‘I know what you meant—and, no, you are not.’
Rafe met a lot of people, and had an innate skill that enabled him to sum them up quickly and succinctly.
Yesterday’s maid: slovenly.
The concierge, Pino, who had this morning suggested a running route: wise.
His assessments were rapid, and seldom wrong, and as he looked over to the maid he recalled asking her name that first morning. That morning he had not been able to sum her up in one word.
Admittedly, he had been concussed, and not at his best, but today he was much better. So he looked at those sad eyes, and, no, he still could not isolate that word.
Their conversation paused, and yet it did not end, for instead of heading out of the balcony and down the private steps to the grounds below he watched as, having made the bed, she headed to an occasional table, where she picked up her notepad and ticked off her list.
‘So you are training as a therapist?’
‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘Although I’m not allowed to be let loose unsupervised on the guests yet. Well, I can give manicures, but that is all.’
‘I loathe manicures.’
There were two types of men who had manicures, Antonietta had learnt. Those who chose to and those who had been born to. He had been born to, she was quite, quite sure.
She resisted the urge to walk over and examine his hands, but instead looked down at them... Yes, they were exquisite, long-fingered, with very neat, beautifully manicured nails.
‘I find sitting there boring.’
‘Then why bother?’ Antonietta asked, and then pulled back the conversation. ‘I’m sorry—that was personal.’
‘Not at all,’ Rafe said. ‘I ask myself the same thing.’
‘You could always listen to a podcast while your nails are being done,’ Antonietta suggested.
‘Ah, but then I wouldn’t get to speak with you.’
It was a silly little joke but she smiled.
The girl with the saddest eyes smiled, and when she did she looked glorious, Rafe thought. Her black eyes sparkled and her full red lips revealed very white teeth. She had a beautiful mouth, Rafe thought, and watched it as she responded to his light jest.
‘I would not be allowed to treat a guest in the August Suite.’
He was about to say What a pity, but he rather sensed that that would have her scuttling behind the wall she had erected, which was just starting to inch down.
She rather fascinated him, and it was a relief to focus on their gentle conversation rather than deal with the problems he must face. He had intended to go for a run, just to clear his head. Yet instead he carried on chatting as she worked her way through the suite.
‘You grew up here?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I left a few years ago.’
‘For how long?’
‘Five years,’ Antonietta said. ‘And though it was wonderful, I came to realise that you cannot drift for ever. Home is home—though it is very different now, and the hotel has changed things. There are more people, more work...’
‘Is that why you came back?’
‘No,’ Antonietta said, and cut that line of conversation stone-cold dead.
It usually took an hour and fifteen minutes to service the suite to standard. Today it took a little longer, although they did not talk non-stop, just made gentle conversation as Antonietta got on with her work, diligently ticking off items in turn to ensure that nothing had been missed.
‘Do you have family here?’ Rafe asked, curious despite himself.
‘Yes.’
Again she closed the topic, and headed into the lounge and dining area. There had been no fire lit last night, and no meal taken, but she dusted the gleaming table, then topped up the cognac decanter and replaced the glasses.
Tick.
He was leaning on the doorframe, watching her. Usually to have a guest watching her so overtly would be unsettling, yet it didn’t feel that way with Rafe. She found him relaxing. Oh, her heart was in her throat, and beating way too fast, but that was for other reasons entirely.
She liked it that he did not demand elaboration. So much so that as she put the stopper in the decanter she revealed to him a little of her truth.
‘We are not really speaking.’
‘That must be hard.’
‘Yes.’
The candles in the heavy candelabra were new, and didn’t need replacing.
Tick.
She checked that the lighter worked.
Tick.
But she paused for a moment and wondered how used to luxury he must be not to light them each night. Not to need the stunning suite bathed in candle and firelight.
‘The August Suite is my favourite,’ Antonietta admitted. ‘You should use these candles. I am sure it would look beautiful.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
‘I mean...’ She was flustered, for she was not used to idle conversation. ‘I’ve always wondered what it must look like.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ Rafe said again, and this time she flushed. ‘Which is your favourite view?’ he asked.
‘The one from the dining room. From there you can see the valley.’
‘Show me.’
As easily as that, he joined her at the window.
‘When I left,’ Antonietta said, ‘that whole stretch of valley was black and scorched from wild fires.’ She pointed to a large clearing atop a hillside. ‘My family’s property is up there.’
‘Was it razed in the fires?’
‘No, the fires stopped short of Silibri, but in the next village, where I also have family, there was a lot of damage. It’s hard now to remember that it was so dead and black. I came back in spring, for Nico and Aurora’s wedding, and the whole valley was a riot of colour. I have never seen it so alive. I find the view soothing. It reminds me that, as terrible as the fires were, they were good for the land.’
‘So you stayed on after the wedding?’
‘No,’ Antonietta said. ‘I went to Rome for a year, but I wanted to be back here for Christmas.’ She gave him a tight smile. Certainly, she was not going to reveal that right now a happy family Christmas was looking less and less likely. ‘I had better get on.’
