Winning Back His Runaway Bride Page 4

  What could she say but, ‘That sounds lovely’? And it did, painfully so. Because this was how she had imagined her marriage to be—not the holidays or the private jets or the chauffeured cars, but the spending time together, the making plans, the spontaneity. After all, that had been their courtship—short, full of spur-of-the-moment plans and so very sweet. But their actual marriage had been so very different once real life had intruded into their idyll. Now here they were, back in time. Was there a chance this Matteo would choose a different path or was he doomed to make the same choices, the way she’d come to realise he’d been programmed to do?

  Ravello was as charming as Matteo had promised with its red-roofed whitewashed buildings and village squares full of cafés and restaurants. The car drove through the village and a little further up the steep hill before pulling in at a wrought-iron gate which swung silently open at their approach.

  The curving driveway was surrounded by flowers, bright pink bougainvillea and many others she couldn’t name in vivid hues of pink, red and purple contrasting with the gleaming white of the villa ahead. Charlie tumbled out of the car as soon as it drew to a stop, forgetting for one blissful, flower-scent-filled moment why she was here, almost drunk on the beauty of the scene before her. A large courtyard filled with lemon trees led to the front of the imposing old villa with its arched balustrades and balconies overlooking the gardens and spectacular views of the sea. In a daze, Charlie followed the path round to a shaded terrace, also heady with the scent of lemons and spring flowers, wandering down stone cut steps to a sunbathing terrace on the very edge of the cliff, leading to a magnificent old swimming pool with marble steps descending into its blue depths, classical statues at every corner. This was no sleek modern home but a place rooted in history, from the greenery covering the villa to the twisted trees on the cliff edge.

  The ache she’d carried inside her for months now seemed to swell under all this beauty. She could have been so happy here. They could have been so happy.

  She sensed rather than felt Matteo come up behind her, his arms slipping around her waist in a hold so natural it almost undid her. ‘So, what do you think?’

  ‘I think it’s the loveliest place I’ve ever been.’

  ‘Then it’s the fitting setting for you,’ he murmured against her neck and her stomach tightened, every nerve straining towards the faint touch of his lips, the whisper of his breath, and she wanted this moment to be real with every fibre of her being.

  They could have been so happy—and maybe they still could. She had told Phoebe this was no start over, that she would leave as soon as she possibly could, but why not take this unexpected time and see if there was any way of trying a different path, searching for a different outcome? She was no fool. Matteo would hopefully regain his memory soon, and if not then she would have to tell him the truth. But if they were in a stronger place when she did so, then maybe things would seem different. The failure of her marriage had eaten away at her, but if she could honestly say she had given this unexpected second chance all she had then would she be able to achieve the closure she so desperately needed?

  All she knew was that fate had intervened and given her an opportunity to step back in time and reshape her marriage. She could throw this chance away or she could adopt some of those old techniques from her drama classes. Not pretend that things were okay between them but to live as if they were okay. To become the character, not act the character. It would be easier for them both.

  But she had to keep a guard on her heart. Because she’d nearly been broken once. She couldn’t let it happen again.

  * * *

  Matteo inhaled, the scent of lemons and flowers tinged with salt taking him instantly back to childhood, to roaming free with his cousins, long lazy days by the pool or out at sea, the warmth of summer evenings as the grown-ups drank wine and talked, the children playing out till late like puppies, left to tumble until they slept where they fell. A bigger contrast to the confines of boarding school with its strict lights out and every moment timetabled it was hard to imagine. And yet in the end he was the one to turn his back on the villa and family, spending his summer in his grandfather’s office instead, thinking the suit and tie made him an adult. Responsible. The man he had to be.

  Long, sun-drenched days were for his dissolute father, his fun-seeking mother. Not for real Harringtons. Or so he’d believed. Still believed, much as he wanted to do otherwise. But he yearned for colour. That was what had first drawn him to Charlie, with her sunshine disposition and rainbow clothes. With her spontaneity and joy.

