He needed to be more careful. This wasn’t about his feelings. It was about doing the right thing. The honourable thing. His duty. He was beginning to think that they might just be in the same direction. Tia Phillips made him feel all kinds of things he’d never felt before. It was unsettling, yet at the same time it made him want to explore further, discover what it was about her that roused all his instincts: protectiveness, desire and...
He didn’t quite have a name for the emotion, or at least he wasn’t ready to admit it, even to himself. But he did know he wanted Tia around. And this wasn’t like his past relationships, strictly for fun and only for now. He wanted more. He wanted all the warmth and the sweetness she could bring to his life.
When they’d finished in the decoration shop, he managed to stall her by insisting on having lunch out at one of the cafés in the village. Even though he’d made it very clear that this was his treat, he noticed that she picked the cheapest thing on the menu, and his heart bled for her.
If only she’d let him cherish her, the way she deserved.
But he was pretty sure she’d see it as an attack on her independence.
Finally, his phone buzzed to signal a message; he glanced at it surreptitiously, relieved to see that it was from Gina.
All done. Turkey in fridge, in roasting tin and foil, ready to go in oven.
She’d added cooking times and temperatures, too.
So Operation Persuade Tia could go full steam ahead.
As soon as Tia headed for the toilets, he texted Gina back.
Thank you.
He’d make very sure to arrange for a delivery of flowers this afternoon to show his gratitude properly. Even though it was Gina’s job to look after the house and the family’s needs when they were in residence, she was going the extra mile because he’d asked her to, and he wanted her to know he appreciated it.
Back at his house, he asked Tia, ‘Where do you want to put the tree?’
‘It’s your family house, so it’s your decision,’ she reminded him.
‘It’s our Christmas,’ he countered. ‘So tell me what you want.’
‘Could we put it in the conservatory?’ she asked.
He’d half expected her to say that. He knew how much she loved the view from there. ‘Of course,’ he said.
While she set out the decorations, he put the Christmas tree up in the conservatory.
And maybe letting her be in charge of the decorating was the way forward, he thought. It would show her that he wouldn’t insist on everything being done his way.
‘So how do you want to do this?’ he asked when she came to stand beside him.
‘Start with the lights. Check they work, first.’
That was blatantly obvious—before you drove a car or flew a plane, you checked the lights worked—but he wasn’t going to snap at her. She seemed to be enjoying the fact that he was deferring to her experience in Christmas-tree decorating. And he rather liked this confident side of her, so he just smiled and plugged them in. ‘All present and correct.’
‘So then we start at the top, weaving them in and out of the branches as we work our way down. It’s probably easiest if we stand either side of the tree and feed the lights round to each other,’ she said.
Antonio enjoyed that. Particularly when his fingers brushed against hers when they transferred the lights to each other, and she blushed.
So she wasn’t that indifferent to him, then...
Maybe, like him, she wasn’t quite ready to put a name to what she was feeling. And maybe they’d find the courage to admit it—together.
Deliberately he let his fingers brush against hers again. And he held her gaze when she looked up at him. Her mouth was very slightly parted. Soft. Sweet. Tempting.
He remembered what it felt like to kiss her.
He wanted to kiss her again.
Yet, at the same time, he didn’t want to push h
er too fast. These three days were supposed to be all about getting to know each other, spending time together, and talking. Kissing her meant that they wouldn’t be talking. Not talking meant that they wouldn’t be able to sort things out. So he resisted the urge. Though he noticed that she was staring at his mouth, too. Was she, too, remembering what it had felt like to kiss? To touch?
He nearly dropped a bauble at the thought, but he kept himself under control, the way he always did—both as a prince and as a soldier. Because he was going to do this the right way. Slowly. Well, as slowly as you could get in the three days she’d promised him.
When they’d finished, she turned on the lights and walked round the tree. ‘That’s great. No dark patches or gaps. Now we can put the star on the top.’
