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Authors: Melanie Milburne
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look absolutely stunning. I almostwish we were not going out to dine after all. I would much prefer to spend the evening alone with you here. I am sure we would find plenty to do to entertain ourselves, sì ?’
Ally felt her face begin to flush as his fingers stroked the bare skin of her arm in a sensual movement that sent the nerves beneath into a mad frenzy. She wished she could step out of his hold, but with the young housemaid looking on with beaming approval Ally knew she was momentarily trapped.
‘I have made a reservation at a favourite restaurant of mine,’ he said, as he led her to where his driver was waiting outside. ‘It is up a lane close to one of Rome’s most famous tourist spots—the Trevi Fountain. Have you thrown a coin into it yet?’
‘No, not yet,’ Ally said, her flesh tingling where his hand was touching her on the arm. ‘But I’ve heard about the legend. If you throw a coin over your shoulder into the fountain it means you will some day return to Rome.’
‘Ah, yes, but there are three parts to the legend. The second and third are not so commonly known,’ he said as he settled her into the car.
‘What are they?’ she asked. His fingers brushed against hers as he pulled down the seat belt and handed it to her.
His eyes were inscrutably dark as they meshed with hers. ‘One coin is, as you say, a return to Rome. However, if you throw in two it means you will fall in love with an Italian, and three coins means you will marry one.’
Ally studied his face; something in his tone troubled her. There was a glint of devilry in his gaze, as if he was toying with her like a predator with its targeted prey before the final fatal pounce.
She turned her head and looked fixedly out of the window as the late-evening sun cast golden beams across the green expanse of the Villa Borghese as they drove past. ‘I couldn’t think of anything worse than marrying an Italian man,’ she said. ‘As far as I can see they are not to be trusted.’
‘I was thinking the very same thing about Australian women,’ he returned smoothly.
She swivelled back to look at him, her heart beating irregularly in her chest. ‘W-what makes you say that?’
‘You will have to stop looking at me like that, Ally,’ he said. ‘We are supposed to be madly in love, remember? I cannot have you looking daggers at me all the time, otherwise our little charade will be seen for what it is.’
‘I think I should warn you right here and now I’m not a very good actor,’ she said in a petulant tone. ‘I was dropped from the school play when I was ten years old for not being convincing enough as a bumble bee.’
The sudden white slash of his enigmatic smile set her heart on yet another rollercoaster ride. ‘I think you will do very well indeed,’ he said. ‘You were obviously miscast way back then, but this role is perfect for you. You were made for it, sì ?’
Ally didn’t answer. She turned to look at the passing scenery, with her frantically flying thoughts flapping their wings of panic inside her head. Had he somehow guessed she wasn’t who she had said she was? But if he had guessed why didn’t he say so? Why prolong her agony? Why not lay his cards on the table so they both knew where they stood? What possible motive could he have for allowing her to continue what could only be described as her increasingly farcical deception?
The driver let them out in a narrow cobblestoned lane a short distance from the Trevi Fountain, and within moments of exiting the car the assembled press surged forward, along with a massive tourist crowd, as if they had automatically sensed someone notable had arrived. Cameras flashed and the rapid fire of Italian assaulted Ally’s ears like clanging bells as each member of the paparazzi vied for the best shot.
Ally tried to look as if she was used to such attention, but the press of hot bodies unnerved her. To avoid them she leaned into Vittorio’s solid frame for protection. She
Ally felt her face begin to flush as his fingers stroked the bare skin of her arm in a sensual movement that sent the nerves beneath into a mad frenzy. She wished she could step out of his hold, but with the young housemaid looking on with beaming approval Ally knew she was momentarily trapped.
‘I have made a reservation at a favourite restaurant of mine,’ he said, as he led her to where his driver was waiting outside. ‘It is up a lane close to one of Rome’s most famous tourist spots—the Trevi Fountain. Have you thrown a coin into it yet?’
‘No, not yet,’ Ally said, her flesh tingling where his hand was touching her on the arm. ‘But I’ve heard about the legend. If you throw a coin over your shoulder into the fountain it means you will some day return to Rome.’
‘Ah, yes, but there are three parts to the legend. The second and third are not so commonly known,’ he said as he settled her into the car.
‘What are they?’ she asked. His fingers brushed against hers as he pulled down the seat belt and handed it to her.
His eyes were inscrutably dark as they meshed with hers. ‘One coin is, as you say, a return to Rome. However, if you throw in two it means you will fall in love with an Italian, and three coins means you will marry one.’
Ally studied his face; something in his tone troubled her. There was a glint of devilry in his gaze, as if he was toying with her like a predator with its targeted prey before the final fatal pounce.
She turned her head and looked fixedly out of the window as the late-evening sun cast golden beams across the green expanse of the Villa Borghese as they drove past. ‘I couldn’t think of anything worse than marrying an Italian man,’ she said. ‘As far as I can see they are not to be trusted.’
‘I was thinking the very same thing about Australian women,’ he returned smoothly.
She swivelled back to look at him, her heart beating irregularly in her chest. ‘W-what makes you say that?’
‘You will have to stop looking at me like that, Ally,’ he said. ‘We are supposed to be madly in love, remember? I cannot have you looking daggers at me all the time, otherwise our little charade will be seen for what it is.’
‘I think I should warn you right here and now I’m not a very good actor,’ she said in a petulant tone. ‘I was dropped from the school play when I was ten years old for not being convincing enough as a bumble bee.’
The sudden white slash of his enigmatic smile set her heart on yet another rollercoaster ride. ‘I think you will do very well indeed,’ he said. ‘You were obviously miscast way back then, but this role is perfect for you. You were made for it, sì ?’
Ally didn’t answer. She turned to look at the passing scenery, with her frantically flying thoughts flapping their wings of panic inside her head. Had he somehow guessed she wasn’t who she had said she was? But if he had guessed why didn’t he say so? Why prolong her agony? Why not lay his cards on the table so they both knew where they stood? What possible motive could he have for allowing her to continue what could only be described as her increasingly farcical deception?
The driver let them out in a narrow cobblestoned lane a short distance from the Trevi Fountain, and within moments of exiting the car the assembled press surged forward, along with a massive tourist crowd, as if they had automatically sensed someone notable had arrived. Cameras flashed and the rapid fire of Italian assaulted Ally’s ears like clanging bells as each member of the paparazzi vied for the best shot.
Ally tried to look as if she was used to such attention, but the press of hot bodies unnerved her. To avoid them she leaned into Vittorio’s solid frame for protection. She
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