lift glided to a halt and pressed the button for her floor. ‘Which one for you?’
‘The same.’ He showed her his room number. ‘So if you are nervous in the night you can call me and I will come.’
Rose shot him an arctic look. ‘Not going to happen, Dante.’
‘Che peccato!’ When they reached her room, Dante opened the door and stood aside with a bow. ‘Now lock your door to show me you are safe.’
Rose nodded formally. ‘Thank you for your company this evening, Dante.’
His lips twitched. ‘Because it was better than none?’
Rose let her silence speak for her as she closed and locked the door.
Dante made for his room and went out onto his balcony, deep in thought as he stared down at the Arno. Rose Palmer was very different now from the girl he’d fallen more and more in love with as the hours passed during that memorable day. Even in the rush to reach his grandmother’s side, and the searing grief that followed, it had been impossible to stop thinking of the girl he’d been forced to abandon so suddenly that night. He had made a vow to apologise to Rose in person when she first visited the Vilaris. But she never came and the apologies were never made.
It was no surprise that she had been hostile at first tonight. Whereas he had felt a great leap of his heart at the first sight of her, and an urgent need to offer comfort when she found Charlotte wasn’t joining her. He had seized the chance to propose his own company instead. He smiled sardonically, well aware that Rose had accepted the offer only because it was marginally preferable to spending her brief time in Florence alone. Tomorrow, therefore, he must do everything in his power to make her stay pleasurable before she went back to her bookkeeping. He shook his head in wonder. Could she not do something more interesting with her life?
* * *
Convinced, for a variety of reasons, that she’d lie awake all night, Rose fell asleep the instant she closed her eyes. When she opened them again the room was bright with early sunshine, and with a gasp she shot upright to grab her phone, and smiled in relief when she saw a message from her mother. Grace Palmer had come late to the skills of texting, and the message was brief:
Everything fine. Have lovely day.
Reassured, Rose sent off a grateful response and then stretched out in the comfortable bed, feeling rested after the surprise of the best night’s sleep she’d had for ages. Eventually, she wrapped herself in the hotel robe and went out on the balcony, face uplifted to the sunshine. Since she was here at last, doing the last thing she’d expected to do, pride urged her to make herself as presentable as possible now Dante Fortinari was to be her guide.
In the years since she’d last seen him she’d persuaded herself he couldn’t possibly be as gorgeous as she remembered. And she was right. Now Dante was in his early thirties maturity had added an extra dimension to his dark good looks—something her wilful hormones responded to even while the rest of her disapproved. So since a capricious fate—or Charlotte—had brought them together again, she would make use of his escort for a day and then tomorrow, back home in the real world, erase him from her life. Once again.
Dante had worn a suit cut by some Italian master of the craft the evening before, so if he’d decided to stay on the spur of the moment it seemed likely he’d have to wear the same thing again today. With that in mind, Rose went for pink cotton jeans instead of the denims worn for travelling. With a plain white cotton tee, small gold hoops in her ears and her hair caught back with a big tortoiseshell barrette, she slid her feet into the flats brought for sightseeing with Charlotte and felt ready to take on the day.
Dante was waiting in the foyer when she went downstairs shortly before nine, his look of gleaming appreciation worth all her effort. ‘Buongiorno, Rose. You look delightful!’
So did Dante. She raised an eyebrow at his pale linen trousers and crisp blue shirt. ‘Thank you. You’ve been shopping?’
He shook his head. ‘It is my custom to keep a packed bag in the car.’
Her lips twitched. ‘Ready for unexpected sleepovers?’
He grinned, looking suddenly more like the youthful Dante she remembered. ‘You are thinking the wrong thing, cara. I do this to impress the clients. Here in Italy, image is everything.’ He looked at her feet with approval. ‘Bene, you are prepared for walking.’
‘Always.’ As they left the hotel she looked at the sparkling river in delight. ‘Though my daily walks at home are in rather different surroundings from these.’
‘But the town you live in is a pleasant place, yes?’
She nodded. ‘Still, it’s good to take a short break from it. My only time away from home before was in university.’
‘I remember your pleasure at doing well in your final exams, and the celebrations which followed them.’ He frowned as they began to walk. ‘But you did not continue with the accountancy.’
‘No, I didn’t.’ She waved a hand at the beautiful buildings they were passing. ‘So talk, Signor Guide. Give me names to go with all this architecture.’
Dante obliged in detail as they walked with the river on one side and tall, beautiful old buildings on the other. But eventually he steered Rose away from the Arno to make for the Piazza della Signora with its dominant fifteenth century Palazzo Veccio that still, Dante informed her, served as Town Hall to Florence. He steered her past the queues for the famous Uffizi Gallery and the statues in the Loggia dei Lanzi on their way to the Caffe Rivoire. ‘You may look at all the sculpture you wish later,’ he said firmly and seated her at an outdoor table with a view of the entire Piazza. ‘But now we eat.’
Rose nodded. ‘Whatever you say. Breakfast is a rushed affair at home, so I shall enjoy this.’ In the buzz of this sunlit square packed with people—and pigeons—she could hardly fail. She sat drinking it all in to report on later.
‘I will buy you a guidebook so that you may show your mother what you have seen,’ said Dante as the waiter brought their meal. ‘You will take orange juice?’
‘Thank you.’ As she sipped, her eyes roved over the statuary she could see everywhere, and felt a sudden stab of envy for the man sitting so relaxed beside her.
‘That is a very cold look you give me,’ commented Dante, offering a plate of warm rolls.
‘I was thinking how privileged you are to live in a place like this. You probably take all this wonderful sculpture for granted.’
‘Not so. I do not live in the city,’ he reminded her. ‘Therefore, I marvel at it every time I return. And, Signorina Tourist, these statues were erected for more than decoration. The big white Neptune in the fountain with his water nymphs commemorates ancient Tuscan naval victories.’
‘How about the sexy Perseus brandishing Medusa’s severed head over there? Just look at those muscles!’
Dante laughed, his eyes dancing at the look on her face. ‘He is a Medici warning to enemies, while the replica of Michelangelo’s David represents Republican triumph over tyranny.’ He shook his head. ‘Enough of the lessons. What would you like to do next?’
‘Could we just sit here for a while, Dante?’ Rose refused to feel guilty because she was enjoying herself so much. She
