Her Second Chance in Italy - Chapter 3

How about I meet you there?

She’d sounded so in control. Her mind made up. Meeting at your destination was what platonic people did, right? They didn’t get picked up and driven. They didn’t sit in the back seat all cosy with the person they’d just met driving them. The person they’d just met and yet had the power to give them butterflies each and every time they thought of them.

She twisted the diamond on her finger as the guilt rolled through her.

You’ve nothing to feel guilty for…

Though telling herself it and believing it were very different beasts, and as she stepped into the revolving door of the fine dining establishment she’d chosen, she pondered letting the door sweep her straight back out again. Likely would have done if she hadn’t met his eye the second the glass opened up. He was sat at the bar, a martini in hand, something quite Bond-esque about him, and those butterflies she wasn’t supposed to be feeling kicked up inside her.

She stepped forward before she caused the doors to jerk to a halt and smiled. Smiled and took a second to roll back her shoulders and tell herself this was fine.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with companionship.

Dinner and drinks in the company of another.

Only when that another was the man before her, her conviction fell by the wayside.

As though sensing her fight-or-flight instinct kicking in, Arthur rose to greet her and she kept her smile in place, praying the fluttering would ease and that her panicked pulse didn’t show.

‘Good evening, Natasha.’

Even the way he said her name in that deep voice that rasped along her tingling spine felled her at the knees and as he leaned in to kiss her cheek, the good old-fashioned way, she swore his scent was as dazzling as the rest of him. All warm and masculine and so very inviting.

‘You look as beautiful as ever.’ His touch on her bare arm shivered right through her, thrilling and electric, and as she met his gaze, she could read the spark residing there as easy as she could read the current running through her.

‘Thank you.’ Her voice was too soft, too quiet, and she swallowed, tried again. ‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long. I—I lost track of time.’

Which was true. She hadn’t intended to be late. In fact, she’d been ready an hour early… The rest of the time she’d spent pacing, wrestling with her conscience and worrying herself silly with it.

‘Not at all.’ His eyes searched hers, his smile still there but she had the feeling he knew—he knew the whole fight. ‘Our table is ready or we can have a drink at the bar first, if you’d prefer.’

She nodded.

‘Is that a yes to the table or the bar?’

She gave a tense laugh, stroked an unsteady hand through her carefully smoothed hair. ‘A drink would be good.’

‘You know…we could take a walk.’

She frowned. ‘A—a walk?’

‘If your heels can take it?’

Her laugh came easy now. ‘Are you suggesting we go for a walk instead of eating?’

‘No, I’m suggesting I ask the restaurant to hold our table and we’ll do both.’

‘I wouldn’t want to mess them around.’

‘And I would prefer you to eat when you’re ready to.’

‘Am I that obvious…again?’

‘No.’

‘You’re going to tell me it’s just you being extra observant again, aren’t you?’

‘Perhaps.’

There was something about his tease, his thoughtfulness, his easy camaraderie that had her spine strengthening, her resolve with it. ‘A drink at the bar and then food…maybe a walk after?’

‘You’re on.’

He escorted her to a bar-stool and a staff member sidled up with a smile. ‘What can I get you?’

She looked to the drink Arthur had been enjoying. ‘I’ll have what he’s having…’

***

‘I’m sorry, Arthur.’

As soon as the bartender delivered her drink and turned away the words seem to escape her lips unbidden and he couldn’t prevent his frown in return.

‘For?’

‘For being so awkward.’

He shook his head. ‘You really have no need to be—sorry or awkward.’

‘I never used to be…awkward, I mean. Socialising was a constant part of my life when Jack—when Jack was alive. And I’ve hardly been a hermit since, but this holiday has proven that I’m neither comfortable alone or—’ she waved a hapless hand at him ‘—in company. I mean no offence of course.’

‘None taken.’

‘But, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I should be old enough, wise enough, happy enough to be comfortable in my own company. Perfectly capable of sitting at a table and eating in silence without feeling so on edge.’

‘Maybe it’s not the being alone that’s the problem, more the silence. You’ve led a busy life, one where I imagine silence was a rarity.’

She smiled, the weight behind her eyes lifting. ‘With four children, there certainly wasn’t any at home and with all Jack’s commitments, we rarely had a moment’s peace.’

‘There you are then.’

‘I never thought of it like that.’

‘You’ll find it again, the ease I mean. Whether in company or not…’

She cocked her head as she considered him, quiet for a moment, and then said, ‘Were you married?’

Her question sliced through him, like a knife reopening an age-old wound. ‘Me?’

‘You talk like you’ve lived through something similar…’

He eyed the drink before him and considered how much he was willing to admit, surprised to find that in the face of her grief, his own found its way to the surface, his guilt too. ‘I was married. A long, long time ago.’

‘You were?’

He nodded. ‘We were childhood sweethearts, destined to spend our lives together…’

The memories swirled before his mind’s eye, silencing his voice. Intense in their clarity, all the brighter for how rarely he ever let them in.

‘What happened?’

She said it so softly, her fear of his answer evident, her expectation that he was a widower clear in her understanding blues.

‘She left me.’ He lifted his drink to his lips, took a swig in the hope it would eradicate the bitter taste in his throat.

‘I see.’

‘Not what you expected?’

‘No, it’s—why?’

‘Why did she leave me?’

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,’ she hurried out, her cheeks pinking up. ‘Forget I said anything.’

He shook his head, gave her a smile that he hoped would reassure her, though it felt far too awkward. ‘To use her words, I was married to my work.’

‘Ah.’ She nodded, sipped at her own drink. ‘Now that I understand.’

‘You too?’

She gave a soft huff. ‘I loved Jack, and he loved me. I never doubted it. But there were days where I questioned what he’d save from a burning building first, me or his laptop.’

He sipped at his martini, knew that the question she posed was ridiculous but the heart of it was serious. ‘You didn’t leave him for it though?’

‘No. I didn’t leave him.’

‘Lucky Jack.’

She gave him a funny look. ‘Did you love her?’

‘Loved her enough never to risk it again… She left me two decades ago and since then, it’s just been me.’

‘What about her? Did she meet someone else?’

‘She remarried, had more children, lives on a farm somewhere in New Zealand and is happier than I ever could have made her.’

‘And you? Are you happy?’

‘I’ve achieved everything I set out to in life, I have a daughter primed to take over the company and she makes me prouder than I ever thought possible.’

‘But are you happy?’

And who’s the awkward one now?