She suddenly looked up, cornered him with her clear brown gaze. ‘I’m surprised you asked me for lunch today.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s a week day.’ Teasing light in her eyes. ‘I thought you’d be busy with important CEO stuff.’
‘I took the day off.’ He pointed to the scratches on his face. ‘Sick leave!’
Her mouth fell open. ‘You pulled a sickie?’
He grinned. ‘Don’t tell the boss.’
‘I won’t.’
The light in her eyes faded, but her gaze held him fast, and suddenly he knew that if he wanted to break out of his cage he’d have to risk a piece of himself.
‘Mia...’ Breathe. ‘The truth is that I took the day off for you.’ Just saying the words out loud made him feel lighter, triggered a warm glow of surprise in her eyes which warmed him right back. ‘I didn’t want to be fitting you into a schedule. I wanted to spend some time with you.’ He smiled. ‘I thought it was time to take control.’
She smiled back shyly, a flicker of something akin to gratitude in her eyes. ‘I’m glad...although I’m not so sure that we ever control anything. Mostly I’ve found that fate takes the upper hand.’ She sighed. ‘We just get to react to whatever it dishes out.’
She’d opened a door. ‘Such as...?’
A shadow crossed her face. ‘You said you’d have liked to see me as a kid...but you wouldn’t have enjoyed the view.’ She dropped her gaze, twisted her glass around by single degrees. ‘I lost my parents suddenly when I was eight, so a lot of the time I was a sad little thing.’
The photos: the young couple...her parents... That was what he’d noticed: how young they were. There’d been nothing recent and it had struck him as strange. ‘I’m so sorry, Mia. What hap—?’
‘Helicopter crash.’ She looked up, cheeks pale, eyes dry. ‘We never found out exactly what happened...’ She shrugged. ‘It’s a loose end—but it niggles a bit, not knowing.’
She was wearing her composure like a mask, but he could see the hairline cracks. ‘Where did it happen?’
‘In Africa... Angola.’ She sipped her water. ‘Dad was in the diplomatic service. The Angola post was supposed to be temporary, but then it was extended, so Mum went out for a while. They’d been on consular business outside Luanda, were on their way back to the embassy when the helicopter went down.’
Her tears were dry, but he could still see them. Maybe on some level he’d felt it about her from the very beginning: the way she’d intervened for her brother; the curious combination of strength and fragility he’d seen in her eyes. That protective instinct she had, her warmth, her ready empathy. He didn’t want to cause her pain, push her too far, but he wanted to know more. He searched her face. ‘Do you mind talking about it?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not my favourite subject but it’s part of who I am.’
Mia the brave.
‘So after that...?’
She fingered the silky ruffle at the neckline of her dress. ‘Boarding school in London; weekends with my maternal grandparents in suburbia; summers with my Dutch grandparents on Texel. Then university. We both studied in London so we could live together. We inherited the house, you see. Ash still lives there—me too when I’m in London—but after Hal I had to get away.’
His curiosity spiked. ‘Who’s Hal?’
She looked down, flushing, a sudden tightness framing her mouth. Clearly she hadn’t intended to mention Hal, whoever he was, and he’d fired out his question at point-blank range. It was too late to take it back. She was biting her lower lip, wrestling with something, and it was on the tip of his tongue to say that he shouldn’t have asked, that it was none of his business, but he swallowed the words because he desperately wanted to know who Hal was... Why his name had affected her so profoundly.
After a moment she lifted her eyes, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Hal’s my ex. My former fiancé...’
‘Oh. I see.’ It made sense that she’d been with someone. She was too lovely, too special, not to have been cherished, but he couldn’t bring himself to say he was sorry about the break-up because he wasn’t. He was glad that Hal was history, but it was hard to see the bright flare of old hurts in her eyes. He wanted to know what had happened, but he wasn’t going to push. Maybe she’d tell him in time. He unscrewed the bottle cap, poured her some more water. ‘So you moved to Amsterdam?’
‘Yes.’ She sipped her water. ‘A fresh start on an old boat with an accident-prone cat.’ She grinned. ‘Ash calls him Clueless, but that’s so rude! He might not be the sharpest knife in the box, but he’s got emotional intelligence, and that’s more important.’
He remembered the barge. Cleuso, still damp from the canal, rubbing against his bare legs then jumping onto his lap. Maybe it had been the cat’s way of apologising for the scratches.
Emotional intelligence...?
The main thing was that Mia’s face was radiant again and he was glad. When the waiter brought their ravioli, she was all smiles, full of praise for the flavours, the textures and the presentation. Her pleasure warmed him. This was his favourite restaurant. He liked that the tables were well-spaced; he liked the warm, hushed ambience and unobtrusive music. He always felt relaxed here, could see that Mia was falling under its spell too.
When she tasted the zabaglione, he realised he was watching her mouth.
‘This is so good.’
‘I’m glad you like it.’
She scooped up another little mound of the pale, creamy dessert. ‘It’s divine!’
Her lips closed around the tip of the spoon,