‘Don’t you do that last?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘Mum always said to work top down.’ Her smile was wistful. ‘Nathan and I used to take turns in putting the star on the top. Dad would lift us up, even when Nathan was twelve and getting really tall. But we were too big for Mum to lift us after Dad died, so then we used to stand on a chair.’
What would she do if he lifted her up? Would she back away? Or would she melt into his arms? Both options made him nervous. And, although he wanted to show her that they had a future, he didn’t want her to feel that he was railroading her into things. He wanted her to want this, too.
He looked at her. ‘Your choice. Chair or...?’
Was she going to choose him, or would she pick the safe option?
‘Chair,’ she said.
The safe option, then. He needed to back off. ‘Chair,’ he repeated, and fetched one. ‘Though I’d prefer you to hold my shoulder for balance.’
She smiled, then. ‘From the kick I just got, I think someone agrees with you.’
‘Good. Our baby’s sensible, then,’ he said lightly.
Even though he knew she was only holding on to him for balance as she climbed up and he was careful not to breach any boundaries, his skin still tingled through his sweater where her hand rested on his shoulder. What he really wanted to do was to wrap his arms round her, kiss the bump, and then lift her down from the chair so he could kiss her... But still he kept himself in check. Just.
Once she’d climbed down again, he helped her add the tinsel garland, the baubles and the snowflakes, and then finally the special glass bauble for the baby. Again, his hands brushed against hers, and this time when he turned to her he noticed that her lips were slightly parted and her pupils were enormous.
All he had to do was lean forward and brush his mouth against hers.
She held his gaze for a moment, glanced at his mouth and then up again.
His heart skipped a beat as she closed her eyes.
Now...
He’d closed half the gap between them when the alarm on his phone shrilled.
Her eyes opened again and she stared at him in shock.
Talk about timing. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘That’s my schedule.’
‘Schedule?’
‘Uh-huh. I need to do something in the kitchen.’
So much for thinking that he was going to get away with this, because she followed him into the kitchen. ‘You’ve got an alarm on your phone to tell you to do something in here?’
‘Yes.’ He sighed. ‘Since you’re clearly not going to budge until I tell you, I need to put the turkey in the oven.’
‘What turkey?’
‘The turkey we’re eating tonight. I’m cooking you Christmas dinner.’
‘You’re cooking me Christmas dinner?’ she echoed, blinking at him with surprise.
Oh, honestly. Just because he was a prince, it didn’t mean he was incapable of doing anything. He could dress himself, too. The years of royals needing valets and lady’s maids had gone long, long ago. And he’d made her dinner last night. ‘I can cook, you know,’ he said, slightly exasperated. ‘Putting alarms on my phone means I know when to put things in the oven and when to check them or take them out.’
‘You’re cooking me Christmas dinner,’ she repeated. And this time she smiled. ‘I really didn’t expect that.’
‘It’s not a completely traditional English Christmas dinner. It’s a fusion,’ he said. ‘In Casavalle, traditionally we have fish on Christmas Eve. The meal can be eight or nine courses.’
She rubbed her bump. ‘I’m not sure I’d be able to manage that much.’
‘And some of it’s spicy. So that’s why I’m cooking a fusion meal,’ he said. ‘I remember Nathan talking about turkey and the trimmings, so I’m cooking that. I don’t have time to soak the salt cod to make baccalà for a first course, so I’m doing traditional gnocchi with sage and butter sauce instead—well, I admit it’s not home-made and comes from the deli—and an Italian pudding, because the only way I’d get a traditional English Christmas pudding here is to fly one in.’
She frowned. ‘Fly one in? That’s crazy—it’s a total waste of money. You could use that to do something better.’ She spread her hands. ‘Say, something nice for the villagers here in Picco Innevato.’
‘I thought you might react like that,’ he said, ‘so I’m not flying a pudding in. I’m making frittelle—fried Christmas doughnuts. But you’re putting me off my schedule. Can you just—well—not talk for five minutes?’ he asked plaintively.
She gave him a speaking look, but nodded.
He took the turkey out of the fridge.
