LITMIR.BIZ

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more the thoughts that were there—an emerging awareness that made the room feel a little warmer.

      Bastiano said nothing, just held her unblinking gaze until she spoke on.

      ‘It really is the perfect job. Sometimes people ask me what I want to be, or they ask if I am working while studying, but I want only this—I’m happy now.’

      ‘That’s a very good place to be,’ Bastiano said, though he couldn’t fathom it for himself. The more he had the more he wanted, the more he achieved the further the goal seemed to stretch. ‘Do you miss your family and friends?’

      ‘I’ve made some friends...’ She thought of her flatmates and though they were not particularly close she got on well with them. And Sophie thought of Gabi, a wedding planner, who she had met on her first weekend here and had got on with straight away.

      Usually Bastiano would leave it there. In fact, usually it would never have reached this point, for sitting in bed and chatting with a woman was not something Bastiano did regularly.

      Regularly? Ha! Ever.

      Yet he found he wanted to know her better.

      ‘Do you miss home?’ Bastiano asked, carefully rewording his question.

      ‘Sometimes,’ she admitted. ‘But if I was still there...’ Sophie stopped what she was about to say and put down her cutlery, even though her meal was not finished. The conversation was edging towards topics that she usually kept closed.

      Her newly made friends knew little about her. To them she was Sophie, twenty-four years old and happily single.

      They had no idea how hard she had fought and how much she had given up to achieve such a small victory.

      ‘If you were there?’ Bastiano pushed, and now he was fishing—he really did want to know more about her.

      She was about to stand, to end the conversation and get on with her day. Return to the real world.

      Surprisingly, she found she liked this one.

      Sophie liked the peace in his bedroom and the ease with which she spoke with this man.

      She thought of his kind smile when she had realised he’d heard her swear. It had been a smile that had spoken of mutual understanding and a familiarity with the ways back home.

      Something told her that he would...understand.

      And though she had in the main been happy, it had also been a lonely twelve months.

      ‘I was engaged to be married,’ Sophie admitted. ‘Had I stayed, tomorrow would have been my first wedding anniversary.’

      ‘Had you stayed?’ Bastiano verified. ‘So it was you who ended it?’

      ‘In a very mature and thoughtful way.’ Sophie nodded and then she gave a small laugh that told him she was joking about handling things in an adult fashion. ‘I ran away, if it is possible to run away from home when you are twenty-three. A month before the wedding I took a train to Rome and when I got here I called my parents and told them that I would not be marrying Luigi.’

      He laughed at her explanation, although not unkindly—it was a deep, low laugh that was almost enough reward in itself for that awful phone call she had made to her parents.

      Something told Sophie that he did not laugh easily, that what was happening this morning between them was both delicious and rare.

      And then that low laugh faded, like a roll of soft thunder moving through her.

      Lightning had already struck, Sophie realised.

      She was here alone in his room and it was exactly where she wanted to be.

      ‘Have you been back home since?’ he asked, seemingly unaware of the dance in her mind. Sophie was terribly grateful for the resumption of conversation, and answered hurriedly for her thoughts were all over the place.

      ‘No, it was a big disgrace. I expected them to be cross but when it came to my birthday and my mother would not even come to the phone I realised just how bad things were.’

      ‘When was your birthday?’ he asked.

      ‘A few months after I ran away.’ She told him the date. ‘It was pretty miserable.’

      Birthdays had always been about family and standing around a cake while having a hundred photos taken.

      Not this time.

      It had been the same at Christmas—and the reason she had been so grateful that Alim ensured his staff celebrated also. Her flatmates had all gone home to be with their families and so the meal and gift from work had been the only Christmas that Sophie had had.

      ‘They must miss you,’ Bastiano said, but Sophie shook her head.

      ‘I’m not sure that they do. I come from a big family; they wanted me married so that there would be one less. You know how things are back home.’

      He nodded. Bastiano did know how things were for many but then he looked at Sophie and was still sure of one thing—they must miss her, because from the moment she had opened the drapes it had been as if an extra ray of sunshine had been let in. ‘Will you go back?’

      ‘I’m their only daughter...’ She shrugged but it belied the pain behind the inevitable decision. ‘If I return then I am to abide by their rules. I don’t know what will happen. For now, though, I live my dream.’

      Even if it was lonely at times.

      ‘What about you?’ she asked.

      ‘I don’t have any family.’

      ‘None?’

      He shook his head and he saw that she waited for him to elaborate. ‘I was raised by my mother’s brother and his wife.’

      ‘What about your mother?’

      ‘She died.’

      ‘How old were you?’

      He didn’t answer.

      ‘What about your father?’

      ‘You know as much about him as I do—nothing.’

      ‘Not quite.’ Sophie smiled. ‘I know that he was good looking.’

      Yes, she was like sunlight because until now, when he had revealed that his father was unknown, it had either terminated the conversation or resulted in averted eyes or a derisive comment. Not with Sophie, for she turned the awkwardness around as she smiled—and possibly flirted—and the conversation was far from closed.

      ‘What happened with your zia and zio?’ she asked.

      ‘I see them on occasion but we don’t really speak,’ Bastiano said, peeling off some brioche and handing it to her to mop up the last of the spicy sauce. ‘They threw me out when I was seventeen.’ He thought of the row they had had after the affair had been exposed and it had come to light that he had slept with the enemy—a Di Savo. ‘Deservedly so.’

      ‘So what are you doing here in Rome?’ Sophie asked. ‘Business?’

      ‘In part,’ Bastiano said, but knew that he was being evasive. Sophie obviously had no clue that he was considering purchasing the hotel. He didn’t want to enlighten her for he knew that it would put a wedge between them. So to avoid speaking of work he told her something rather personal. ‘I got dumped last night.’

      ‘Oh!’ She smiled at his revelation. ‘I cannot imagine anyone dumping you.’

      ‘Neither could my ego,’ Bastiano admitted, and then he told her a bit more. ‘She’s English and lives in a castle.’

      ‘Nice,’ Sophie said, and he shrugged.

      ‘It would have been a lot of work.’

      Sophie frowned, not sure what he meant by that.

      ‘What

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