own happiness for Sophia. This revelation didn’t fit in with her summing up of Vittorio. It was disturbing. Wriggling into a more secure position on the hammock, Cherry said, ‘He must love you very much.’
‘Si. And I love Vittorio. Although he is the most…’
A string of Italian words spoken at great speed followed. Cherry didn’t understand one, but she didn’t have to to get their meaning.
Eventually Sophia stopped, shaking her head. ‘He makes me mad,’ she said, an unnecessary statement after what had preceded it. ‘He thinks I am still a bambino, a child, but I am not. I know what I want and it is not to go to the finishing school he has arranged.’
Cherry thought she probably knew the answer to her next question, but she asked it anyway. ‘What do you want?’
Sophia flicked her hair over her brown shoulders, her full rounded breasts straining at the thin material holding them as she did so. ‘I want to be with Santo. I want to be his wife. But—’ she sighed heavily ‘—Santo is poor. At least compared to us and the families of the girls at school. His family have a small vineyard at the edge of our property and a pretty little farmhouse—trulli farmhouse, you understand? They produce the Uva di Troia grape and it is very good. It gives the fine red wine, si? But Vittorio has forbidden us to meet.’
‘Perhaps he thinks you are too young to think of settling down yet?’ She actually agreed with Vittorio on that score, at least. Sophia was sixteen years old; she had years and years in front of her before marriage and all it entailed.
Sophia tossed her head. ‘I have known Santo all my life and there will be no one else for either of us. And he is not a young boy. He is nineteen years old this summer.’ This was said with an air of proving Santo was as old as Methuselah. ‘He is a man. And he is kind, good.’ The slightly defiant tone vanished in the next instant. Tears in her eyes, Sophia whispered, ‘I would run away and get married, but Santo will not hear of this. If I go to the finishing school I shall not see Santo for a long time and I cannot bear it. I would rather kill myself,’ she finished tragically.
‘Oh, Sophia.’ Cherry slid off the hammock and knelt down beside Vittorio’s sister, taking one of her hands. ‘If you love each other as much as you say, it will work out in time. I know that’s not much comfort now, but you are still young, you know.’
‘I do not feel young.’ Eyes as green as grass held hers. ‘I do not think I have ever truly felt young as my friends are. I have always felt different. And I know what I want, Cherry. I want to marry Santo and have his babies. That is all I have ever wanted. Everything else does not count for me.’
Oh, dear. Somewhat at a loss, Cherry squeezed the slim fingers in hers. ‘Then it will happen,’ she said simply. ‘When it’s right. He’ll wait for you, if he is the one.’
They talked a little more. Cherry told Vittorio’s sister about her job in marketing, and what it had entailed, adding that she was glad she had left when she had and that she was considering a change of career when she returned to England eventually. ‘Perhaps local government—something like that. My degree is in English and Business Studies, but I think I’d find social services more interesting. I’m not sure. Time will tell. For now I’m looking on the next few months as the gap year I never had before university.’
Sophia nodded, but clearly had no interest in a career herself, only becoming animated when she told Cherry about Santo and how wonderful he was. ‘He has never looked at another girl. I know this,’ she said passionately, ‘and I could never love anyone else. It is foolish to make us wait. I tell Vittorio this but he will not listen. He has the heart of ice, not of fire.’
After a while both girls settled down for a siesta in the shade of the trees, the chirruping of birds and the lazy hum of bees in the surrounding vegetation the only sound disturbing the warm scented air. Cherry could hardly believe she’d told a virtual stranger about Liam and Angela, but then maybe it was because Sophia was a stranger that it had proved so easy. That and these incredibly beautiful and surreal surroundings.
This whole interlude felt like a step out of time, she thought drowsily in the moments before sleep overcame her. It was as though she had been transported to another dimension—a dimension ruled by a dark and autocratic overlord with a heart of stone.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN Cherry awoke it was because some sixth sense was telling her to beware. From a deep sleep her eyes flew open, and she raised her head to stare into the beautiful smoky-grey eyes that had featured in a dream she now couldn’t remember but which she knew had been disturbing.
‘Sleeping Beauty.’ Vittorio’s voice was soft and deep. ‘This is a fairytale, si?’
It might be—but never had the Prince been dressed in nothing but a brief pair of swimming trunks, and she didn’t think even Prince Charming’s body could compete with the man in front of her. The flagrant masculinity had been raw enough when Vittorio had been fully dressed. Now it was positively alarming. His thickly muscled torso gleamed like oiled silk, and he had obviously just been in the pool because the tight black curls on his chest glistened with droplets of water. The hair on his chest narrowed to a thin line over his flat belly, disappearing into the trunks, and his thighs were hard and powerful. He looked lean, lithe and dangerous, and undeniably earth-shattering.
Cherry swallowed. There was something about Vittorio Carella which made her feel completely subjugated and painfully feminine. She could cope with the second emotion, but the first was causing her hackles to rise again. Nevertheless, she did what she’d promised herself she would do the next time she saw him and said quickly, ‘I must apologise for not thanking you properly for allowing me to stay. I’m not usually so rude.’
He eyed her speculatively for a moment, then stretched out on the sun-lounger his sister had used earlier. Lazily, he drawled, ‘Then why so remiss today, Cherry?’
She might have known she couldn’t expect him simply to accept her apology and leave it at that. It took all of her considerable willpower to bite back the tart retort hovering on her tongue and say flatly, ‘Probably because we got off on the wrong foot.’
‘The wrong foot?’ He was clearly amused. ‘This is an English expression, si? But why did we get off on this “wrong foot”, eh? I think I know the answer to this.’
She stared at him, not knowing what to say.
‘For some reason you do not like me. This is true, si?’
She could tell he was enjoying her discomfiture, playing with her like a cat with a mouse, and nothing could have stopped her next words. ‘As it happens, you’re dead right.’ So much for the apology. But it was his fault, not hers.
‘You are an independent woman, I think. Strong. And surprisingly unmaterialistic.’
She didn’t know if she agreed with his opinion—certainly with regard to the first two attributes. She hadn’t felt very strong lately. Weakly, she said, ‘Surprisingly?’
‘I have found most modern women are driven by avarice and greed when it comes to looking for a partner in the opposite sex.’
Cherry reared up like a scalded cat, glaring at him with shocked eyes. ‘That’s absolutely ridiculous.’
‘You think so?’ He smiled coldly. ‘But this is not a criticism,
