The Hidden Heart of Rico Rossi (12 page)

Sitting so close with him like this made her feel so warm, so secure. And the question slipped out before she realised what she was going to say. ‘So do I get to see you tomorrow?’

‘Maybe. What time do you finish?’

‘I’m not sure. Late afternoon, I guess.’ She thought about it. ‘I have two celebration cakes to make and flat-ice, and then I need to do some of the sugar work for them, as well as make the cupcakes for the two local cafés who’ve agreed to stock my cakes. And there’s the business admin stuff. If I keep on top of it, then it won’t take long. If I leave it to pile up, it’ll be a chore.’

‘So the cupcakes have to be ready before the cafés open. Does this mean a really early start?’

She smiled. ‘That rather depends on whether you call six a.m. early.’

‘I’d better get you home, then. It’s not fair to make you
burn the candle at both ends. If you want to get dressed in my bedroom, I’ll call a taxi.’

‘Thank you.’

The phone rang as she walked back into the living room. Rico answered it. ‘That’s great. Thank you very much.’ He turned to Ella. ‘That was Reception. They’re very efficient—the taxi’s here already.’

‘Thank you. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’

‘I’ll see you home. I would’ve driven you myself, but I haven’t sorted out a car yet.’

Outside her flat, he kissed her lingeringly in her doorway.

‘What time do you finish tomorrow?’ she asked.

‘That depends on how my meetings go.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘Plus I have a pile of paperwork to get through and a few phone calls to make to Rome.’

‘Call me when you’re free,’ she said.

‘I’ll do that.’ He kissed her again. ‘Goodnight, Ella
bellezza
. Sweet dreams.’

W
HEN
Ella’s alarm clock went off at five-thirty the next morning, she woke with a smile on her face. This was everything she’d wanted: being her own boss, organising her own work and being responsible for everything. And she didn’t mind the early starts, because she loved what she was doing.

And she loved the way her schedule was coming together. The way she was able to work at a pace to suit her, to music she enjoyed listening to, and she didn’t have to change things to suit other people. Perfect.

She baked the cupcake orders for the two local cafés; while the cakes were cooling, she made the fruit cakes and put them in the oven. Once she’d iced the cupcakes, she dropped off the boxes to her clients, then came back to check on the fruit cakes and start making the sugar roses. The Madeira cake was next; finally, when all the large cakes had cooled, she flat-iced them, ready for decorating.

She’d just washed up and put the icing bowls away when her mobile phone rang.

‘Hi. You asked me to call you when I was done,’ Rico said.

And how crazy it was that hearing his voice made her heart beat faster. This wasn’t good. ‘Uh-huh.’ If she had
any sense left, she’d tell him she was too busy to see him. But her mouth had other ideas. ‘Are you coming over now?’

‘It’s a good time?’

Tell him no, her common sense urged.

‘It’s fine. See you when you get here.’

‘I’m on my way.
Ciao, bellezza
.’

Ella had just about finished tidying her kitchen when he arrived.

‘Wow, you made these?’ he said, looking at the sugar roses. ‘They’re incredibly delicate. And very realistic.’

‘They’re for a wedding cake—though it’s one that was booked in weeks ago. Normally people book cakes like this at least six weeks in advance.’

‘How fast can you do a celebration cake?’

‘If it’s just a normal-sized cake and I don’t have to do carving or armature or lots of intricate sugar-paste work, I can do one in a day—baking it, flat-icing it and basic decoration.’

‘Carving and armature?’ Rico asked, looking puzzled.

‘Shaped cakes. Some of them need support so they don’t collapse—that’s the armature bit.’ She took her display book from the shelf and flicked through it until she found the page she wanted. ‘Like my dinosaur.’

‘This is a million miles away from what I do in my job,’ Rico said. ‘I wouldn’t even know where to start, making something like that. And how do you get the colours on the icing?’

‘I hand-paint it. It’s pretty labour-intensive, but I love doing it. Creating someone’s dream out of sugar, butter, eggs and flour.’ She smiled at him, ‘So what do you want to do this evening?’

‘Are we talking acquaintances or benefits?’

To her annoyance, she actually blushed. ‘Acquaintances. Rico, I hope you realise I don’t sleep around.’

‘Neither do I. Don’t believe everything you read in the press.’

She stared at him, shocked. ‘The press follow you about?’