‘Of course.’
Nothing was left unchecked.
No cushion left unturned or unplumped.
And still Rafe did not go for his run. Instead he made a couple of phone calls, and it turned her insides to liquid to hear his deep voice flow in the language she loved.
‘You are French?’ she asked, after the second call had ended, although usually she would not pry.
‘No,’ Rafe said. ‘But it is the language of my home.’
‘Oh?’
‘Tulano,’ he added. ‘It is between Italy and France...’
‘I know where it is,’ Antonietta said. ‘I visited there once. Only briefly, though.’
His eyes narrowed a touch. In truth, Rafe did not believe she didn’t know who he was. The maid yesterday had slipped up and called him by his full first name—Rafael—and the concierge had done the same when recommending a trail to run.
Soon, he was sure, his location would be leaked and the press would be here. The brief respite from the world would be over.
He asked her a question. ‘Do you speak French?’
‘Some—although not as much as I would like. I was there for four years,’ she said, and then switched to French and told him that his Italian was better than her French. ‘Votre Italien est meilleur que mon Français.’
And he responded. ‘Ta voix est délicieuse dans les deux langues.’
She had been away from France for over a year, and it took her a moment to translate it, but as she did a heated blush crept up her neck.
Had he just said that her voice was delightful in both lang
uages?
Were they flirting?
And if they were then why wasn’t she halting it?
Why wasn’t she running for cover, as she usually did whenever a man, let alone a guest, got a little too close?
Only Rafe wasn’t too close for comfort. And Antonietta looked at the eyes that held hers as she responded. ‘Ainsi est le tien.’
So is yours.
It was the tiniest nod to his effect on her, and yet it felt rather huge to Antonietta.
There was another phone call for Rafe, and this time he answered in Italian, taking it out on the balcony.
Though she did not eavesdrop, his low voice reached her and it was clear that he was speaking with Nico. She felt a little flip of disappointment when she heard him state that he would not be staying for much longer.
The call ended and she looked over to where he sat, his long legs stretched out on another chair, his dark eyes scanning the grounds as a prisoner’s might, as if looking for a way to escape. She could almost feel his restlessness, Antonietta thought as she headed out onto the balcony to finish her work.
‘That was Nico,’ he said, though he had absolutely no need to do so. ‘Checking that I’m being looked after. He suggests that I take a wander into the village.’
‘There are nice cafés there,’ Antonietta said, and deliberately kept her voice casual. But there was a flip in her stomach at the thought he might be bored. ‘Have you been down to the temple ruins?’
‘No—that is where Pino suggested I ran.’
‘And the ocean is glorious,’ Antonietta said, and then stopped herself. It was not her job to sell the village to a reluctant guest.
‘You live in the village?’
‘No. Nico and Aurora have been very good to me. They knew coming back would be difficult...’ She briefly closed her eyes, instantly regretting revealing so much, and then hurriedly spoke on. ‘So they gave me a cottage in the grounds.’ She pointed in the vague direction of the helipad, over to the far side of the Old Monastery.
‘That must be very...’ He hesitated, not wanting to say isolated.
Already, for Rafe, no matter how spacious and luxurious the August Suite, no matter how glorious the grounds, cabin fever was seriously hitting. This place really was in the middle of nowhere, and he’d been considering checking out later today.
Yet he was starting to change his mind.
Rafe wanted more of her smile, of her conversation—much, much more of her.
It was not as simple as that, though.
If their relationship were to evolve, then she needed to sign a non-disclosure agreement. She would have to be be vetted by his security staff and her phone would be confiscated before they so much as went out for dinner.
It could be no other way.
Yes, he had had a couple of relationships without such arrangements, but they had been with titled women and potential wives. This Antonietta could never be that. And he must test the waters to find out how she felt.
‘That must be very quiet,’ Rafe said.
‘No,’ Antonietta refuted as she watered the jasmine. ‘I can hear the waves, and I am by the helipad so there are helicopters coming and going. Believe me, they are loud when they’re overhead. But most of the time it is nice and peaceful.’
‘Still...’ Rafe said, and his voice was low as his eyes commanded hers to meet his. ‘One can have too much tranquillity.’
Their eyes met and his words travelled through her like a current. Looking hastily away, she saw the slight shake of her hand as she watered the flowers and felt the devilish pull of his smooth voice.
Something told Antonietta that her response mattered, for his statement had felt like a question. More...it had felt like an invitation.
One she rapidly chose to decline.
‘I am all for tranquillity,’ Antonietta said rather crisply.
And instead of meeting his eyes, or thinking of something witty to add, she went back to her list and added a tick.
The flowers were watered, his suite was done and she gave him a smile—only this time, Rafe noted, it was a guarded one.
‘I hope the rest of your day is pleasant,’ Antonietta said, and let herself out, exhaling a long-held breath once the door between them was closed. She felt a little giddy.
When she entered the elevator to go down, she walked straight into Francesca.
