don’t usually have to go to these lengths to audition someone.’
‘This is different. He’s not just going to be the frontman. He’s an archaeologist and a historian, with a big reputation, and he’s been showing me several new sites.’
‘I can’t wait to meet him,’ Sol declared, with a touch of irony that she tried to ignore.
‘He’ll be here in an hour. We can all have dinner together—’
‘Ah, well—I’ve actually made a few plans…’
‘You’ve got a new girl already? That’s fast work, even for you.’
‘I met her on the plane—she’s scared of flying, so naturally I—’
‘Naturally,’ she agreed, chuckling.
He glanced at the open suitcase on her bed, and something seemed to strike him.
‘Did you bring enough clothes for your jaunt?’
‘I was just thinking that I need to buy something new in the boutique downstairs.’
‘Great idea,’ he said heartily. ‘Let’s go.’
She’d been his mother long enough to be cynical, and had the reward of seeing her darkest suspicions realised when the boutique turned out to be unisex, and he headed for an array of dazzling male Italian fashions.
Della smiled, and observed him with pride. After all, what were mothers for?
‘You should try this,’ he said, belatedly remembering her and indicating a black cocktail dress of heartbreaking elegance.
But the price tag made her blanch.
‘I don’t think—’
‘Aw, c’mon. So it’s a bit pricey? So what? This is Italy’s greatest designer, and you’ll look wonderful in it. I’ll boast to everyone we meet—hey, that’s my mum!’
‘And it’ll make your purchases look thrifty by comparison,’ she teased.
‘I’m shocked by your suspicions. You cut me to the heart.’
‘Hmm! All right—I’ll try it on.’
Rather annoyingly, the dress was perfect, and she longed to see Carlo’s eyes when he saw her in it.
‘Was I right, or was I right?’ Sol demanded as she paraded around the shop.
‘You were right, but—’
‘But it kills you to admit it,’ he said, giving her the grin she adored.
It was a constant surprise to her that this son of a boring, commonplace father could be so well endowed with charm. She knew his faults. He was selfish, cocky, and thought his looks and appeal meant the world was his. If the world didn’t offer, he would reach out and take, paying his debt in smiles.
But they had been companions in misfortune almost since the day of his birth. Whatever had happened, he’d been there, with his cheeky grin and his hopeful, ‘C’mon, Mum, it’s not so bad.’
There had been times when his resilience and his ability to make her laugh had been her chief strength. She’d clung to him—perhaps too much, she sometimes thought. But he’d always been there for her, and now nothing was too good for him.
‘Oh, come here!’ she said, flinging her arms wide. ‘Don’t ask me why I love you. I suppose there’s a reason.’
Carlo got through everything there was to do in his apartment in double-quick time, sorting through the mail and ruthlessly tossing most of it aside as junk. He called his mother to let her know he was back, and promised to be at the villa punctually the following evening.
‘I shall have a lady with me,’ he said cautiously.
‘Well, it’s about time,’ Hope Rinucci replied robustly.
That startled him. This wasn’t the first woman he’d taken home, so he could only assume that something in his tone had alerted Hope to the fact that this guest was different. She was the one.
He hung up, thinking affectionately that the man who could bottle a mother’s instinct and market it would be a millionaire in no time.
Having showered, he drove back to the Vallini, looking forward to the evening ahead. They had just spent over a week living closely together, but after little more than an hour away from her he found that the need to see her again was almost unbearable. At the hotel he parked the car and ran into the foyer, like a man seeking his only hope on earth.
The way to the elevators took him past the hotel boutique. He stopped, checked by a sight that sent a chill through him.
Della was there, wearing a stylish black cocktail dress that she was showing off to an extremely good-looking young man who looked to be in his early twenties. He was watching her with his head on one side, and they were laughing at each other. As Carlo stared, feeling as though something had turned him to stone, Della opened her arms wide. The young man did the same, and they embraced each other in a giant hug.
He heard her say, ‘Don’t ask me why I love you. I suppose there’s a reason.’
Carlo wanted to do a thousand things at once—to run away and hide, pretend that this had never happened, and then perhaps the clock would turn back to before he’d seen her in the arms of another man. But he also wanted to race up to them and pull them apart. He wanted to punch the man to the ground, then turn on Della and accuse her, with terrible bitterness, of breaking his heart. He wanted to do all the violent things that were not in his nature.
But he did none of them. Instead, almost without realising that he was moving, he went to stand in front of them. It was the young man who saw him first.
‘Hey, I think your friend’s here,’ he said cheerfully.
Della looked up, smiling, but making no effort to disentangle herself from the embrace.
‘Hallo, darling,’ she said. ‘You haven’t met my son, have you?’
Carlo clenched his hands. Her son! Who did she think she was kidding?
‘Very funny,’ he said coldly. ‘How old were you when you had him? Six?’
The young man roared with laughter, making Carlo dream of murder.
‘It’s your own fault for looking so young,’ he told her.
She chuckled and disengaged herself.
‘I was sixteen when Sol was born,’ she told Carlo. ‘I told you that once before.’
‘Yes, but—’ Carlo fell silent.
‘And he’s twenty-one now,’ she finished. ‘He looks older because he’s built like an ox.’
Sol grinned at this description and extended his hand. Dazed, Carlo shook it.