‘In Italy, sometimes. It depends who I’m seeing.’

‘I’m a nobody, so you should be safe,’ she said dryly.

‘That wasn’t what I meant. But the press blow things up out of proportion and twist a story to suit themselves. If everything they said about me was true, there’d be so many notches I wouldn’t actually have a bedpost left. Dating someone doesn’t necessarily mean sleeping with them.’ He leaned forward and stole a kiss. ‘Let’s start again. What do you want to do this evening?’

Her mouth was tingling—and that kiss had been the lightest and sweetest of touches. He tempted her so badly that she could barely resist him. ‘Do you want to come upstairs for a mug of coffee while we think about it?’

‘Sure.’ He followed her up to her flat. ‘What sort of thing do you normally do in the evenings?’

‘It depends what kind of day I’ve had.’ She switched on the kettle and shook grounds into a cafetière. ‘I might go to the cinema or out for a drink with friends; I might just go for a walk by the river; or I might collapse on the sofa in front of the telly.’ She gave him a wary look. ‘I should perhaps warn you I’m really not into clubbing.’

‘Good. Me, neither.’ He looked at the photographs pinned with magnets to her fridge. ‘That must be your mum.’

‘Yes.’ She had to swallow hard. Even now, a year later, she still missed her mother badly. Missed her smile, her gentle calmness, her common sense.

‘She’s very like you,’ he commented.

‘I hope so.’ She definitely hoped she hadn’t inherited any of her father’s genes. Pushing the thought away, she
suggested, ‘Maybe we can go for a walk by the river? It’s really pretty here in Greenwich.’

‘I’d like that. And I’d like to see more of London while I’m here. What’s the epitome of London?’

She thought about it. ‘I guess it’d be something like the Changing of the Guard outside Buckingham Palace. Mind you, you need to be there early to get a decent spot to see it, so it’ll have to be a weekend.’

‘We’ll leave that for Saturday, then.’

She gave him a regretful smile. ‘Sorry, I can’t make it. I’m working.’

‘You’re working six days a week?’ Rico looked concerned. ‘You’re risking burnout if you keep up that kind of pace.’

‘Unless I have a really big celebration cake to sort out, it’s only half a morning on Saturdays, enough to keep the cafés stocked with cupcakes. They’re closed on Sundays, so I can take Sundays off,’ she explained.

‘Let’s do the Changing of the Guard on Sunday, then.’

He hadn’t given her any idea about his schedule; she didn’t have a clue when he was going back to Rome. ‘Are you in London for very long?’

‘Possibly.’

Which served her right for asking a closed question. Then again, she had the feeling that Rico could turn the most open question into a closed one.

‘We should make a list of places we’re going to see.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re such a control freak, Rico.’

‘You work with lists,’ he pointed out, gesturing to the lists held to her fridge door by magnets.

‘I like being organised.’

‘Now who’s the control freak?’ he teased, and kissed her.

If he kept this up, she’d forget all about making acquaintances
and go straight for benefits. ‘Busted,’ she said, and moved away from him to make the coffee—while she still could. ‘With you coming from Rome, I guess we should do a tour of Roman London. We can start with the Roman Wall; plus there’s a Roman bath near the Strand, and an amphitheatre under the Guildhall. And guide books are bound to list other stuff I don’t know about.’

‘So you’re going to be my personal tour guide of London?’

‘Ironic, considering how I met you.’ She coughed. ‘Except
I’m
not pretending to be a guide.’

‘I wasn’t pretending. I was doing the job—and I didn’t hear any complaints from you,’ he reminded her.

‘No. You really made the Colosseum come alive for me. You know a lot about your home city.’

‘Because I love Rome,’ he said simply. ‘It’s the only place I ever want to live.’

So this thing between them, she thought, had definite limits. She had no intention of moving to Rome, and he had no intention of moving here. Not permanently. So she’d take the warning as read. This was a fling, until his interest waned. She’d enjoy it while it lasted, but she wouldn’t expect anything more from him.

He took a mouthful of the coffee she gave him. ‘This is good. Thanks.’

‘My pleasure.’

‘Let’s make that list. Do you have a laptop?’

She fetched it and placed it on the kitchen table between them. He scooped her onto his lap and wrapped his arms round her waist. ‘Now we can both see the screen,’ he said.

‘We could both see it perfectly well from where we were sitting,’ she pointed out.