  And she was his. Now he could make new memories. Memories with his wife. He tightened his hold on Charlie, burrowing his face in her hair. How could he have forgotten their wedding, the few days of honeymoon they’d managed, their life together? It seemed impossible that today wasn’t their wedding day. Still, it was their honeymoon...

  ‘Come on, let me show you around.’

  Charlie turned to face him. ‘I have a better idea. I’ll have an explore while you rest.’

  ‘Rest?’ he scoffed, refusing to acknowledge the persistent pulse in his temples, the soreness in his ribs, the stiffness of his neck and shoulders. ‘I don’t need to rest after a short journey like that. This sun and the view is all I need.’

  ‘Not according to the doctor’s instructions,’ Charlie said sweetly, pulling a typewritten list from her pocket.

  Matteo groaned. He was already heartily sick of that list. Thanks to it he’d been forced to spend the whole flight reclining back, no film or book to occupy him, and wear sunglasses through the airport like some attention-seeking pop star. ‘I’ll show you around then sit on the terrace for an hour,’ he countered, but his obstinate wife shook her head.

  ‘You’ll lie down and have a nap.’

  ‘A nap? I am not having a nap.’ But he was drained, the early-afternoon sun hot on his aching head, the light painfully bright despite the dark glasses, and secretly he couldn’t help thinking that a darkened room sounded rather enticing.

  ‘A siesta then. Does that make it sound more respectable?’

  ‘A sun lounger on the terrace.’ But Matteo knew when he was fighting a losing battle and accompanied Charlie back to the villa door with only the minimum of face-saving grumbling.

  The villa door was wide open, Maria, the housekeeper, waiting for them, and Matteo subjected himself to her shocked outcry as she fussed over his cuts and bruises and scolded him for his carelessness, pausing only to embrace Charlie in loud, voluble Italian that his wife clearly couldn’t understand before switching to her excellent English. ‘Signor Matteo, welcome home. And to bring the beautiful signora with you. But you must rest. Your bags are in your room. Come, come.’

  He clearly was going to have to assert his authority soon. Otherwise, between Charlie and Maria, he would find himself wrapped in a blanket and forbidden to move. ‘Grazie, Maria, it’s good to be home. I don’t suppose you have any of your excellent lemonade and those delicious biscuits of yours ready, do you?’

  ‘But of course, I will bring them to you,’ Maria said. ‘Signora, would you like yours on the terrace?’

  ‘Please. And do call me Charlie.’ Charlie grinned up at him as Maria bustled away. ‘Don’t tell me; she knew you when you were a baby?’

  ‘Practically. She’s worked here all her life—she is supposed to be retired now, just make sure that the villa is aired and organise cleaners every now and then, hire staff for when my mother is here, but whenever I manage to get here she insists on looking after me herself. She lives in the village with her family though. You don’t mind not having twenty-four-hour staff?’

  ‘A year of marriage hasn’t left me unable to make my own cup of tea or pick up my own clothes,’ Charlie assured him as they ascended the sweeping curved staircase that led from the large hallway to the upper floor. Since inheriting the villa Matteo usually took the corner suite with
its sea views, sizeable en suite bathroom and dressing room and, sure enough, his small suitcase was already lying open in the dressing room; he hadn’t asked Charlie to pack much, he kept a wardrobe here for the too rare occasions he visited. The windows were flung open to let in the warm sea air but shuttered against the sun, the bed freshly made up.

  ‘Hang on, where’s your bag?’ He could only see his suitcase, already half unpacked, his washbag in the en suite bathroom.

  ‘I asked for a separate room to be made up for me,’ Charlie said and held up a hand as he tried to protest. ‘Rest, Matteo. Fluids and plenty of rest; that’s what the doctor said and that’s what you are going to get. Right now this isn’t a holiday and it definitely isn’t a honeymoon; it’s a place for you to get better. And that will take at least a week or two of early nights, late mornings and siestas.’

