presided over the wedding feast. And Amaretti biscuits have always been wrapped in pairs, ever since, to remind people of the importance of true love.’
True love.
What Nonna and his family thought was happening between him and Fran.
Guilt throbbed through him. He was lying to them. For the best of reasons, but still lying to them. And that wasn’t who he was.
It wasn’t who Fran was, either.
Nonna cleared her throat, and it was clear everyone was expecting him to kiss the girl who’d made it all happen, because they were all looking at him and Fran with the most soppy expression on their faces.
So what else could he do?
He leaned over towards her and touched his mouth to hers. It felt as if the room was full of erupting party-poppers again, a mass of glittering tinsel strands. And when he broke the kiss and opened his eyes, Fran looked as shell-shocked as he felt, with wide eyes and a white face. But all he could focus on was her mouth. A perfect rosebud. Lips he wanted to feel against his again.
Except they weren’t alone, and he could hear catcalls and whistles in the background.
Just how long had he been kissing her?
Oh, lord. This was starting to get really complicated.
The next morning, Fran was still shell-shocked. That kiss should’ve been for show. So why had it felt so real? Why had it felt as if the stars were dancing when Gio’s mouth had moved against hers—even more so than the time when he’d kissed her on her sofa?
But she pulled herself together and headed for work as usual.
‘It was a good night, last night,’ Sally said, handing her a mug. ‘Though you look distinctly hung over this morning, Frannikins.’
‘I feel it,’ Fran said. Not that she’d drunk a huge amount; she just hadn’t slept well, the previous night. Hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Gio. Hadn’t been able to get the fantasies out of her head.
‘Gio said to tell you he’s in Docklands this morning, but he’ll call you later,’ Sally added. ‘You know, I’ve never seen him look this happy before, and I’ve worked with him for five years now. When I realised you two were an item, I was a bit worried at first—relationships at work normally make things a bit sticky. But you’ve changed him, Fran. Made him relax.’
‘Good,’ Fran replied, pinning a smile to her face. At first, she’d worried about how her colleagues would react to the idea of a relationship between herself and Gio, but they’d all seemed really positive about it. Now, Fran was more worried about what was going to happen once she and Gio had ‘split up’, how they’d react to that.
But there was nothing she could do about it right now, so it was pointless fretting about it. She’d deal with it when it happened.
She was busy with a set of figures when there was a knock on the office door. She swivelled round in her chair, and stared in surprise when she saw a man carrying the most beautiful hand-tied bouquet of flowers. ‘Fran Marsden?’ he asked.
‘Er, yes.’
‘Sign here, please.’
Flowers? Who on earth would be sending her flowers? But she signed for them and set them on her desk. They were absolutely stunning: sugar-pink roses, white lisianthus, pink freesias and tiny white matricia. She couldn’t resist putting her nose into them and inhaling deeply; the scent was beautiful.
She opened the envelope that was tucked into the cellophane, and recognised the handwriting instantly.
Thank you. For everything. Love, Gio.
Love.
Her stomach clenched. Except this wasn’t, was it?
When Gio walked into the office, he could see that Fran’s eyes were slightly red. The flowers were on her desk, just as he’d hoped—but why did she look as if she’d been crying?
Or maybe…‘Oh, no. I should’ve checked before I had them delivered. I didn’t realise you suffered from hay fever.’
‘I don’t.’
He leaned against the edge of her desk. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I have three sisters. So I know that “nothing” never really means that, especially when a woman looks as if she’s been crying,’ he said softly, and gently tilted her chin with one finger so she was facing him. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked again.
‘I’m just being silly. I can’t remember the last time someone sent me flowers,’ Fran said, ‘and I wasn’t expecting these.’
‘My intention wasn’t to upset you,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to say thank you.’
‘And it’s appreciated.’
There was the tiniest wobble in her voice. He wanted to pull her into his arms, hold her close and tell her everything was going to be fine, because he was there—because he’d always be there and he’d never let anything hurt her.
But that was the whole problem.
He didn’t trust himself not to let her down, the way he’d let his family down all those years before—the way he’d been selfish and stupid enough to put himself first, and they’d nearly lost his father as a result. How could he make her a promise he didn’t know he could keep? So instead he kept things light. Ruffled her hair. ‘I’m off to Islington. I only popped in while I was passing to see if there was anything you needed here.’
‘No, we’re fine.’
‘And these aren’t in lieu of the chocolates, by the way—Sally’s already checked. We’ll be getting those tomorrow.’
That at least made her smile. Which in turn made him feel less panicky. ‘Catch you later,’ he said, and left the office before he did something stupid.
Like give in to the urge to scoop her up in his arms, kiss her properly, and carry her to his bed.
AND then it was Saturday. The day of the party.
Fran rang Angela in the morning to see if she could do anything to help.
‘Sweetheart, that’s so kind of you to offer. But there’s no need—Nonna, the girls and I have everything under control,’ Angela said. ‘We’ll see you tonight. And the idea is that you and Gio have fun, OK?’
‘OK,’ Fran promised.
Which left her with nothing to sort out except what she was going to wear. Although she had a perfectly serviceable little black dress—one she’d worn to functions when she’d worked at the voiceover studio—it didn’t feel quite right for the Mazetti party. She wanted something a little dressier. The kind of thing that Gio Mazetti’s girlfriend would wear, not his office manager.
She was browsing in the clothes shops in Camden when her eye was caught by a dress. It was a deep cornflower blue, in floaty organza over taffeta. Absolutely nothing like what she’d intended to buy—she’d always thought herself too curvy to wear a strapless dress—but some impulse made her try it on.
She was looking at herself in the mirror and wondering if she had the nerve to wear it when the sales assistant appeared with a lapis-lazuli necklace.
‘I don’t normally bother with jewellery,’ Fran said, eyeing it dubiously.
‘Try it on and see what you think,’ the assistant suggested. ‘I reckon it matches the dress perfectly. Here—do you want me to do it up for you?’
Ten seconds later, Fran stared