‘Yes, but this way is more comfortable.’ He kissed the curve of her neck.

He was right; it felt good to be held close to him like this. Not that she was going to tell him. She didn’t want him thinking that all he had to do was whistle and she’d sit up and beg.

Between them, and with the help of a few websites, they came up with a mixture of the famous sights and some quirky, out-of-the-way places to visit.

‘Enough for now. It’s a nice evening. Let’s go for that walk by the river,’ he said.

The sky was streaked with pink feathery clouds as they wandered hand in hand along the path by the Thames.

‘Since I’m being your personal tour guide, I should tell you that that’s the Royal Naval College,’ she said, pointing out the complex of beautiful white buildings and the twin grey domes with their gold clocks and weather vanes. ‘It was designed by Christopher Wren.’

‘Like St Paul’s. Which we need to add to our list,’ he said. ‘It’s gorgeous.’

They carried on down the Thames Path until they reached a waterfront pub. ‘I sometimes stop here for a drink with Ju,’ Ella said. ‘Apparently Dickens used to drink here. And the food’s OK, too, if you fancy something to eat?’

‘Sure.’ They had a drink on one of the wrought-iron balconies, then headed back inside when their food was ready; the waiter had found them a table overlooking the Thames.

When they came back out, the sky was midnight blue, fading almost to white and then deep orange at the horizon, and the buildings of London were all lit up. ‘That’s the Millennium Dome over there,’ she said, pointing out the white dome with its yellow, blue and red spikes. ‘It always reminds me of a birthday cake with candles on it.’

‘London’s beautiful by night,’ Rico said. He leaned down to kiss her. ‘And so are you.’

‘Thank you.’ It wasn’t just the words that touched Ella. Rico made her feel beautiful in the way he touched her, the way he listened to her. And he really had seemed interested in her job, not just as if he were being polite.

They walked hand in hand back to her flat.

‘Do you want to come in for coffee?’ she asked, unlocking the door.

‘Not coffee,’ he said, and dipped his head to kiss her.

By the time he broke the kiss, Ella was shaking with need. She made no protest when Rico scooped her up, pulled the door closed behind him, and carried her up the stairs to her bed. She wanted this every bit as much as he did, matching him touch for touch and kiss for kiss. And it shocked her how quickly he could make her climax. She’d never, ever experienced that kind of intensity before.

When he came back from the bathroom fully dressed, she blinked in surprise. Wasn’t he going to stay?

‘Not a good idea,’ he said softly, as if her thoughts had been written all over her face.

‘Will I see you tomorrow?’ she asked, hating herself for sounding needy but wanting to know the answer.

‘No. I’m up to my eyes. But I’ll call you. And I’ll see you on Saturday.’

‘Sure.’ Acquaintances with benefits. That was what they’d agreed. And she’d be a fool to want more. ‘I’ll see you later.’

Although Ella was busy on Friday, she was surprised to discover that she missed not seeing Rico, and the highlight of her day was when he called her.

Which was utterly ridiculous. She didn’t need a man to make her life complete. Especially one who clearly wasn’t going to give anything of himself.

On Saturday, Rico arrived at Ella’s kitchen at half-past
eight, just when she was putting cupcakes in a box. ‘What’s that?’ he asked, going over to the plate where a single cupcake sat. Then he laughed, seeing his name piped on top of the icing. ‘Now that’s cute.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You were supposed to ask if any of those cakes were going begging. And then I was going to tell you that, actually, one of them had your name on it, and present you with that one.’

He wrapped his arms round her waist and kissed her. ‘I like your sense of humour,
bellezza
. Are you done, or is there anything I can do to help?’

‘I’m just dropping these off at the cafés. You can be my delivery boy and carry the boxes, if you like.’

‘Delivery boy, hmm? I assume the payment is in cake. But I should ask before accepting the job what the benefits package is.’

Oh, the ideas that put in her head. ‘Cake,’ she said firmly. She wrapped catering film over his cupcake and put it in the fridge.

He laughed and stole a kiss. ‘OK. Today’s “acquaintances”, too. I get it. Give me the boxes,
bellezza
.’

Once they’d dropped off the cakes, they caught the Tube to Trafalgar Square. ‘I used to come here with my mum to feed the pigeons when I was a little girl,’ she said, ‘but people are banned from feeding them now.’