Immi thought, after Ludano’s death Sofia had no longer had any access to the palace staff to fix any problems. And Posy’s godmother had been too proud to admit that she couldn’t afford to fix the phone line.
‘And she wouldn’t let me rig up any kind of satellite phone for her,’ he continued, ‘so we compromised on her ringing a bell if she needed me.’
‘I didn’t pull any cord,’ she said, and then wrinkled her nose. ‘Oh. That’s what I must’ve tripped over. And I did hear a bell—I just didn’t connect it with tripping over. I thought it was the village church.’
‘Well, now you know,’ he said.
Her skin prickled with awareness—of him, and of the fact that she was only wearing thin cotton pyjamas that didn’t exactly hide her shape. She sucked in a breath. She needed to calm herself down. Remembering her manners would be a good start. ‘Thank you for the bread and the milk,’ she said. ‘I was going to call in tomorrow to say thank you and give you the money for it.’
‘There’s no need. I think I can afford to buy a neighbour a couple of pints of milk and a load of bread.’ He paused. ‘So why were you tackling what you thought were burglars on your own?’
She looked at the saucepan she’d just put down. ‘That wasn’t going to be much use against a determined intruder, was it?’
‘Hardly,’ he said dryly.
* * *
Imogen looked amazing in those pyjamas. The soft strappy top revealed her curves, and although her shorts were demure enough he could see just how long her legs were. And Matt really had to remind himself that she was off limits.
‘So why wasn’t your fiancé tackling the burglars?’ he asked. It was like a scab he couldn’t stop picking at.
‘He’s not here.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And he’s not my fiancé any more.’
She was free?
But the split must’ve been recent. He’d seen her only two months before, with that massive rock on her left hand. Had she been the one to instigate the break-up, or had her fiancé called off the engagement? Right now Matt knew he needed to tread carefully. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m not.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Marrying Stephen would’ve been the biggest mistake ever.’
‘So you called it off?’
She spread her hands. ‘Some people would say that was enough to make me the Runaway Bride.’
He somehow didn’t think that Imogen Marlowe would run away from anything. There was a lot more to this than she was telling.
Not that it was any of his business. And he didn’t need to get involved. ‘Well, if you’re not being attacked by burglars, I guess I’d better leave you be,’ he said.
‘Or,’ she said, ‘I could put some proper clothes on and make you a cup of hot chocolate.’
* * *
Why on earth had she said that?
Wasn’t the whole point of her stay in L’Isola dei Fiori to be on her own, and to think about her future without having to talk to a single person? Why was she asking Matt to stay? This was particularly stupid of her, given that almost-kiss at Andie’s wedding reception. This was playing with fire.
His expression was unreadable. Then he nodded. ‘You’re probably wearing more right now than the average tourist would on the beach, but I’ll make the hot chocolate while you get changed.’
‘Deal. The hot chocolate’s in the top cupboard to the right of the stove, the milk’s where you put it, and the pan...’ She smiled. ‘Well. Let’s just say it hasn’t been used to smack a would-be burglar round the head.’
‘Indeed.’
He smiled back, and all of a sudden she was covered in goosebumps. Which was ridiculous. For pity’s sake, she was nearly twenty-five, not fifteen. She shouldn’t be flustered just because a seriously attractive man smiled at her.
She went upstairs and changed into a clean T-shirt and jeans. When she came back down into the kitchen, the milk was just on the boil. Matt stirred the milk into the hot chocolate powder, then handed one of the mugs to her.
‘There’s a good spot in the garden,’ he said, ‘to look at the stars. Because there are so few homes on this part of the island there’s hardly any light pollution so you get an excellent view of the night sky.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ she said. She’d been too busy around Andie’s wedding—and too miserable—to notice the stars.
She slipped on a pair of canvas shoes but didn’t bother lacing them up, then followed him and his torchlight out through the garden. The path wound through more of the overgrown shrubs, and a couple of times she started to wonder if this fabulous viewpoint of his even existed. She certainly didn’t remember it from her childhood stays here. Wouldn’t it have been easier just to sit on the ancient pink rocking chair she’d noticed on the terrace? But Matt seemed completely sure-footed, and eventually she found herself next to an old wooden bench in front of the wall that ran round the edge of the garden.
‘I know it looks as if it’d be more sensible to just follow the wall,’ he said, ‘but the tremor a couple of years back caused the wall to crumble in places, so it’s not brilliantly safe. Especially when it’s not daylight, when you can’t see where you’re going and you’re less likely to avoid tripping over a branch and going over the edge.’
‘Right.’ She knew the island was on a volcanic ridge. A tremor explained the cracks in the house; and they probably hadn’t been fixed for the same reason as the phone line. ‘I’m assuming the house needed attention before the wall round the garden did.’
He nodded. ‘Cleve’s done a bit of repairing—well, after almost burning down the kitchen—and when Javier was here with Portia he fixed the glass in the conservatory and plastered some of the walls.’
Immi had known Cleve for years and wasn’t surprised that he was good with his hands, but she couldn’t quite get her head round the idea of a movie star doing building work. Particularly as, from what she’d seen, the job looked pretty professional. But Portia had kept a lot of things about her new husband quiet, including the wedding: it was the only way to get real privacy when one of you lived so much in the public eye.
As Matt had promised, the bench that was perched on the edge of the cliff, facing out to sea, provided an expansive view of the star-filled sky and it was utterly beautiful.
It was a relief that he didn’t fill the silence with small talk, either; they just sat there together in companionable silence, sipping hot chocolate and watching the stars twinkling brightly above.
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘I think I needed that.’
‘Time and space to think?’ he asked, his voice equally soft.
‘Yes. I’m pretty much at a crossroads in my life right now.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘The plan is to sort out the garden here; if you’re having to concentrate on
