CHAPTER FOUR
‘AURORA WILL BE shadowing me today.’
Nico Caruso did not look up from his computer as Marianna, his PA, walked into his opulent Rome office. Instead he frowned.
‘Aurora Messina from the Sicilian hotel,’ Marianna elaborated, clearly assuming from Nico’s frown that Aurora’s was a name he did not know.
Oh, but he did.
Aurora Messina. Aged twenty-four—six years younger than him.
Aurora Eloise Messina, with her velvet brown eyes and thick dark hair that was not quite raven, though too dark to be called chestnut. Ah, yes… Aurora, with her olive skin that went pink in the sun.
‘Don’t you remember me, Nico?’
There was a tease in that familiar rasp to her throaty voice, and she brought with her the scent of home. The white crochet dress that she wore must have been hung out on the washing line, for it had caught not just the hot Sicilian sun but also the breeze from the ocean and the sweet scent of jasmine from her parents’ garden.
‘How rude of you to forget me,’ Aurora continued, ‘given that you have slept in my bed so many times.’
Marianna sucked in her breath at Aurora’s cheeky implication, but Nico didn’t miss a beat with his dry reply, ‘Ah, but never with you in it.’
‘True…’ Aurora conceded with a smile.
She had trained herself not to blush when Nico was near, but it was a struggle not to now. The stunning view of Rome panning out behind him went almost unnoticed and the lavish, expensive surroundings barely registered, for Nico, on this Monday morning, was proving more than enough for her senses to take in.
His thick black hair had been cut with skill and his strong jaw, with that slight dent in the centre, was so clean-shaven that she was actually anticipating the brief brush that would come when they shared a light cheek-to-cheek kiss.
Aurora came around the desk to greet him properly.
Of course she did.
After all, the two of them went way back.
But when Nico raised his hand to halt her approach, when his black eyes warned her not to come any closer, Aurora stepped back as if she’d been slapped.
She knew she was bolshie, and often came across as too forward, but after a lot of soul-searching as to how best to face him, she had decided to greet him as she would any old friend.
But Nico had halted her and that had hurt Aurora.
She tried not to let it show.
‘Take a seat,’ he told her, and then turned to his PA. ‘Marianna, let’s get started. We have a lot to get through.’
‘First, though…’ Aurora said. And instead of taking a seat, as instructed, she removed a large leather bag from her shoulder, took out a bottle of tomato sauce, and placed it on his immaculate, highly polished walnut desk. And then she took out another bottle.
‘Homemade passata from my mother,’ Aurora said, ‘and here is some limoncello from my father.’
Nico glanced over to Marianna, who was trying to keep the shock from her expression as Aurora turned his gleaming desk into a market stall. And then his black gaze returned to Aurora.
‘I don’t need these,’ Nico said, and gave a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘You can take them back with you.’
‘No!’
He had rejected her greeting. And now this!
Nico was not doing as he should. He was not saying that he missed the taste of that homemade sauce, and nor was he inviting her to join him in sharing the feast that the sauce would create.
He was not playing by the endless ingrained codes of home.
But then, she reminded herself, Nico never had.
For if that were the case then Aurora would be his wife.
Aurora Eloise Caruso.
As a teenager she had practised writing that name in her journals and saying it out loud. Now her cheeks flushed, just a little, as she tried to keep the note of anger from her voice. ‘You know very well that my family would never let me visit you without gifts.’
‘This is work—not a visit,’ Nico snapped. ‘You are here for five days to train for the opening of a new hotel; it is not a social occasion. Now, get these things off my desk.’
Nico knew he was being harsh, but he had to set the tone—and not just with Aurora.
The Silibri contingent had been in Rome for just eighteen hours and already he was fed up with the lot of them.
Francesca, who was to be Regional Manager, had brought, of all things, a salami, and left it for him at the reception desk. Did she assume that Nico could not get salami in Rome?
And Pino, who would be chief concierge at the new hotel, had somehow found his private number. Nico guessed he had got it from Aurora. He had given it to her once.
Once…
Nico refused to think of that time now.
The fact was, on their arrival yesterday evening Pino had called and asked Nico where they should go for dinner and what time he would be joining them!
Nico had rather sternly declined to do so.
The village of Silibri had come to Rome, and it seemed determined to bring him several slices of home.
Except Nico had been trying to run from home since he was sixteen.
Was