A Twist of Fate (30 page)

Which is why her acceptance meant so much. But even so, Romy was surprised at how readily she’d admitted her own feelings. Not that there was any point in trying to hide them. She had been
hopelessly besotted with Alfonso Scolari ever since he’d proposed the crazy trip to meet his parents for the first time, ten magical months ago.

It had felt so naughty, so illicit. As if they’d been on an adventure together, sharing a huge secret. She smiled, remembering how they’d talked the whole way – on the small
private plane from Nice to Pisa. And then in the black Ferrari that was waiting for them on the private runway at the Galileo Galilei airport, which Alfonso drove at a terrifying speed onto the
motorway and then along the winding roads north into the mountains. They’d spent the whole time trying to remember facts about each other.

‘What do I like about you?’ she’d asked him, as they drove through the countryside, the rolling poppy fields and the dark Cyprus trees across the landscape so perfect that she
could barely take in its beauty.

‘I have nice hair,’ he’d replied. ‘And I cook a fantastic
vongole
. Be sure to tell Mamma that.’

She’d laughed, nodding. Because it wouldn’t be hard to remember, she thought. He did have great hair. Hair that she longed to run her fingers through.

‘Oh, and I am a terrific lover,’ he’d added. ‘That’s why you’ve fallen in love with me. But you can’t tell Mamma that. Tell Flavia, my eldest
sister.’

Romy had laughed again, but she’d found herself wondering whether that were true.

‘What do you do, Romy? I mean . . . what are your hobbies?’ he’d asked, turning his attention to her.

‘I read books – romances especially,’ she’d admitted. ‘I take photographs of the places I’ve been, but I’m terrible at putting them in albums. I like
shoes. Expensive shoes. My favourite ones are yellow, and this high.’ She’d put her fingers out to show him and Alfonso had whistled, impressed.

‘But you don’t wear them that often,’ he’d clarified. ‘Because you’re taller than me in them.’

Romy had shaken her head, alarmed and amused by their deception and whether they’d ever pull it off. ‘I have a thing for nice underwear. And stray dogs.’

‘That’s good. That all fits,’ Alfonso had said. ‘You chose me. A stray. You have tamed me.’

‘Is that possible?’ she’d asked.

He’d grinned over at her, putting his foot down on the accelerator, making her tummy jump. ‘Anything is possible.’

And Romy had felt it right then, she remembered. That feeling. That feeling she’d had ever since. That this man was wonderful . . . amazing. That he had the power to make her happy in a
way she’d never thought possible.

Now, as she watched Maria call to Alfonso’s big sister, Flavia, who sauntered into the kitchen and stirred the meat sauce bubbling on the state-of-the art range in the ancient
chimney-breast, Romy blanched, remembering the first time she’d ever eaten pasta in that seedy flat, on the first night she’d arrived in London. And once again she was assaulted by
terror that these lovely people – that anyone in this, her new life – would ever know the truth about her past.

Now Flavia smiled at Romy. ‘Mamma is teaching you how to sprinkle her magic into food then?’ she asked.

Flavia had long wavy dark hair and rich olive skin and their father’s proud nose. But she had her mother’s softness of character and Romy had found herself feeling excited when
Flavia had called her and suggested meeting for a coffee in Milan. She liked the fact that Alfonso’s eldest sister wanted to be her friend, and they’d been on several shopping trips
together. It had been the first time in Romy’s life she’d ever thought how lovely it would be to have a sister of her own.

Romy was interrupted by a commotion in the hall, and Alfonso’s other sister, Anna, came in with her two daughters. Maria threw out her arms to gather her granddaughters up. Romy smiled,
watching as the family all kissed each other, talking and fussing over one another the whole time.

Did they realize how lucky they were? she wondered. To have all the money in the world
and
still to have this? This gorgeous family. This sense of belonging. Just being around it made
Romy feel warm in a way she never had before. The more time she spent with the Scolaris, the more time she wanted.

When she’d told Alfonso how much she liked them all, he’d sulked and told her that they were annoying and nosy. She’d told him off and had been amazed at how he’d
reacted. He’d been furious, she remembered – the first taste she’d had of his fiery temper. She didn’t understand, he’d railed at her. Nobody understood how he felt.
Romy had been so surprised by this childish outburst that she’d fallen about giggling, before doing an impression of him strutting about like an angry duck.

‘Don’t take their side,’ he’d pleaded with her, softening only a little, his anger turning to embarrassment.

