He wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t show. She must think him a complete idiota to propose marriage after twenty-four hours. But it seemed the most logical course of action. He needed someone to proofread his English letters and a wife to deter other women.
Two weeks ago, a very important prospective client had brought his wife to their business dinner. She’d spent almost the entire evening with her hand on Luca’s upper thigh under the table, despite his best efforts to remove it. He’d have shrugged it off as a bored woman looking for mischief, but she was the third wife of a business acquaintance this year who thought he was part of the package deal. Last night had been the worst because Leslie Wilkins hadn’t even tried to be subtle.
He didn’t do married women. Ever.
But it seemed his plan had failed before it even started. He tossed a couple of bills on the bar and was about to leave when he caught sight of Sophia standing in the doorway. His pulse quickened, but he put it down to relief that she’d showed. It had nothing to do with the way her blue dress brought out the gold in her hair, or the sway of her hips as she approached him. A little voice in his head warned that if he were a wise man, he’d get on the next plane back to Milan and forget he ever saw her. But he hadn’t got where he was today by playing it safe all the time. Risk was a part of business. And this was business. The little voice laughed.
“Sorry I’m late, there was a security alert on the Tube,” she greeted him. Her voice was breathy and a light flush covered her skin. Whether it was from a rush to get to the restaurant, or she experienced the same physical attraction, he wasn’t sure.
“It is not a problem. Our table is ready, but if you would prefer a drink first … ”
“Oh, no. I’m starved.” She gave him another of her dazzling smiles.
Luca signaled to the maître d’, who sat them at a prime table near the bottom of the stairs where they could see and be seen. However, he didn’t take his attention from Sophia. She smelled faintly of cucumbers and melon, a refreshing change from the sickly perfume most women of his acquaintance seemed to bathe in.
She glanced around the restaurant. “I’ve always wanted to come here. I pass by on my way to work and wondered what it was like inside. I’m surprised you managed to get a table on a Friday night. It’s packed.”
“I have my ways. Shall I order champagne? Or perhaps you would like to try my country’s equivalent, Prosecco?”
“Not for me. Sparkling wine goes straight to my head. I’m not much of a drinker. A glass of water will do.” She buried her head behind her menu, and he waited until she shut it with a decisive snap.
“Have you decided?”
“About dinner? I’ll have the sea bass.” She avoided his eyes again.
He wanted to ask if she’d decided about his proposal, but left the question unasked. It was unnerving how much he wanted her to say yes. For the first time he’d laid all his cards on the table and left himself open to a blunt refusal.
They should get to know each other. “Have you always lived in London?” It seemed an easy enough place to start. Except she straightened in her chair and fiddled with the cutlery next to her plate.
“Yes.” She answered sharply. She took a gulp of water. “What about you? You said your company was based in Milan. Do you live in the city?”
“I have a flat in Milan where I stay if I am working late. However, I recently renovated a villa about an hour north of my office. It has extensive grounds and is on the edge of a very old village.” He loved the villa, it was his dream home, visual proof that his hard work had resulted in success. Yet there was something missing—a heart and soul that couldn’t be restored as easy as wood beams and plaster.
“It sounds beautiful. Is your company a family business?”
“My father was a laborer in the construction business. I worked with him during summer holidays in my teens. When he died, I started my own company. Soon I had so many contracts that I had to take on additional workers. I got my university degree by studying nights, and just completed my MBA.”
“A self-made man, then. Your mother must be very happy. Do you have siblings?”
“No, I’m an only child. What about you? Do you come from a large family?”
She averted her gaze, staring over his left shoulder. “Yes, although I don’t see them often. My younger brother has just finished school, and I’m trying to help him pay to go to a technical college. So why did you come to London? Was it only to meet with Mr. Bodman?”
The animation had gone from her eyes at the mention of her family, so he followed her lead in changing the topic of conversation. He sensed there was more to her quick change of subject, but for his present purposes, it would be easier to convince her to come to Italy if she weren’t attached to her family in the UK.
The server was clearing their dinner plates when there was a commotion at the top of the stairs. Bright flashes of light were accompanied by calls of “Kate, Kate, look this way,” drowning out the buzz of background conversations. Sophia swiveled to see what was happening and sucked in a loud breath as a woman in a short metallic dress and high heels descended.
“Excuse me,” Sophia said before thrusting her chair back and hurrying from the table.
Luca half stood, not sure whether to follow her or wait for her return. She’d turned white and knocked over her water glass as she’d fled. The waiter mopped up the spill and quickly changed the linens on the table. By the time Sophia returned, all traces of her rushed departure had disappeared. Except she was still unnaturally pale and her eyes darted around the restaurant as if mapping out all the escape routes.
“I’m so sorry, Luca. But I have to leave. Thank you for a lovely dinner. I’ll understand if you don’t want to see me again.” There was a nervous note to her voice, and she sat on the edge of her seat.
“Sophia, what is wrong? Are you ill?”
“No. It’s … I don’t want to be in the same room as that woman.”
“What woman?” He glanced around.
“The one who arrived a few minutes ago with the photographers in tow.”
“You know her?”
“Yes.”
He waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. “And?”
“And it’s not something I wish to discuss. She is part of my past, and I have no desire to revisit it.” Her voice was rough and her eyes icy.