The Millionaire Tycoon's English Rose

’ He caught himself up, horrified at what he’d nearly said.

Had there ever been another woman like this one? he wondered. Celia laughed and laughed until he thought she would collapse.

‘In the dark!’ she choked. ‘You were going to say in the dark.’

‘All right, I’m sorry,’ he growled. ‘I forgot-’

‘Of course you did. Oh, darling, that’s wonderful. I begin to think you’re human after all.’

He stared at her, feeling all at sea-not for the first time.

‘You’re not upset? I didn’t mean to-’

‘I know. You didn’t mean to make a joke about my blindness but you did-well, you almost did. It’s a start. I’ll teach you yet.’

‘Will I ever understand you?’

‘Probably not. Never mind. Give me a kiss.’

He opened his arms and would have drawn her against him, but she brushed her lips faintly against his and slipped away at once. He followed into her front room, where a dark gold velvet jacket lay over a chair. Beside it sat Jacko, wearing his harness.

‘Ready?’ she asked him, reaching for the jacket.

‘We don’t need to take him, surely?’ Francesco asked, taking the jacket and holding it up to receive her arms. ‘I’ll be with you all the time.’

‘I can’t leave him behind,’ she said firmly. ‘It would be like telling him he’s useless when he needs reassurance. He hasn’t quite settled with me yet. Jacko!’

The dog came to stand obediently in front of her.

‘Andiamo!’ she said.

As soon as he heard the Italian for let’s go! Jacko turned so that she could take hold of the long handle.

‘We’re ready,’ Celia said. ‘If you’ll just open the door and lead the way?’

He did so, escorting them to the car, showing Jacko into the back and Celia into the front.

‘I’d better warn you that there’s going to be a big crowd tonight,’ he said. ‘My family all want to meet you. Including,’ he added in a hollow voice, ‘Aunt Angelica.’

‘Is she the one who puts her foot in it?’

‘Good grief, you mean, I’ve told you about her before?’

‘Not at all,’ Celia reassured him. ‘But every family has one.’

‘Well, you’re right-she’s ours.’

She gave a chuckle. ‘I’ll remember.’

Everyone was waiting when the car pulled up at the villa. They stood on the terrace, watching as Celia climbed the steps, guided by Jacko, but holding Francesco’s arm on the other side. One of the men-nobody was ever quite sure which-gave an appreciative wolf whistle, and Celia beamed in equal appreciation.

Uncle Giulio and Aunt Teresa were introduced. Then came Aunt Angelica, full of words, most of them inappropriate.

‘I’ve heard so much about you-all exaggerated, I’m sure. But there, that can’t be helped, can it?’

‘Can’t it?’ Celia asked.

‘Well, people don’t understand, do they? But I pride myself on realising things that are hidden from the rest of the world.’

‘Let’s start the evening with a glass of wine,’ Hope said quickly, appearing with a tray of glasses. ‘Celia, cara, what would you like to drink?’ She named two excellent wines, one white, one red.

‘Oh, do have the white!’ Angelica exclaimed at once. ‘Then if you should spill it on that lovely dress it won’t stain. These things happen so easily, but I assure you we’ll all understand. You and I must have a nice little talk-’

There was a swift intake of breath from the family, and Francesco cast a horrified glance at Celia. She had pressed her lips tightly together, as though controlling some response or other, but exactly what it was impossible to say.

‘But you promised to talk to me,’ Toni hurried to tell Angelica. ‘I’d counted on having all your attention.’

He put an arm firmly around her waist, swept her off as gallantly as a young man, pressed a glass of wine into her hand, and everyone breathed again.

‘What’s happening now?’ Celia asked Francesco.

‘Poppa’s flirting madly with Aunt Angelica, gazing deep into her eyes until she forgets everything but him, so she won’t drop any clangers-for a while, anyway.’

‘Doesn’t your mother mind him doing that?’

‘Mind? She told him to.’

Celia chuckled. ‘I knew I was going to like your mother.’

‘It’s mutual,’ Hope assured her. ‘What wine would you like?’

‘White,’ Celia said at once. ‘Just in case I have an accident, you know.’

‘Nonsense!’ Hope said robustly. ‘I don’t suppose you can remember the last time you had an accident.’

‘I do believe you’re right,’ Celia replied impishly, and everyone relaxed.

From the first moment she was a great success. Her beauty, her merry laugh, her complete ease with who and what she was won everyone over. Standing back a little, Francesco knew a glow of pride in her accomplishments and her courage. They were regarding him with envy, he realised: the man who had won the prize.

If only they knew how far away from the prize he really was!

At his mother’s command he had racked his brain to recall Celia’s favourite dishes, and now they were served up with a flourish that made it clear she was the guest of honour. She obviously understood and enjoyed this, for she tried everything set before her and was unstinting in her praise.

They admired her for her proficiency in Italian, and competed to teach her words from the Neapolitan dialect.

‘All the best words come from Napoli,’ Primo told her. ‘Take sfizio!’ Only Naples could have produced that word.’

‘But I thought that was Italian,’ Celia objected. ‘It’s one of my favourite words.’

‘You know what it means, then?’ Primo asked with a grin.

‘It’s the pleasure you get from doing something for the sheer, beautiful, stupid sake of it,’ Celia replied, in a voice that held a touch of ecstasy.

Francesco saw his family exchange glances of pleasure, sharing the same thought. If she knew that, she belonged among them.

‘It’s not really Italian,’ Carlo explained. ‘It’s a Neapolitan word that the rest of the country hijacked because they don’t have a word that describes that feeling. You have to be one of us to understand.’

Primo said, ‘Francesco must have taught you well for you know about sfizio.’

Now they were all regarding Francesco with approval, and he felt awkward-for he hadn’t taught her that word. He hadn’t even known she knew it. She must have concealed her discovery, knowing that, of all things, it was her love of sfizio that he feared most. It had driven her to dive in deep water. It had driven her to cast him out of her life.

But Celia was mistress of the situation.

‘I think the English hijacked it, as well,’ she said. ‘Think of the English word fizzy. It means bubbling and sparkling, and if you were sfizio you’d probably feel fizzy.’ She reached for her wineglass, located it at once and raised it in salute.

‘All the best words started in Naples,’ she cried.

‘Si,’ they all answered with one voice.

‘So here’s to being fizzy. May life have an endless supply of fizz.’

They all raised their glasses and joined the toast. Francesco did the same, but only so that they wouldn’t notice how uneasy he was.

The meal over, they went into the next room, which led onto the terrace. With the doors wide-open and the