‘After I left the army...’ he’d crawled into an abyss of self-pity, grief and self-recrimination, had finally pulled himself out ‘... I set myself up as a one-man security band.’ Lured by danger, fuelled by adrenalin, he’d accepted assignments where death had been a constant risk, the only way he could feel alive. Until injury had halted him in his tracks and his old army commander had made him rethink his path. ‘It grew from there. I built a team of operatives and it spiralled. I branched out into non-military contracts. I bought a fleet of vans and started a transportation sideline that grew and grew. Then I started offering security for events and so it went on. And here I am.’
‘Starting your own business, making it yours...that must be...fulfilling.’ She sounded wistful. ‘That feeling of achievement, of building something on your own.’
‘Sounds like that is what you would like to do.’
Her look was slightly defiant. ‘I’ve thought about it. I mean, I know how lucky I am—but sometimes it does feel like I’ve been handed everything on a silver platter. I wonder if I could have achieved success on my own.’
Liam considered. ‘I’m not sure it matters. There are different parameters of success. You could take Dolci on to bigger and better things, make a success of it your way, with or without the Petrovellis. You could count your modelling career as a runaway success—that was down to you.’
‘Not really. That is down to genetic luck and, let’s face it, my connections probably helped me.’
‘You are who you are and life deals you the cards it deals you—all you can do is play the best hand you can. Is heading up Dolci what you want to do?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then do it to the best of your ability. If you had started Dolci, what would you do with it?’
‘I’d like to grow the company differently, sell more organic, fair trade produce. Be way more ethical. I’d also like to set up some small high-street shops that sell our products. Maybe even launch out from desserts to a few good quality ready dinners for families and people who live on their own.’ She grinned. ‘Kind of like Elena’s food, but in bulk. I know it will lose some of its authenticity if it’s mass produced but I’d do everything I could to keep it as “real” as possible.’
The ideas poured out of her, the spark in her eyes, the way she moved her hands to emphasise a point exuded a vibe or energy, piqued his admiration and interest.
‘Then that’s what you should aim for. Look into those ideas.’
‘Maybe.’ But the enthusiasm had gone and now she rose to her feet. ‘Anyway, enough of that—it’s more information than you need and definitely more than I meant to say. You should have stopped me.’
‘I didn’t want to stop you. I enjoyed listening. You are full of ideas—good ideas.’
‘Thank you.’ But he could see she hadn’t taken the words on board, wondered why someone like Ava Casseveti found it so hard to believe in herself. ‘So what’s the plan for the day?’
‘My idea for the day was to go into town. Practise being seen and spending time together so it starts to look natural.’
‘Then give me ten minutes to get ready and let’s go.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
AVA CHECKED HER reflection in the pretty full-length mirror in her bedroom and gave a satisfied nod. The white dress with the poppy-red pattern was perfect: swirly, flirty, fun and it made her look good without being overtly revealing or too noticeable. Topping it with a fleece-lined denim jacket for warmth, she would blend into the tourist crowd. She tugged her trademark blonde hair into a ponytail. One last swipe of lip gloss, a press of her lips, and she exited the room and headed downstairs. Twenty minutes later they were on the cobbled streets of the town and Ava gasped as she took in the architecture of the buildings.
‘I had read about the trulli but the pictures don’t do them justice.’ She halted to appreciate the sheer unique quality of the small stone whitewashed buildings topped with conical roofs. ‘They are straight out of a fairy tale.’
‘Maybe they are—they were built centuries ago, just in this part of the world as far as I know. Some people believe they were built in order to avoid tax.’
Ava turned to him in question. ‘I assumed they were houses or storage units.’
‘The story goes that the King charged the local lord a dwelling tax. So they figured out a way of building dwellings that could be dismantled whe
never the tax inspector paid a visit and put back up when he left.’
‘Ingenious.’ She gazed at the cluster of buildings. ‘I can’t believe they are still standing.’
‘Yup. It does show that, for all the gains we have made with technology, there are still plenty of structural wonders that come from our history. And these definitely count.’
‘Do people still live in them?’
‘In some of them, but they are mostly used for commercial purposes—shops, restaurants or holiday lets.’
‘Could we go to the shops? I’d like to pick up some gifts before we meet your family tomorrow.’ The idea rippled nerves through her and she reminded herself that it was essential to do a ‘meet the family’ with Bea before their relationship became properly public.
As they made their way along the sun-drenched streets she sensed his glance and turned to look at him. He nodded towards a couple walking ahead of them, arms draped around each other’s waists. ‘In case we are spotted, and also as a kind of practice, do you think we should...hold hands?’