you don’t mind people pointing at you and laughing at you, sure.’ She gave him the sauciest wink he’d ever seen, and sashayed out of the shop.
He swallowed the disappointment that she hadn’t kissed him goodbye. Well, of course she hadn’t. Nobody was here to report back to the Mazetti clan, were they? Besides, they’d agreed to forget about what happened on Sunday.
The problem was, his body refused to forget. He could almost feel the softness of her skin against his fingertips, smell her soft floral scent, feel the texture of her mouth against his.
It drove him crazy.
The more so because he really didn’t know how to deal with this.
An hour later, Gio had just come out of the front door when he saw Fran walking towards him.
‘What, no surfer shorts?’ she teased.
He’d opted for plain black trousers and the light sweater she’d bought him; despite the fact it was summer, it was chilly that evening. ‘I thought this might be more appropriate.’
‘It suits you.’ She ran her hand lightly over the soft cashmere. And even though her palm hadn’t actually been in contact with his skin, every nerve end was on red alert.
He was shocked to realise just how much he wanted Fran to touch him. Properly. Skin to skin.
This wasn’t meant to happen.
And he was going to have to be very, very careful.
‘Though dressed completely in black, with those dark glasses on as well…’ She tutted and sucked in a breath. ‘You look a bit like a James Bond wannabe.’
‘And how do you know I’m not James Bond?’ he retorted. ‘I could be sending out hidden messages in those lattes. Those rosettas could be a special secret-agent code.’
She laughed, and tucked her arm through his. ‘So you’re telling me your car is really super-turbocharged, instead of cornering like a tank and doing zero to sixty in about half a day?’
‘That’s below the belt,’ he reprimanded her, laughing. ‘So where did you say we were going?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘No clues whatsoever?’ he wheedled.
‘Nope.’
He gave in, and just enjoyed the experience of walking through London with her, arm in arm. She switched the conversation to favourite movies, and he hadn’t really noticed where they were going until she stopped outside Netti’s pizzeria.
‘Here?’ Talk about bearding the lion in its den.
‘It’s the best pizzeria in London. And it’s where you told me you celebrate red-letter days. So as today is your birthday—which I would say is a red-letter day—it seemed appropriate.’
The second he walked through the door, the room seemed to erupt with party poppers—and then there was a rousing chorus of ‘Happy Birthday to You’.
As the paper streamers began to settle, he could see that the middle part of the restaurant was full, the usual small tables pulled together to form one enormous long table. All the staff from the four branches of Giovanni’s were there, along with his parents, his sisters and their partners, and Nonna. There were two spare places at the far end; one of the chairs had a helium balloon attached, with the number twenty-nine emblazoned on it.
Marco gave him a hug. ‘Buon compleanno, cugino mio,’ he said.
Gio was still too surprised for any words to come out. When Netti emerged from the kitchen to give him a hug and a kiss, he submitted gracefully. And then he let Fran lead him over to his seat.
‘I had absolutely no idea you were planning this,’ he said. She’d already made a fuss of him that morning. He really hadn’t expected her to plan a surprise for the evening, too.
‘That was the plan.’ She smiled. ‘Though I can’t take all the credit. It wasn’t just me.’
‘Fran is a girl after our hearts,’ Nonna said, patting Fran’s hand. ‘It was all her idea. We just helped a bit.’
‘Happy birthday, boss.’ Amy produced a large envelope and a box at the far end of the table, and it was handed down to him.
He opened the card to discover that all the staff of Giovanni’s had signed it. And the present was the new boxed set of remastered CDs by his favourite band—a gift that only someone who noticed things the way Fran did would’ve thought to buy him. ‘I…this is fantastic. I’m a bit lost for words.’ Understatement of the year. It had completely thrown him. ‘Thank you—all of you. I had absolutely no idea.’ He looked at Fran. ‘How did you organise this?’
‘Same way anyone would organise an office party.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s not a big deal.’
Oh, yes, it was. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to organise this, in an incredibly short space of time and in utter secrecy.
‘People think a lot of you, Gio,’ she said softly. ‘And they want to make a fuss of you, once in a while.’
A fuss he didn’t normally let people make.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent an evening like this. Although the staff at Giovanni’s always had a Christmas party, he usually stayed long enough to be sociable but left early, reasoning that they wouldn’t want the boss around to put a dampener on festivities. Tonight, they were definitely letting their hair down—but they were all there because they wanted to celebrate his birthday with him. Share his special day.
Just before coffee was served, he said quietly to Fran, ‘This is the best birthday I’ve had in years. It’s been really wonderful. Because of you.’
‘My pleasure.’
For a moment, their gazes meshed and held. Was he seeing what he wanted to see, or did that expression in her eyes mean…?
The moment was lost when Marco brought round the coffee.
‘And Amaretti for luck,’ Nonna added, fishing a box from under the table and handing it to Marco so he could share them out.
‘Why for luck?’ Fran asked.
‘You don’t know the story? About three hundred years ago, the cardinal of Milan went to pay a visit to Saronno, a poor town where two lovers worked, but they had little chance of marrying. In honour of the cardinal, they invented the Amaretti biscuit, and wrapped them in pairs to symbolise their love. The cardinal took pity on their plight—he blessed them, allowed them to marry and presided over the wedding feast. And Amaretti biscuits have always been wrapped in pairs, ever since, to remind people of the importance of true love.’
True love.
What Nonna and his family thought was happening between him and Fran.
Guilt throbbed through him. He was lying to them. For the best of reasons, but still lying to them. And that wasn’t
