‘Matteo,’ she half whispered, half sighed and he wasn’t sure if she was urging him on or telling him to stop, but as he stilled, pulling back in question, the suite phone shrilled out and she stepped back, laughing shakily.
‘Wow, welcome to Rome indeed. Are you going to get that?’
‘It’ll be Reception telling us our car is here; are you ready?’
‘Give me five minutes.’ She paused, staring at him, and he could have sworn her heart was in her eyes as she raised one hand to his cheek before whirling round and disappearing into one of the bedrooms, leaving him standing there, alone but hopeful. The first steps had been taken. He could make this right.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ROME WAS AS beautiful and exciting and atmospheric as Charlie had always dreamt it would be. It was a short journey to the residential area near the Vatican where Natalia’s mother lived, but she took in every detail of the journey: the groups of tourists obediently following an upheld umbrella or flag, the snappily suited men and fashionable women of all ages, the small children clinging onto their parents’ hands—and all around beautiful buildings in golden stone, cafés and restaurants and shops and the ubiquitous coffee bars where men stood to drink their grappa or espressos to avoid the seat fee.
But even as she drank in the sights she was ultra-aware of Matteo next to her, the breadth of his shoulders, the flex of his wrists, the heat radiating from him despite the seat between them. The atmosphere between them had been charged ever since they’d left the hotel suite. Electricity sizzled almost tangibly between them every time they came within touching distance, with every darting glance.
How she’d missed the way she fitted exactly into him as if she had been made for him, the way a light kiss could make her forget her own name, the way he knew exactly how to touch her, the taste of him. Charlie quivered with the memory, as if he were touching her still.
It was a relief when the car pulled up outside the building where Natalia was staying and Charlie could turn her attention to the matter at hand. Natalia’s mother’s high-ceilinged apartment was elegantly furnished with antiques and Charlie felt out of place at first next to the sophisticated slim woman with hair swept up in an enviably chic chignon. Natalia seemed every inch the ballet teacher from her neat slippers to her wrap cardigan, and Charlie couldn’t help feeling gaudy with her own hair held back by a headband that matched her sixties-style pink shift dress. But Natalia soon put her at her ease, clearly delighted that Charlie was willing to take on the gala, and soon Charlie was perched on the narrow sofa with a coffee, discussing all the details.
There was definitely an element of interview about the whole process, on both sides. Charlie needed a clearer understanding of what she was proposing to undertake and was relieved to find out that all the choreography had not only been taught but recorded so she would have videos to help her with the final rehearsals. All the costumes had been ordered and should be with her in plenty of time and the tickets already sold and distributed.
‘It really is just a matter of putting them through their paces, making sure they know where they are when on stage and dealing with all last-minute panics and hitches,’ Natalia said in her beautifully accented English. ‘I very much hope my dear mamma will be better in time for me to come and see the performance at least, maybe even be there for the dress rehearsal, but there are no guarantees. She is still in hospital and she needs me here. But it will be much easier for me to manage, knowing that my girls and boys are being looked after.’
In her turn, Charlie was very politely grilled about her training, and found herself revealing that she too had once harboured dreams of being a ballerina. ‘I was too tall, and never had the right kind of turnout,’ she confessed. ‘I did audition for training at sixteen, even though I knew it was a long shot, but didn’t get a place. Instead I went to theatre school at eighteen and studied commercial and musical theatre, but soon found that I gravitated towards the teaching side. In the end I didn’t even try to perform as a career; instead I converted my degree into a full teaching qualification and never looked back. Now my stage career is confined to putting on school plays and teaching in the local village hall at evenings and weekends. At least it was before I married Matteo.’
Looking over to the other side of the room, she noted Matteo’s look of surprise. She’d never confided those early ambitions to him, a little embarrassed by her girlish dreams. He was a man who had always achieved everything he set out to achieve, and her change of direction, the crushing of her childish dreams didn’t seem like things that he would understand. Funny, she had never thought of herself as being the one who’d kept secrets in their marriage before. Their gazes caught and held and it was as if he could see through to the very soul of her.
It was so hard to remember that this feeling was just an illusion. That in the end he’d wanted her to change, to fit into his world, that all her differences had become a liability to him, no longer a refreshing change. And the opposite was true as well. She’d known of his ties and loyalty, applauded his steadfastness and commitment,
