As he’d already taught her so much. ‘The thing is, I get bored,’ she said honestly. ‘I find it all a bit dreary.’
‘Not here, you won’t. Roman roads are fun. They are designed to test you.’
‘I love my car. Even if I just sit in it to study.’ She grinned at him.
A plume of dust from further down the driveway heralded the arrival of another car, and Emmeline stepped out with true regret. As she did so she saw a university parking permit on the dashboard, and that single gesture of thoughtfulness meant more to her than the extravagant gift of such an expensive car.
‘I love it,’ she said again, walking around the bonnet and pressing a kiss to his cheek.
His eyes latched to hers and she had the strangest feeling that he wanted to say something else. That something was bothering him.
‘Is everything okay?’ she asked searchingly, her eyes scanning his face.
‘Ciao, ragazzi!’
Pietro’s mother stepped from the car, a vision in green, her hair styled in a topknot, a large gold necklace at her throat and a pair of gold espadrilles snaking up her legs. She sashayed towards them as though the driveway were actually a chic fashion show catwalk.
‘Mother,’ Pietro drawled, kissing Ria on both cheeks before she transferred her attention to Emmeline.
‘Ah! My lovely daughter-in-law,’ she said in her heavily accented English. ‘Still too skinny, I see,’ she said, with a disapproval that Emmeline guessed was only half joking.
‘Mother,’ Pietro scolded warningly. ‘That is enough.’
‘What? I want grandchildren. Can you blame me?’
Emmeline’s heart squeezed painfully. The truth was, the image of a baby had begun to fill her dreams. How sweet it would be to grow their own little person in her body—to hold it and feed it and cuddle it and love it.
Maybe one day that would happen. But for now Emmeline was having her first taste of life as a normal adult woman and she wasn’t ready to sacrifice her independence yet. Her life with Pietro was perfect and new, and she didn’t want to add a baby into the mix.
Yet.
Her eyes met Pietro’s over Ria’s head and she smiled; she knew he understood. He wanted her to be happy. To be free.
Her eyes drifted to the car, and as they walked into his home, she saw the number plate: Mrs M.
Her smile stretched broader, making her cheeks hurt.
Rafe arrived only a few minutes after his mother. They were sitting at the table sipping rosé wine, when he strode in, relaxed in pale trousers and a T-shirt.
‘Ah, Rafe. Off the yacht, I see,’ Ria said critically, but her smile showed nothing but maternal pride.
‘Ciao, Mamma.’ He grinned, doing the rounds and saying hello to his family. ‘This smells wonderful. So you cook, too?’ he demanded of Emmeline.
‘A few dishes,’ she said with false modesty.
Emmeline had always loved cooking. She’d spent as much time in the kitchen as possible—especially when Patrice had been on the war path. It had been the perfect bolthole. A spot where she could make dishes and enjoy the therapy that cooking and baking offered. She’d mastered croissants from scratch at the age of fifteen—just before her mother had died.
‘Tell me again why I did not get to marry you,’ Rafe grumbled good-naturedly, taking the empty seat beside Emmeline.
‘Hush,’ Ria said, reaching across and batting at Rafe’s hand. ‘She is your brother’s wife.’
‘Still... A man can dream.’ Rafe winked at Emmeline, then reached for a handful of grissini.
‘Leave some for the rest of us,’ Pietro drawled, taking the seat on the other side of Emmeline and passing a glass of wine to his brother.
Beneath the table, Pietro’s hand found Emmeline’s knee and he squeezed it. She turned to face him. Their eyes met and sparks flew that Emmeline was sure everyone must surely see.
She smiled softly and then focussed on the story Ria was telling. Or tried to. But beneath the table Pietro’s fingers moved steadily higher, until they were brushing her thigh, teasing her, comforting her, simply being with her.
‘I’ll get the soup,’ she said after a moment, scraping her chair back and moving towards the kitchen.
‘Would you like a hand, darling?’ Ria called after her.
Emmeline shook her head. ‘I’m in control.’
In truth, a moment to herself was essential. A single touch from her husband was enough to set her pulse skittering and stay that way. Was it possible that if she stayed married to him she was going to end up having a stroke?
The thought made her smile, but it also made something strange shift inside her.
If she stayed married to him?