  ‘And what will you be doing while I’m re-enacting Sleeping Beauty?’ It struck him that he had no idea what Charlie did nowadays. Was she teaching? Doing something else? His wife was a mystery—one he was desperate to unravel. But not now, not while the pressure in his head began to tighten to vice-like proportions and his ribs ached.

  ‘Me? I’m planning to go dancing in the village, flirt with dark-eyed Italian men and drink Prosecco. That’s okay, isn’t it?’

  ‘Only if you wait for me.’ But the pain was intensifying and it was harder and harder to sound nonchalant. Matteo slipped his shoes off and gratefully lay down on the cool bed, closing his eyes as Charlie sat lightly next to him, stroking his hair with soft, soothing fingers.

  ‘Do you want me to go?’ she half whispered and he reached up to hold her hand in his.

  ‘No. Don’t leave me, Charlie. Promise you won’t leave,’ he managed as fatigue crashed down and carried him away. But as he fell into a deep sleep he could have sworn he heard his wife swallowing back a sob, and felt a tear fall onto his brow.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘EVERY MORNING I promise myself that I’m only going to have fresh fruit and some of this delicious yoghurt for breakfast.’ Charlie sat back, smothering a groan. ‘And yet every morning I somehow manage to not only heap my plate with bread and cheese and these little pastries, but I always finish off with lemon cake as well. Lemon cake! For breakfast! You’re going to have to roll me onto the plane to get me home if I carry on like this.’

  It wasn’t just the breakfast. Lunches and dinners were ostensibly healthy, thanks to the concussion-friendly diet sheet the doctor had provided, involving lots of salad, fish and olive oil. But the meals also came with slices of warm home-made bread and meltingly delicious garlic-fried potatoes and were always followed by creamy tiramisu or delicate little sponge cakes served with lemon cream—and Charlie usually managed seconds of everything.

  ‘Maria’s lemon cake is the stuff of legend.’ Matteo reached for another sizeable slice with a grin. ‘You might as well make the most of it while you’re here because, I promise you, you’ll be dreaming about it for months.’

  ‘I can believe it. In fact, I’ll be dreaming about this whole place every night, wishing I was sitting here, eating my bodyweight in cake. Can you tell me again why we live in London when we could be living here?’

  ‘Right now, I’m not entirely sure,’ Matteo admitted. ‘But if this was normal life, would it feel this special or would you just gulp down a coffee and not even notice the view?’

  ‘I’m up for testing that theory.’ Charlie tilted her face up to the already hot morning sun and closed her eyes, letting the warmth permeate through to her bones. It had, in some ways, been an almost idyllic week despite the oddity of her situation. Her initial worries over Matteo’s health had quickly disappeared, along with his headaches and the fading of his bruises. A local doctor had come out to see him the day before and suggested he continue to take it easy for another few days to be on the safe side, but assured them both that he was well on the road to recovery. As long as there were no more headaches, double vision or any of the other symptoms in the leaflet she still carried in her bag everywhere she went, he should be safe to resume normal life by the end of the week.

  Normal life. The words which filled Matteo with such pleasure caused nothing but dread to Charlie, and it had been hard to match his delighted smile. Normal life meant that he wouldn’t be able to resist checking in with his office and then what? Once work intruded he’d lose the relaxed, playful air she had missed so much, his responsibilities once more weighing him down and taking centre stage.

  Normal life would mean the return of his phone and contact with other people, with his grandfather, who was champing at the bit to speak to Matteo. After an extremely awkward conversation and some initial resistance she’d persuaded his grandfather that Matteo needed this holiday, reiterating the doctor’s instructions that Matteo stayed quiet and received no sudden shocks. But she still didn’t trust the old man not to let something slip about the divorce; she knew full well he was no fan of hers.

  She took another thoughtful sip of her coffee, her gaze lingering on Matteo. He had tanned even in the short week they’d been here, his skin no longer sallow but a deep olive, setting off the dark fuzz that covered his jaw. The casual short-sleeved shirt highlighted the breadth of his shoulders, the undone top buttons showing the hollow of his throat, the vee of his chest. Her stomach tumbled, tightening with a desire that had never, not even in the worst of times, gone away. It felt like such an illicit pleasure, sitting looking at her husband, allowing her gaze to linger on every plane and hard muscled edge.

