Ravello was as charming as Matteo had promised with its red-roofed whitewashed buildings and village squares full of cafés and restaurants. The car drove through the village and a little further up the steep hill before pulling in at a wrought-iron gate which swung silently open at their approach.
The curving driveway was surrounded by flowers, bright pink bougainvillea and many others she couldn’t name in vivid hues of pink, red and purple contrasting with the gleaming white of the villa ahead. Charlie tumbled out of the car as soon as it drew to a stop, forgetting for one blissful, flower-scent-filled moment why she was here, almost drunk on the beauty of the scene before her. A large courtyard filled with lemon trees led to the front of the imposing old villa with its arched balustrades and balconies overlooking the gardens and spectacular views of the sea. In a daze, Charlie followed the path round to a shaded terrace, also heady with the scent of lemons and spring flowers, wandering down stone cut steps to a sunbathing terrace on the very edge of the cliff, leading to a magnificent old swimming pool with marble steps descending into its blue depths, classical statues at every corner. This was no sleek modern home but a place rooted in history, from the greenery covering the villa to the twisted trees on the cliff edge.
The ache she’d carried inside her for months now seemed to swell under all this beauty. She could have been so happy here. They could have been so happy.
She sensed rather than felt Matteo come up behind her, his arms slipping around her waist in a hold so natural it almost undid her. ‘So, what do you think?’
‘I think it’s the loveliest place I’ve ever been.’
‘Then it’s the fitting setting for you,’ he murmured against her neck and her stomach tightened, every nerve straining towards the faint touch of his lips, the whisper of his breath, and she wanted this moment to be real with every fibre of her being.
They could have been so happy—and maybe they still could. She had told Phoebe this was no start over, that she would leave as soon as she possibly could, but why not take this unexpected time and see if there was any way of trying a different path, searching for a different outcome? She was no fool. Matteo would hopefully regain his memory soon, and if not then she would have to tell him the truth. But if they were in a stronger place when she did so, then maybe things would seem different. The failure of her marriage had eaten away at her, but if she could honestly say she had given this unexpected second chance all she had then would she be able to achieve the closure she so desperately needed?
All she knew was that fate had intervened and given her an opportunity to step back in time and reshape her marriage. She could throw this chance away or she could adopt some of those old techniques from her drama classes. Not pretend that things were okay between them but to live as if they were okay. To become the character, not act the character. It would be easier for them both.
But she had to keep a guard on her heart. Because she’d nearly been broken once. She couldn’t let it happen again.
* * *
Matteo inhaled, the scent of lemons and flowers tinged with salt taking him instantly back to childhood, to roaming free with his cousins, long lazy days by the pool or out at sea, the warmth of summer evenings as the grown-ups drank wine and talked, the children playing out till late like puppies, left to tumble until they slept where they fell. A bigger contrast to the confines of boarding school with its strict lights out and every moment timetabled it was hard to imagine. And yet in the end he was the one to turn his back on the villa and family, spending his summer in his grandfather’s office instead, thinking the suit and tie made him an adult. Responsible. The man he had to be.
Long, sun-drenched days were for his dissolute father, his fun-seeking mother. Not for real Harringtons. Or so he’d believed. Still believed, much as he wanted to do otherwise. But he yearned for colour. That was what had first drawn him to Charlie, with her sunshine disposition and rainbow clothes. With her spontaneity and joy.
And she was his. Now he could make new memories. Memories with his wife. He tightened his hold on Charlie, burrowing his face in her hair. How could he have forgotten their wedding, the few days of honeymoon they’d managed, their life together? It seemed impossible that today wasn’t their wedding day. Still, it was their honeymoon…
‘Come on, let me show you around.’
Charlie turned to face him. ‘I have a better idea. I’ll have an explore while you rest.’
‘Rest?’ he scoffed, refusing to acknowledge the persistent pulse in his temples, the soreness in his ribs, the stiffness of his neck and shoulders. ‘I don’t need to rest after a short journey like that. This sun and the view is all I need.’
‘Not according to the doctor’s instructions,’ Charlie said sweetly, pulling a typewritten list from her pocket.
Matteo groaned. He was already heartily sick of that list. Thanks to it he’d been forced to spend the whole flight reclining back, no film or book to occupy him, and wear sunglasses through the airport like some attention-seeking pop star. ‘I’ll show you around then sit on the terrace for an hour,’ he countered, but his obstinate wife shook her
