would do if, when he came home tonight, he found a note saying she’d gone to Paris for the weekend? Would he worry? Call her back immediately? Or not even notice she was gone? The phone rang and she raced to answer it.
“
Amore
, I will be working very late and I have a breakfast meeting in the morning, so I will be staying at the flat in Milan tonight,” Luca said. “Sleep well, and I will see you tomorrow.”
After hanging up, she released a loud moan of frustration, glad there was no one else in the house to hear her. Nope, this marriage wasn’t working. The question was, what was she going to do about it?
• • •
Sophia paid for the get-well-soon card and stamps and sat down at the village café to write a note to her mother so she could post it right away. James had called earlier in the week to say their mother hadn’t responded well to an initial cancer treatment, so the doctors were trying something else. It seemed pathetic to write a card to her own mother. A real daughter, a good daughter, would hop on a plane and go visit her. But she wasn’t ready yet—doubted she’d ever be—to see her parents again. Their lack of love and support had destroyed any connection she’d had with them as a child. So when Kathy Summers had attacked her, Sophia hadn’t turned to her parents. She’d left home and never looked back.
“Sophia, do you need rescuing again?”
She shielded her eyes from the hot sun to see Jonathan standing in front of her.
“No, I’m fine today. Sorry about last time. It was all rather awkward, wasn’t it? I’m glad to see you again, though. I wanted to thank you for the learn-to-speak-Italian books. They’ve been a great help.”
The waitress chose that moment to ask what she wanted, and she ordered an iced coffee and biscotti in Italian.
“You have improved,” Jonathan said, laughter in his eyes.
“
Grazie
, would you like to join me? It would be nice to speak English with someone for a few minutes.”
“If you think your husband won’t mind,” he answered but pulled out a chair anyway.
“My husband doesn’t control who I speak with.”
Jonathan placed his order with the hovering waitress, who Sophia guessed was trying to decipher their conversation. Teresa, the cleaner girl, walked by and called out a greeting.
“You’re like a local,” Jonathan said as another couple waved to her.
“I’ve ordered a few pieces of furniture and bought some other things from the village, so I guess people know who I am now.”
“Do you know much about furniture and stuff?” Jonathan took a sip of his iced coffee.
“Yes. I’ve just sent in my last assignment on my course. Provided I pass, I will be a certified interior designer. Of course, it’s a British certification, so I’m not sure how it will translate here in Italy.”
“Would you be interested in taking on a client? I don’t care where your certificate comes from. I have no idea how to decorate and furnish my place. Bricks and plaster I can understand. But all those frilly bits scare me.”
“Frilly bits are what makes a house a home. You need to get in touch with your feminine side.”
“My feminine side walked out the door two years ago. And good riddance to her. What I need is someone else’s feminine side to guide me.”
She searched his face. “Are you serious? You want to hire me?”
“Absolutely.”
“But I barely speak Italian and don’t drive. My friend Isabella is thinking of helping me, but she’s busy for the next two weeks. She’s travelling with her husband on an international rugby tournament.”
“You and Isabella are friends now?”
“Yes, it was all a misunderstanding.”
“Glad to hear it. Speaking of misunderstandings, your husband is a pretty powerful bloke around here. One word from him and I’ll never get another delivery of concrete or anyone to work for me. He’s not going to mind if you help me out?”
“Oh no, Luca doesn’t care what I get up to during the
“
Amore
, I will be working very late and I have a breakfast meeting in the morning, so I will be staying at the flat in Milan tonight,” Luca said. “Sleep well, and I will see you tomorrow.”
After hanging up, she released a loud moan of frustration, glad there was no one else in the house to hear her. Nope, this marriage wasn’t working. The question was, what was she going to do about it?
• • •
Sophia paid for the get-well-soon card and stamps and sat down at the village café to write a note to her mother so she could post it right away. James had called earlier in the week to say their mother hadn’t responded well to an initial cancer treatment, so the doctors were trying something else. It seemed pathetic to write a card to her own mother. A real daughter, a good daughter, would hop on a plane and go visit her. But she wasn’t ready yet—doubted she’d ever be—to see her parents again. Their lack of love and support had destroyed any connection she’d had with them as a child. So when Kathy Summers had attacked her, Sophia hadn’t turned to her parents. She’d left home and never looked back.
“Sophia, do you need rescuing again?”
She shielded her eyes from the hot sun to see Jonathan standing in front of her.
“No, I’m fine today. Sorry about last time. It was all rather awkward, wasn’t it? I’m glad to see you again, though. I wanted to thank you for the learn-to-speak-Italian books. They’ve been a great help.”
The waitress chose that moment to ask what she wanted, and she ordered an iced coffee and biscotti in Italian.
“You have improved,” Jonathan said, laughter in his eyes.
“
Grazie
, would you like to join me? It would be nice to speak English with someone for a few minutes.”
“If you think your husband won’t mind,” he answered but pulled out a chair anyway.
“My husband doesn’t control who I speak with.”
Jonathan placed his order with the hovering waitress, who Sophia guessed was trying to decipher their conversation. Teresa, the cleaner girl, walked by and called out a greeting.
“You’re like a local,” Jonathan said as another couple waved to her.
“I’ve ordered a few pieces of furniture and bought some other things from the village, so I guess people know who I am now.”
“Do you know much about furniture and stuff?” Jonathan took a sip of his iced coffee.
“Yes. I’ve just sent in my last assignment on my course. Provided I pass, I will be a certified interior designer. Of course, it’s a British certification, so I’m not sure how it will translate here in Italy.”
“Would you be interested in taking on a client? I don’t care where your certificate comes from. I have no idea how to decorate and furnish my place. Bricks and plaster I can understand. But all those frilly bits scare me.”
“Frilly bits are what makes a house a home. You need to get in touch with your feminine side.”
“My feminine side walked out the door two years ago. And good riddance to her. What I need is someone else’s feminine side to guide me.”
She searched his face. “Are you serious? You want to hire me?”
“Absolutely.”
“But I barely speak Italian and don’t drive. My friend Isabella is thinking of helping me, but she’s busy for the next two weeks. She’s travelling with her husband on an international rugby tournament.”
“You and Isabella are friends now?”
“Yes, it was all a misunderstanding.”
“Glad to hear it. Speaking of misunderstandings, your husband is a pretty powerful bloke around here. One word from him and I’ll never get another delivery of concrete or anyone to work for me. He’s not going to mind if you help me out?”
“Oh no, Luca doesn’t care what I get up to during the
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