His Lost-And-Found Bride. Scarlet Wilson
her. ‘I think I’d like to keep things simple. I’d like to have some white wine, I think, something light. A frascati.’
She knew he’d be surprised. During their time together they’d both favoured red wines, Merlots and Chiantis.
‘And I like the look of the set menu. Sometimes it’s nice to have someone else pick for you.’
She’d only glanced at the set menu and nothing had jumped out at her. Most restaurants offered a set menu of some of their best dishes. She only hoped Mancini’s was the same.
In years gone by she’d been picky about her food, sometimes refusing to go to some restaurants if they didn’t serve a particular dish that she liked. But she wanted to start this meeting by letting Logan realise that he didn’t really know her any more. Just because he was working on this project it didn’t mean that he’d get any special treatment. And she wasn’t swayed by a royal wedding either.
She took her job seriously. If the fresco had been by Michelangelo everything would have ground to a complete halt. She was fairly certain it was by a lesser-known artist—one who was still recognised and his work would be protected. But the chapel was fairly well maintained. There was no damp, no immediate threat to the fresco—just the new work that was going on to make it ready for the wedding.
Once the identification part was done, things should be fairly straightforward.
Logan set his menu on the table. ‘Both are fine with me.’ He had a hint of a smile on his face. As if he knew she was trying to be different but it was all really just a pretence. ‘How have you been, Lucia?’ he asked huskily. That voice. That accent. Little waves were rolling down her spine. It was the memories. It was anticipation of what had used to come next when Logan had spoken to her like that.
Those days were long gone. Vanished for ever. It didn’t matter that the words were bland and perfectly normal. It was the way he said them that counted.
‘Twelve years is a long time, Logan.’ Her voice was sharp.
He waited a few seconds before answering. His voice was low. ‘You’re right. It’s been a very long time. Almost a lifetime ago.’
What did that mean? That for him it was gone, forgotten about? How could anyone forget losing a child? She could feel herself bristle.
‘How have you been?’ She bounced the question back to him. Her insides were curling up in case he told her—even though he didn’t wear a ring—that he was indeed married with a houseful of children.
He nodded slowly. ‘I’ve been busy. Building your own business takes time.’ He shrugged. ‘Nearly all of my time. I like to be on-site for the restoration projects. I like to make sure that everything is going to plan.’
She felt her shoulders relax a little. ‘You don’t like to sit in your office and drink coffee?’ It was something they used to joke about years ago. Creative people ending up in jobs behind desks, drinking endless cups of coffee.
He gave a smile and shook his head as the waiter approached again, taking their order and returning a few moments later to pour the wine and leave the bread, olives and oil on the table.
Lucia took a sip. The first taste was always sharp. The second much more pleasing as her taste buds adjusted.
‘Where are your offices?’
He tasted his wine too and nodded in approval. ‘Florence. But I don’t spend much time there.’
She tried not to raise her eyebrows. Office space in Florence was expensive. His business had obviously done well. ‘Do you still live in Florence?’
He hesitated a second. And she wondered if she’d just stepped over some invisible barrier. They’d lived in Florence together. But she didn’t expect him still to be in the small one-bedroomed flat a few minutes from the university.
He nodded and dipped a piece of bread in the oil. ‘I have an apartment overlooking Piazza Santa Croce.’
‘Wow.’ She couldn’t help it. It was one of the main areas of Florence. Apartments there weren’t cheap and although the existing buildings were old, they’d usually been refurbished to a high standard, hence the expensive price tags.
She gave a little nod of her head. ‘I can see you staying there. Did you get to renovate the place yourself?’
He shook his head. ‘If only. The apartment was renovated before I got there. But all the original architecture is still there. That’s what’s important.’
‘Do you like staying there?’ She was dancing around the subject that was really in her mind. Did anyone stay there with him? It shouldn’t matter to her. Of course it shouldn’t. But she couldn’t help but feel a natural curiosity. And there was no way she would come right out and ask the question.
‘It’s fine. It’s Florence.’ He looked at her carefully. ‘I’ve always loved living in Florence. I just don’t get to stay there as much as I would like.’
‘Really? Why not?’ Because your wife and child stay somewhere else?
He shrugged. ‘I’ve spent the last ten years building up my business. I go wherever the work is. It takes time, energy and commitment. When I’m doing a restoration—like now—I like to be on-site. I’ve stayed in my apartment probably only three months of the last year.’
‘I see,’ she said quietly, as the waiter appeared and placed their starters in front of them—wild mushroom ravioli with butter and Parmesan sauce. She was glad of the distraction. Glad to stop being watched by those too-intense green eyes.
It made sense. Logan had always been passionate about everything he’d been involved in. From his work, to his family, to his relationships. But it sounded very much like he didn’t have anyone back in Florence to worry about.
‘How are your family in Scotland?’ she asked.
He smiled. ‘They’re good. They have three restaurants in Glasgow now. The one in George Square is still the main one and my nonna refuses to get out from behind the bar. She still sits there every day and criticises what everyone else does.’
Lucia laughed. She’d met his nonna on a few occasions. She was fiery little woman who was both fiercely protective and critical of her family.
‘They still ask after you,’ he said quietly.
Her laughter died and she swallowed quickly. There was a little tug at her heartstrings. Although both families had roots in Italy, Logan’s family were much more welcoming and outgoing than her own. She’d felt more at home in their house in Glasgow than in her own mother and father’s house in the small town of Osimo.
She didn’t reply. She couldn’t reply. Too many memories were starting to flood back. This was the problem with seeing Logan after all this time. All the things she’d literally pushed to the back corners of her mind were starting to poke their way through again.
But it wasn’t just unhappy memories that were crowding her thoughts. Logan had other little places in her mind. Just sitting here with him now made a little warm glow spread throughout her body. His eyes, his accent, the way he ran his fingers through his hair when he was searching for the right words. Beautiful, sunny days in Florence, long afternoons drinking endless cups of coffee and dusky evenings with wine leading to long nights together.
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