  It was an illicit pleasure because he was no longer hers to enjoy. And that was increasingly becoming a problem. Normal life didn’t just mean access to phones and emails. Normal life meant Matteo would be expecting them to be the still practically newlyweds he thought they were, the passionate-about-each-other, head-over-heels couple he remembered. He was already making it more than plain that he would prefer Charlie to be sharing his room, his bed, and every night it was harder and harder for her to resist his playful entreaties.

  It was harder and harder for her not to throw caution to the wind and react when he touched her waist in passing or took her hand as they walked around the gardens. Not to turn and kiss him when he slipped his arms around her waist and held her, when he kissed the exact place on her neck he knew always sent her weak with desire. Not to allow a quick affectionate kiss to develop into a longer embrace. Easy, intimate gestures, each one an exquisite torture. More than once she’d allowed the moment to go on a few seconds longer than was wise, unable to break the embrace with an easy laugh and a reminder that he needed to take it easy, just revelling in the feel and the touch of him. But in the end she always stepped away. Anything physical would only be a lie for them both. However much she wanted to she couldn’t ignore the envelope of not-yet-posted divorce papers packed in the bottom of her suitcase—nor the reasons they existed.

  ‘What shall we do today?’ Matteo finally pushed his plate away and picked up his coffee, wincing theatrically. Charlie was still enforcing the no caffeine rule, much to his loudly voiced disgust.

  ‘Why don’t we, oh, I don’t know. How about we swim and sunbathe or we could sunbathe and swim? Or go crazy and do both?’

  Matteo peered over the top of his sunglasses to give her a mock stern look. ‘Nice try, Charlie, but the doctor said I was quite okay to leave the villa.’

  ‘Well, yes, but he did stipulate that you still needed plenty of rest and plenty of fluids and to take things easy and not to rush anything...’

  ‘Noted, but I don’t think a walk in the village is going to tax me too much, do you? They even have establishments that sell beverages to keep up those fluid levels. Come on, Charlie, you must be going stir-crazy. We’ve been here a week and you haven’t left the villa once.’

  ‘That’s what you think, but I’ve been out, drinking Prosecco and dancing with dark-eyed Italian men every time you’ve been snoozing, so don’
t you worry about me.’

  But although his mouth curved into an appreciative smile the expression in his hazel eyes was still firm. The truth was that although Matteo had repeatedly suggested that she go and explore, walk around the village, take a taxi or a local bus down to Amalfi or even along the winding road back to Sorrento with its designer shops and fancy restaurants, she had yet to leave the luxurious confines of the villa. She knew that Maria was more than capable of keeping a close eye on Matteo, but Charlie still didn’t like the idea of leaving him on his own. She told herself it was because she was there solely to make sure he was on the road to recovery, but the truth was she was loving the long lazy days with nothing to do but read, swim, play cards and enjoy each other’s company. This was how she had imagined their marriage to be, companionship not loneliness.

  The only awkward moments came when Matteo asked questions about their life together. Not wanting to lie to him any more than she already was, Charlie had put off answering for now, reminding him that the doctor said it would be best to see if his memory came back by itself before trying to prompt it in any way. But, much like their sleeping arrangements, she knew she could only put him off for so long.

  Matteo pushed his chair back and got to his feet in one lithe graceful movement. ‘Come on. Up you get. Let’s go.’

  ‘You have to give me time to get changed,’ she protested. ‘I’m not wearing any make-up and this dress is barely fit for lounging round the pool, let alone being seen in public.’

  ‘You look beautiful,’ he said. ‘You always do.’

  ‘Even so. Give me five minutes.’ She touched his arm lightly as she passed him, wanting more than anything to hold on tight and let him anchor her, to hear him tell her again that she was beautiful. To see appreciation in his heated gaze, not cool impatience as he suggested she might be more comfortable in something less like fancy dress.