
‘That’s why it shines,’ Rinaldo said. ‘You rub the nose and make a wish that one day you’ll return to Florence.’
Smiling, Alex put out her hand, but withdrew it without touching the bronze animal.
‘I’m not sure what I’ll do,’ she said, as though considering seriously. ‘Wishing to return to Florence would mean that I was leaving, wouldn’t it? And that’s so much what you’re trying to make me do that I think I should do the opposite.’
He eyed her with exasperation. But he did not, as she had been half hoping, show signs of real annoyance.
‘Of course, if I just decide to stay here, I wouldn’t need to return,’ she mused.
‘I suppose this entertains you,’ he growled. ‘To me it’s a waste of time.’
‘I’m sure you’re right. I’ll defer a decision until I’ve worked out what would annoy you the most.’
She began to turn away, but he grasped her upper arm with a hand that could almost encompass it. His grip was light, but she could sense the steel in his fingers, and knew that she had no chance of escape until he released her.
‘And then you’ll annoy me, for fun,’ he said. ‘But beware, signorina, to me this is not fun. My life’s blood is in Belluna. You will remember that, and you will respect it, because if you do not-’ his eyes, fixed on hers, were hard as flint ‘-if you do not-you will wish that you had. I have warned you.’
He removed his hand.
‘Enjoy your meal,’ he said curtly, and vanished into the crowd.
It was over. He was gone. All the things she ought to have said came crowding into her head now that it was too late to say them. All that was left was the imprint of his hand on the bare skin of her arm. He hadn’t held her all that tightly, but she could still feel him.
She turned away from the market and walked on through the streets. She found a restaurant and entered, barely noticing her surroundings.
The food was superb, duck terrine flavoured with black truffle, chick-pea soup with giant prawn tails. She had eaten in the finest restaurants in London and New York, but this was a whole new experience. More art than food.
