The only awkward moments came when Matteo asked questions about their life together. Not wanting to lie to him any more than she already was, Charlie had put off answering for now, reminding him that the doctor said it would be best to see if his memory came back by itself before trying to prompt it in any way. But, much like their sleeping arrangements, she knew she could only put him off for so long.
Matteo pushed his chair back and got to his feet in one lithe graceful movement. ‘Come on. Up you get. Let’s go.’
‘You have to give me time to get changed,’ she protested. ‘I’m not wearing any make-up and this dress is barely fit for lounging round the pool, let alone being seen in public.’
‘You look beautiful,’ he said. ‘You always do.’
‘Even so. Give me five minutes.’ She touched his arm lightly as she passed him, wanting more than anything to hold on tight and let him anchor her, to hear him tell her again that she was beautiful. To see appreciation in his heated gaze, not cool impatience as he suggested she might be more comfortable in something less like fancy dress.
What would happen if his memory never returned? This time would he always tell her she was beautiful, like the colours she chose for her hair, appreciate the bright vintage styles she preferred? Or would he once again come to find her too much for his moneyed, sophisticated world and seek to tame her, to suggest chartreuse and olive and slate dresses in draping fabrics, diamond studs and subtle make-up?
Almost defiantly, Charlie pulled out a red polka dot halterneck dress with a full circle skirt and wide white belt, teaming it with huge hoops and a string of false pearls, each the size of a baby’s fist. She carefully outlined her lips in deepest red, filling in the colour before layering on the mascara. She added a jaunty hat and a pair of cat’s-eye sunglasses and gazed at herself in the mirror. It was months since she had been so very much her. This was the Charlie Matteo had fallen in love with, and this was the Charlie who didn’t fit into his world. If she was going to survive the rest of this trip with what was left of her heart intact, then she needed to be herself more than ever. Armour, weaponry and retreat wrapped into one red-lipsticked package.
* * *
Charlie looked good enough to eat. Lightly tanned to the colour of the milkiest coffee, she was like a delicious chocolate enticingly hidden in a polka dot wrapper, and all Matteo wanted to do was unwrap her.
In fact, all he’d wanted to do for a whole week was unwrap her as she lay on a sunbed next to him, encased in a series of vintage-style bikinis, all ruffles and straps and tempting shades of pink and yellow and turquoise. But Charlie was adamant. He was meant to be resting and that, in her book, seemed to mean celibacy. Separate beds, separate rooms and barely a peck on the cheek at night. It was enough to make a man ill, not cure him.
‘Come on, wife.’ The word was still new to him, strange yet exotic, with all its connotations of belonging. He tapped a foot mock-impatiently as she emptied half the contents of one bag into another. He’d been cooped up for too long and, nice as it had been to be so uncharacteristically indulgently lazy, his body was now primed for movement, for exercise, to walk off some of this ache in his body.
An ache that intensified as Charlie slowly and deliberately settled her outrageously huge sunglasses over her eyes and adjusted her hat to an even more jaunty angle, every curve exaggerated by the halterneck of her dress.
How had he got so lucky?
She gave herself one more long look then nodded. ‘Okay. Ready.’
‘Then let’s go.’ He held out his arm with exaggerated courtesy and, after a brief hesitation he couldn’t help but note, she took it. Her light touch on his arm was like a balm, soothing some of the ache inside him.
It wasn’t just the physical distance between them that preyed on his mind. There was an emotional distance too that Charlie was trying very hard to hide, but he could sense all the same. She was clearly watching what she said to him, stopping or backtracking or changing the subject with an airiness belied by the anxiety in her expression, her eyes sometimes so haunted with sadness it hurt him to see. She’d assured him that both of their families were safe and well, that Harrington Industries was thriving, but something was responsible for those shadows. If it wasn’t their families, his business, then was it him? Was it them? Was their marriage less than perfect after less than a year?
He could, maybe should, demand answers even though she’d made it plain she wouldn’t answer any questions, not yet. But in the end he’d decided not to notice her sudden pauses or abrupt subject swerves and didn’t press too hard with any questions, not sure if he wanted the answers after all. He’d never considered himself a coward before but forcing the truth out of Charlie was a step he just couldn’t face yet. Not when there were times when the shadows ebbed away and her smile tilted those provocative lips and he could tell himself he was imagining things.
It took them less than fifteen minutes to reach the village square, the sun beating down relentlessly as they walked down the steep footpath leading from the villa gate to the village, a handy shortcut bypassing the windy road. The season was in full swing and every restaurant had tables and chairs spilling out onto the square, each filled with a mixture of tourists and locals.
‘It’s so busy,’ Charlie said in surprise. ‘I thought this was a sleepy hillside village.’
‘Once maybe, but