‘That’s enormous!’ Tia protested.
So much for her not speaking for five minutes. ‘Isn’t that the point of a Christmas turkey, to be enormous?’ he asked, putting the bird into the oven.
‘We’ll never eat all that, even if you can talk Giacomo into eating with us this evening,’ she said. ‘And how did you get this anyway? It wasn’t in the fridge when I got the milk out this morning.’
‘I called Gina while we were in the café,’ he admitted, ‘and she organised this for us.’
‘Then perhaps you can invite Gina to share Christmas dinner with us,’ Tia suggested. ‘Does she have a family?’
‘Yes. She lives with her husband. Her children are grown up now, and they live in the capital rather than here.’
‘That would make five of us for dinner, then,’ she mused. ‘Though that turkey’s easily big enough for twelve people.’
‘Isn’t it also traditional to have turkey as leftovers?’ he asked.
‘Well, yes,’ she admitted.
‘Then it will be fine for five. I’ll invite Giacomo, Gina and her husband.’
‘So it’ll be like a family Christmas.’
She looked wistful, and Antonio realised what was missing. Family. He wasn’t asking his family to meet her, not until she’d agreed to marry him; but he could invite hers to join them. ‘Yes. I can fly your mother over. Give me ten minutes to arrange it. I’ll sort out a private plane so she won’t have to wait for a flight, and a car to take her to the airport in London and another one this end.’
Tia bit her lip. ‘That’s kind of you, but I think the journey might take it out of her too much.’
‘Help me here, Tia,’ he said softly. ‘What do you want?’
‘What you planned. That was a really nice thought.’
‘But with more people, so it’s like a real family Christmas?’
She nodded. ‘And I want to help you prepare dinner. Even if you have got a gazillion alarms on your phone telling you what to do.’ Her lips quirked. ‘Mind you, I should’ve expected that. Nathan did stuff with military precision, too.’
‘It works,’ he said.
She grinned. ‘So what now—you’re going to cut every vegetable exactly the same length, and to make sure of it there’s a tape measure next to your knife rack?’
There was a slight twinkle in her eye and Antonio couldn’t help responding to it. ‘Are you saying I
need a tape measure?’
‘Do you?’ She lifted her chin.
Right then, she was near enough to kiss, and he almost, almost dipped his head to brush his mouth against hers. But then he could see the sudden panic in her eyes, as if the teasing had gone too far and had tipped into something else entirely, something she wasn’t quite ready for.
This wasn’t about putting pressure on her. It was about getting her to relax. About getting to know her. About letting her get to know him. So he pulled back. ‘If we spend all this time talking about doing the veg instead of actually doing them,’ he said, much more lightly than he felt, ‘then our dinner guests are going to have to wait until tomorrow before we can feed them.’
‘Good point,’ she said.
‘Let me call Gina and talk to Giacomo. And then we’ll make dinner together.’
* * *
She really hadn’t expected this. And she was seeing a completely different side to Antonio Valenti. He was trying to give her the family Christmas she missed so badly and longed for so much. And he wasn’t standing on ceremony, insisting on asking the village’s mayor and important personages to join them; he was perfectly happy to eat with her and his housekeeper and his security officer. He’d taken on board what she’d said about Christmas not being about money but about spending time together.
So, if she agreed to marry him and give the baby his name, maybe she wasn’t going to be trapped in a completely loveless marriage. Maybe he was trying to show her that he could give her what she needed. That he could learn to love her and she could learn to love him.
Maybe, just maybe, this was going to work out.
Once Antonio had arranged for their dinner guests to join them, he brought out the vegetables, pans and sharp knives. ‘OK. Crispy roast potatoes and parsnips, carrots, Brussels sprouts and red cabbage. I have chipolata sausages ready to be wrapped with bacon, and I have stuffing—which Gina says I should cook separately. What else?’
‘That,’ she said, ‘is pretty comprehensive. Cranberry sauce?’
‘Yes.’ He grimaced. ‘Though it’s not home-made. It’s in a jar.’