continued their tour of London; in the evening, she took him to a restaurant in Chinatown. The incredibly abrupt waiter waved them downstairs, where another waiter sat them on a large table with several complete strangers, then banged down a pot of jasmine tea and two handleless cups in front of them.
‘The service here won’t have the finesse you’re used to,’ she said, ‘but I promise the food makes up for it. They do the best crispy duck in London.’
‘It’s an experience, I’ll give you that,’ Rico said with a grin.
‘And we’re going halves on the bill. Equals, remember.’
‘Sì, signorina.’ He dipped his head and gave her a deferential look. She rolled her eyes and punched his arm, and he just laughed.
After their meal, they wandered back through Leicester Square.
‘I don’t know if I dare suggest stopping here for an ice cream. Not when Italian ice cream is the best in the world,’ Ella said, looking longingly in the window of one of the ice-cream shops.
‘If you want an ice cream, bellezza, that’s fine. Though I’ll pass, because I happen to know there’s a cupcake with my name on it in your fridge and I want to make sure I can do it justice.’
They caught the DLR back to Greenwich, and she produced the cupcake from the fridge. ‘Enjoy.’
He savoured every mouthful. ‘I’m seriously thinking about kidnapping you and making you my personal pastry chef.’
‘So I’d cook at your whim?’
‘No. You can cook whatever and whenever you like. Your pleasure will be mine.’
It was suddenly hard to breathe, because she knew he wasn’t just talking about food. And he had a point. She got a real kick out of pleasing him; and it was entirely mutual.
As if he guessed at her thoughts, he drew her towards him. He kissed her until she forgot what day it was, then brought her to an incredibly intense climax before taking it much more slowly and doing it all over again.
Curled up in bed beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, she asked softly, ‘So are you staying tonight?’
Stay.
Rico was shocked by how much he wanted to take her up on that offer.
But this really wasn’t a good idea. Sex was one thing, but intimacy was quite another. Dangerous. He still didn’t want his heart involved. And she was vulnerable; he was pretty sure that most of her assertions were utter bravado and what she really wanted was a family. Something he’d never be able to give her.
Gently, he disengaged himself from her. ‘Sorry. I’ve skived off all day, so I’ll have a pile of emails waiting for me when I get back to the hotel,’ he said. He knew he was using his business as an excuse, but he didn’t want to hurt her. ‘But I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He smiled to soften his words. ‘My personal tour guide promised me the Changing of the Guard.’
‘Buckingham Palace is nearer you than me, so I’ll meet you at The Fountain,’ she said.
‘Fine. What time?’
‘Is nine o’clock too early?’
‘Nine o’clock is fine. I’ll see you then.’
Ella hid her disappointment that Rico didn’t stay. This was a fling and nothing more. So why did she feel so empty as soon as he was gone …?
On Sunday, Rico was waiting in the reception area of The Fountain when Ella walked in. ‘Buongiorno, Ella bellezza,’ he said.
‘Good morning. Are you ready to play tourist?’
‘Absolutely.’ He gave her a wide smile.
They were near enough to walk to the palace from his hotel, and eventually joined the queue of people waiting outside Buckingham Palace. At last, the soldiers in their red tunics and tall bearskin hats marched onto the forecourt outside the palace, and he enjoyed watching the spectacle. Though he had a nasty feeling that, more than that, what he was really enjoying was being with her.
She smiled at him when it was over. ‘So there you have it. One very British tradition.’
‘Nothing like you’d see in Rome. You might get the odd Roman legion and a bunch of senators in the Circus Maximus on a weekend—usually re-enactment groups—but I’ve not seen anything like this before.’
‘I’m glad I’ve shown you something new.’ She laced her fingers through his as the old guard marched away. ‘You showed me the grisly bits of Rome. It’s time I returned the favour—we’ll go and see the Tower of London.’
‘So is this the oldest building in London?’ he asked as they walked inside the complex.
‘Just about,’ she said. ‘Though your Colosseum’s a thousand years older. William the Conqueror started it with the White Tower, and various kings extended the buildings over the years. I remember my mum taking me here when I was small; I was fascinated by the Beefeaters and their hats. And the ravens.’
‘Let’s go and see the ravens,’ he said.
The ravens stalked across a patch of ground by the Wakefield Tower. ‘According to legend, the kingdom and the tower will fall if the ravens fly away, so their wings are clipped to make sure they don’t,’ Ella told him.
‘Poor things. They’re trapped.’ Which was how he’d felt at university. He’d been groomed to take over Rossi Hotels, so he knew that choosing any other career would mean letting his family down; his father was totally useless, and Rico was the only grandchild. The only one who could continue the business. Without him, hundreds of jobs would be at risk, and that wasn’t fair on the staff who’d worked for Rossi Hotels for years.
Yet it wasn’t fair on him, either, to have all his choices taken away. Frustration at being hemmed in had nearly sent him off the rails; and then his best friend had pointed out that, actually, the world was at his feet because he could take the business in any direction he liked and he didn’t have to follow his grandfather’s lead.
Which was precisely why his next hotel was going to be in London rather than in Italy. He was in charge, and he was putting his stamp on the firm. And this deal was going to be a lot bigger than the last one he’d made. He was branching out, in more ways than one—and he already knew his grandfather had reservations about it. Well, tough. Rico didn’t have reservations. He was going to make this work. And then maybe his grandfather would be forced to admit that Rico was doing just fine.
‘The ravens’ wings are almost the same colour as your hair,’ she said, ruffling it.
He caught her round the waist, spun her round and kissed her; she was pink and laughing by the time he’d finished.
‘Now, now. You’re not supposed to distract the tour guide,’ she scolded, but she was laughing as she spoke.
‘How long is it since you’ve been here?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure. Years. But I loved it as a child. The crown jewels, Henry VIII’s
