moving carefully over the unfamiliar ground.
The rushing sound had become increasingly louder with every step, and when Alessandro finally brought her to a stop it was a roaring in her ears. She could feel the spray of water on her face.
‘Now open them.’
Meghan obeyed, and found herself staring at a magnificent waterfall, a pure cascade of rushing whiteness that dropped over a hundred metres into a restless surging river below.
She clapped her hands in delighted surprise. ‘A waterfall! I’d no idea!’
‘Cascata delle Marmore. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Alessandro leaned against the balustrade of the viewing balcony he’d brought her to. The waterfall was like a huge sheet of streaming glass, surrounded by dense green foliage and trees. Meghan felt as if she were on a tropical island, despite the cool breeze teasing her hair into her eyes.
She stared at the water, rushing blue-green turning to pure white foam. It was both beautiful and frightening in its sheer power. ‘I didn’t realise there were natural waterfalls in this part of Italy,’ she marvelled.
‘It’s not actually natural,’ Alessandro told her. ‘The Romans built it nearly two thousand years ago. They created viaducts to drain off the swampy land around the River Velino and pour the excess water off the Marmore Cliff into the Nera. Now it’s only turned on for a few hours a day. The rest of the time it’s little more than a trickle.’
‘You mean it’s not real?’ She felt a twinge of disappointment that this powerful beauty hadn’t been here since time began. Wasn’t even meant to be here.
Alessandro turned to her, one eyebrow raised. ‘What’s real?’ He gestured to the falls, raising his voice over the sound of rushing water to be heard. ‘That looks rather real to me.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Meghan said slowly. ‘I certainly wouldn’t want to go over it in a barrel!’ she joked, then shook her head. ‘I don’t know—somehow it would be more impressive if it hadn’t been manufactured by man.’
‘Isn’t that what makes it so amazing?’ Alessandro countered. ‘It was a swamp, a stagnant river—useless, dangerous, even— and they made it into something beautiful.’
‘And still dangerous,’ Meghan couldn’t resist saying.
‘Yes. Still dangerous.’
What were they really talking about? The falls, or something deeper? An even stronger current that threatened to pull her under, drowning her self-respect, her independence, and leaving only need.
A current that, like the falls, had been manufactured, created by an impossible and unreal situation.
Currents like that couldn’t last. What was once a torrent would become a trickle, turned off at the source, by the source.
Alessandro. This was his game, she knew, and he was calling all the shots. He was in control.
Just one day, she reminded herself. One day couldn’t be dangerous.
Except perhaps it could, with Alessandro.
‘Come on.’ Alessandro put an arm around her shoulders easily, as naturally as if he’d done it many times before. ‘We can have lunch in Montefranco.’
Back in the car, he gave her a knowing glance. ‘Still disappointed the falls aren’t real?’
She shrugged. ‘I can’t deny they were beautiful.’
‘Do you know the story behind them? Nera was a wood nymph who fell in love with a shepherd boy. The goddess Juno was jealous, so she turned Nera into a river.’
‘The River Nera,’ Meghan surmised. ‘Bad luck for her, falling in love with the wrong man.’
‘Perhaps,’ Alessandro conceded with a wry smile. ‘But do you know what her shepherd Velino did?’
‘Found a shepherdess?’
He chuckled softly. ‘No, he was so anguished at the loss of his love, he threw himself off the Marmore Cliff. His tears became the waterfall, and so they are joined for ever, the Rivers Velino and Nera. Their love lasting into eternity.’
Meghan smiled tightly. ‘A sweet story.’
‘You don’t believe in lasting love?’ There was a cynical edge to his voice that was impossible to miss.
‘No, I don’t,’ Meghan said baldly. ‘Do you?’
Something flickered in his eyes—disappointment? Relief? Who knew? Meghan looked out of the window, refusing to be drawn in. It didn’t matter what Alessandro thought about everlasting love, because there was nothing lasting about their situation.
‘No,’ he said after a moment. ‘No, Meghan. In that respect I’m like you.’
And, strangely, Meghan suddenly felt sad for them both.
Two people together, bound by desire and disillusion.
Montefranco was one of Umbria’s classic hillside towns, its houses and churches perched on the green slopes as if they’d sprung up from the soil. Alessandro led her to a little trattoria tucked away on a narrow cobbled street, and the proprietor, a jolly man in an apron-covered suit, greeted him like a friend. After speaking briefly in his usual rapid-fire Italian, Alessandro slowed down to introduce Meghan.
‘Antonio—my friend from America—Meghan Selby.’
He made her sound like a pen-pal. Smiling, Meghan shook the older man’s hand. Yet how else could he possibly explain her presence?
It didn’t make sense. This entire day didn’t make sense. It was something out of a story, a fantasy, and it would end tonight.
Meghan’s mouth turned dry. Tonight … when she walked away with a wave and a smile. If she could.
And if she couldn’t…?
‘You know what they say,’ Antonio said, ‘a friend of Alessandro di Agnio’s is a friend of mine.’ He turned to Alessandro, still speaking slowly for Meghan’s benefit. ‘So good to see you! It’s been too long.’
‘I’ve been busy, Antonio,’ Alessandro said as he clapped the older man on the shoulder.
‘I know! I know! All this work in the city—no time for rest, for play. I never thought I would say that to you, of course …’ His chuckle faltered at Alessandro’s wintry look.
‘You along with many others.’ He smiled, but it was as if a light had gone out in his eyes, turning them from blue to lifeless black.
‘The poached cod is delicious,’ Alessandro told her after they’d both silently perused the menus. ‘If you care for fish.’
Meghan grimaced. ‘Sorry, I’m a smalltown girl from the Midwest. I’m not much of a one for seafood.’
He chuckled. ‘How about the strascinati with black truffle sauce? The truffles are famed in this region. It’s a long- guarded secret where you can find them.’
‘Do you know?’ she asked, and Alessandro gave an eloquent, arrogant shrug that forced an unwilling laugh from her lips.
‘Of course. You must try the vino santigrano as well. It’s made locally, from some of the best vineyards in all of Italy.’
‘Sounds like you know the menu,’ Meghan commented. ‘Do you come here often?’
‘Do you mean, do I bring all my women here?’ Alessandro said, his eyes alight with rueful humour.
‘Something like that.’ She smiled in admission, a tell-tale blush stealing across her cheeks.
‘I told you—I like food.’
It was, she realised, not an answer to her question. How many women had he had? He was a man who