‘Now, why would I do that?’ she’d soothed, pinning his arms by his sides in a tight embrace and kissing him, marvelling that, even with his monstrous ego, he could still reveal
his insecurities.

Anna too, by all accounts, had Alfonso’s fiery streak, but they’d never met until now, and Romy couldn’t help but stare at the small, athletic-looking woman in tennis whites.
She went to shake Anna’s hand, but instead the smaller woman embraced Romy tightly, leaning up to kiss her. She smelt of a familiar perfume.

‘You got Alfonso to come back. Thank you,’ she said, looking relieved, and Romy saw immediately that they too would be friends.

‘Are you the famous model?’ Anna’s daughter, Cesca asked, adding, ‘You’re just as pretty as Mamma said you would be,’ as she stood with one hand on her
hip.

‘Thank you,’ Romy laughed, bending down to kiss the little girl with dark curls in the white smock-dress. ‘So are you. But being a model isn’t about being pretty,
it’s just about being tall and having lots of luck.’

‘I like your sparkly hairclip,’ Cesca said, reaching out to touch it.

‘Do you?’ Romy said. ‘Here. Why don’t you have it?’ she continued, taking it out of her hair.

‘Cesca,’ Anna scolded, apologizing to Romy for her daughter’s forthrightness, but Romy wouldn’t hear of it. She liked Cesca and, as she fastened the clip in her hair, she
had a vision of being a mother herself. A mother to a Scolari. She stood up, shocked at how happy the thought made her. Just then her phone rang. She pulled it out of the back pocket of her jeans
shorts.

It was Nico.

‘Where are you?’ he demanded. ‘I’ve left you loads of messages.’

‘I can’t talk,’ Romy said, turning away. ‘I told you. I’m with Alfonso’s family.’ In the rustic farmhouse kitchen, with the hot sun streaming through
the doors, her world of airports and model shoots seemed a million miles away.

‘I don’t care. Pack your bags now,’ Nico said. ‘I’ve got us an amazing job. We’re doing an airline commercial. Filming in Peru. I’ve bent over backwards
to see you in it, but they’ve agreed.’

‘When would we have to leave?’ Romy asked, thinking of Simona as much as Nico. Romy didn’t want to get on the wrong side of her, especially after all Simona had done for her,
and especially when she knew that Simona would do anything for Romy to keep her safe and happy.

‘Tomorrow evening. I’m booking the flights now.’

‘Nico, I can’t . . . I’ve got to think about it. I can’t just leave.’

‘Romy,’ Nico wailed. ‘I’ve broken my back for this one. You can’t let me down. Please, darling.’

Romy hung up, but as she put her phone back in her pocket, she caught the expression on Maria Scolari’s face and realized, without a shadow of a doubt, that taking the job and leaving in
the middle of this family weekend was the wrong decision.

She was either in the Scolari clan or out.

As the family gathered for supper under the vine on the terrace, later that evening, Romy was still in turmoil. She hadn’t had a second to talk to Alfonso alone, but had
been swept along by the arrival of all his sisters. Lola and Serena as well as blonde Bianca, the baby sister, who brooded in the corner and couldn’t be won over until Romy started discussing
novels with her. Now she helped Cesca light all the candles on the table and laughed as Anna chattered, while she folded the napkins, filling Romy in on the family history and gossip. The only
sister missing was Gloria, who Alfonso said had taken his gauntlet as the black sheep of the family. Maria arrived tight-lipped after talking to Gloria on the phone.

‘She’s not coming, Mamma?’ Serena asked.

Maria shook her head. ‘She won’t come until your father accepts Marc.’

‘Who’s Marc?’ Romy asked Anna.

‘He’s Gloria’s latest squeeze,’ Anna confided. ‘Papa found out that he went to jail for drug-dealing when he was a kid, so he won’t think about acknowledging
him, or accepting him. It’s breaking Mamma’s heart. Gloria was always the brightest of us, but she’s determined to stick by this Marc guy and has pulled out of her PhD.’

Now Romy watched as Roberto Scolari arrived at the table, smart as always in a pink shirt, which complemented his olive skin and silver hair. She squeezed Alfonso’s hand under the table,
secretly wondering whether he’d be as attractive as his father when he was old and grey.

‘We’re so lucky with the weather. So warm for March,’ he declared. ‘So. We are all here?’ He smiled at everyone around the table. ‘But where’s
Gloria?’

‘She’s not coming,’ Maria said. ‘You know that.’