‘There you are! What on earth took you so long?’ Francesca scolded the very second she clapped eyes on Antonietta, but then she must have regretted her tone, because she said, ‘Oh, Antonietta, I apologise. I forgot that Chi-Chi has been working there for the past couple of days. The place must have been in disarray.’
It was Antonietta who was in disarray, though. Had Rafe been suggesting something?
There was little she could pin on his words, and yet there had been a wicked edge in their delivery—she was almost sure of it.
But she’d had no experience with men.
Not good ones, anyway.
For all Sylvester’s attempts, his kisses and gropes had never, not once, made her feel the way that Rafe did with just his voice, just his eyes...
She was not only inexperienced in the kissing department, but in the flirting one too. And they had been flirting. Or was she romanticising things? Antonietta pondered as she went about her day. Certainly she was innocent, but she wasn’t naïve, and she knew from her work in other hotels that Rafe might have been suggesting ‘in-room service’, so to speak.
She managed a soft laugh at that thought, for if that were the case Rafe was certainly wide of the mark.
And yet he had buoyed her up in a way she could not properly explain...
CHAPTER THREE
RAFE HAD BUOYED her up. The day felt brighter for the time she had spent with him.
And the night felt not so long, nor as dark, and Antonietta awoke the next morning with delicious anticipation.
Yes, even the prospect of seeing Rafe buoyed her up.
So much so that she decided to stroll into the village and do her shopping before her shift started.
In so many ways it was wonderful to be back. As Antonietta had explained to Rafe, when she had left Silibri it had been after a summer of fierce wild fires and the mountains and trees had been charred and black.
In fact the village had been slowly dying even before she was born, with shops and cafés closing and the youth moving on. Now, though, with the monastery refurbished, there was new growth all around. The trees were lush and there were winter wild flowers lining the roads. The village itself was thriving. Its produce and wares were now in demand, and the cafés were busy and vibrant.
She had already done some of her Christmas shopping—as well as presents for her parents and brother there was a lipstick for Aurora, which she bought faithfully each year. Just because her friend was newly rich, and could afford a lifetime’s supply of the vibrant red cosmetic, some things never changed.
Some things did change, though. Aurora was married now, and so Antonietta bought some chocolate for Nico at one of the craft stalls in the village square. And not just any chocolate. Hand-made Modica chocolate, which was so exquisite that even a man who had everything could never have enough.
Bizarrely, she thought of Rafe.
Or perhaps not so bizarrely. Because she had been thinking of him on and off since the previous day. More accurately, he had been popping into her thoughts since the day they had met.
‘Could I get the coffee flavour, too, please?’ Antonietta said impulsively to the stallholder—and then jumped when she heard her name.
‘Antonietta?’
It was Pino.
‘Did I catch you buying me a gift?’ he teased, when he saw her reddening cheeks.
‘No, no...’ Antonietta smiled back and then glanced at his shopping bag, which was empty. She k
new that Pino was just killing time. ‘Are you on a day off?’
‘Yes, though I thought you were working?’
‘Not till midday. But Francesca wants me to go in a little early. No doubt because of our esteemed guest.’ She felt her cheeks go a little more pink.
‘That’s probably it.’ Pino rolled his eyes. ‘I heard he has asked not to have Chi-Chi service his suite again.’
‘Really?’ Antonietta’s eyes widened. ‘Why?’
‘I thought you didn’t like to gossip?’ Pino teased.
‘I don’t,’ Antonietta said, and hurriedly changed the subject. ‘Now, I have to choose two presents for Gabe—it is his first birthday next week, and then Christmas too.’
Pino was delighted to help, and soon they had a little wooden train for him, as well as a cute outfit, and Pino suggested they go for coffee.
‘I don’t have time,’ Antonietta said, which wasn’t quite true.
The sweet, spicy scent of buccellato—an Italian Christmas cake—wafted through a nearby café, and though she was tempted Antonietta was too nervous about bumping into her family to stop there for coffee and cake.
Instead, having said goodbye to Pino, she decided that she would bake her own, and headed into the village store. There she chose the figs and almonds that she needed to make the cake, and added a few other things to her basket before lining up to pay.
The shopkeeper was awkward with her, and did not make eye contact—and then Antonietta found out why.
‘Stronza!’
The insult came from behind, and Antonietta did not need to turn her head to know that the word was aimed at her. She had been called worse on previous trips to the shops. Steadfastly, she did not turn around, and though she was tempted to walk out without her groceries, she held her ground.
Another insult was hurled. ‘Puttana!’
They all assumed there must have been another man for her to have run out on Sylvester, or that she had been sleeping with all and sundry in her years away.
Let them think what they choose, Antonietta told herself as she paid.
But as she picked up her bag she saw that it was Sylvester’s aunt who was taunting her.
Antonietta said nothing. She just did her best to leave with her head held high—or not quite high, but nor was she head down and fleeing as she had previously. She was determined not to let the incident ruin her day.
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