Roberto sighed. ‘Her loss.’

‘Doesn’t she deserve a second chance, Papa?’ Alfonso said.

Roberto turned to him, his features stern. ‘I will not have that boyfriend of hers associated with this family. You know that.’

His tone was decisive, his eyes steely, and Romy saw then that Roberto Scolari was black and white. You were either in or out. There were no second chances. Romy watched Maria leave the table to
collect something from the kitchen, but her silence spoke volumes about her disappointment.

The moment was diffused by the arrival through the kitchen door of another man.

‘Who’s that?’ she whispered to Alfonso.

‘It’s Franco Moretti,’ he replied, stiffening as the older man approached. ‘He’s known my father forever. The Morettis and Scolaris go way back,’ he
explained. ‘Apart from Mamma, he’s the only other shareholder of Scolari. He doesn’t approve of me.’

Moretti was greeted like one of the family, the sisters kissing his cheeks, but Alfonso stood back.

‘Romy,’ Flavia called. ‘Come and meet Franco.’

Romy went towards the older man and they shook hands. He was tall, with dark brown hair and a neat little moustache. His panama hat completed the look of an ageing matinee idol, Romy thought.
They all followed as he walked over to the table, clapped Roberto on the shoulder and took his place next to him.

‘Look who’s here,’ Roberto said, gesturing to Alfonso, and Franco shook his hand across the table. Romy immediately sensed the friction between them, as she retook her place
next to Alfonso.

‘You must come to the vineyard on Sunday,’ Franco said. ‘We have an exceptional vintage of the Chianti that you like. You must bring Miss Valentine,’ he added.

‘Oh . . . thank you, but I can’t,’ Romy said, looking between Alfonso and Franco.

‘What?’ Alfonso turned to her as they all sat down. ‘Why not?’

‘I have to go.’

‘Go? Go where?’

‘I meant to tell you,’ she said in a hushed voice. ‘Something’s come up. I have to fly to Peru.’

‘Peru?’ Serena interrupted, placing a platter of grilled aubergines and pine nuts down on the long table. ‘I went travelling there.’

‘I’ve never been,’ Romy said, feeling the force of Alfonso’s stare boring into her. His leg was pressing against hers, demanding an explanation. Roberto and Maria
exchanged a look down the table.

‘So, I hear you’re a model,’ Franco said matter-of-factly, looking at Romy, his eyes assessing her. ‘Is that satisfying?’ It sounded as if he just wanted to make
polite conversation, but there was a hint in his voice that left Romy in no doubt that he considered her to be just another of Alfonso’s meaningless conquests.

‘It is when I get to influence the campaigns,’ she said. ‘And I’ve been very lucky to have travelled the world,’ she added, looking at Serena.

‘Don’t you think the whole fashion industry is . . . well . . .’ Franco continued, clearly not satisfied with her answer. He waved his hand in the air, ‘. . . silly
little girls running about.’

Anna tutted loudly. ‘Franco!’ She made eyes at Romy as if to tell her that she was used to Franco being so provocative.

‘Silly little girls,’ Flavia added, taking her side. ‘For goodness’ sake.’

Romy was touched that they were springing to her defence. She liked being part of their sisterhood.

‘I am not just involved in fashion, although that is an important part of what I do,’ Romy countered. ‘And I would have to argue that it was far from “silly”. Like
the Ferragamo campaign I did recently.’

‘Handbags,’ Anna said, winking at Romy and taking her place next to Franco. ‘Expensive ones.’

‘Italians should be proud of their heritage of luxury goods,’ Romy said to Franco. ‘The brands count for so much on the world stage. If you look at the contribution of these
designer goods as a percentage of your GDP, then the investment in expensive advertising campaigns really starts to make sense, especially with the burgeoning demand in Asia. The luxury sector
represents a huge opportunity for Italy. That’s why your new minister’s tax policy seems to be sensible,’ she added, smiling sweetly.

Roberto nodded, impressed. ‘Is your business in Peru for an Italian campaign?’ he asked.

Romy felt her cheeks burning. ‘No, it’s for British Airways.’

‘Ah,
we
never use
them
, if we can help it,’ Roberto said, his eyes meeting Romy’s for just a second. But in that split second of silence, when she should have
defended herself and her career, she smiled meekly and Roberto nodded, clearly taking her reaction as some sort of decision.

Romy looked at Alfonso. ‘We’ll talk about it later,’ she whispered, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.