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“And now?” She asked gently. “You said you miss it. Do you see yourself living there?”
“If the Acto deal happens, perhaps.”
She leaned closer. “Why?”
“Because I’d take on a strategy role for a while. Help out where I can. Their head office is in New York, but they’ve got the set up in Florence, I could base myself there.”
“Right.” She nodded, self-conscious of every bit of motion. She felt clunky and unnatural. But why? It had nothing to do with her. What should it matter to Portia where Marco lived? “Your parents must miss you.”
“My parents are very busy living their best socialite lives,” he responded with a wink. “They are perfectly happy with this generation running the business.”
Portia smiled. “Your cousins,” she murmured. “They’re related through your father?”
“Yes. Our fathers are brothers.”
She nodded. “And you’re all very close.”
“Yes.”
“That’s nice.”
“You did not have cousins either?”
“One. Janine. Twelve years older than me and bossier than you can imagine.” Portia winced. “Suffice it to say, we did not grow up spending time together, nor are we close now.”
“You would enjoy one of the lunches my parents host, I think,” he said, though they both knew it would never be possible. “It might even cure you of wishing for a big, loud family.”
“I’ve seen you in meetings,” she said, reaching out and putting her hand over his, simply because his was resting on the table and she suddenly wanted to touch it. “I can imagine.”
“Lunch is something else. My father plays the piano. We’re expected to sing along.”
Portia burst out laughing. “I can imagine you,” she said, lifting her hands placatingly. “But Dante, singing?”
“Dante does not sing. He sits at the head of the table and adopts an expression of disapproval. Or perhaps he is wondering how the hell he wound up in this family. But everyone else plays along.”
“That sounds fun,” she murmured.
“My mother cooks—though we are all expected to help. The kitchen is very busy.”
“They don’t have staff?”
“They have an army of staff to manage every aspect of their lives and when we are not there, I don’t think my mother steps one foot inside the kitchen,” he said with affection. “But this is an ode to nonna,I think, a recreation of the lunches that used to matter so much to her, and we all go along with it, because that’s important.”
“Traditions matter,” Portia agreed with a quiet nod.
“And you?” He prompted. “What sorts of things do you do in your family?”
She thought about it, long and hard, trying to think of a single memory that might evoke a similar feeling of warmth and affection as he’d described. “I don’t know,” she said eventually. “My dad and I have always enjoyed those TV game shows,” she said with a self-conscious shrug.
“This explains why you know all of the quiz questions.”
She smiled, pleased for his casual rejoinder, when her insides were squeezing sharply.
Eleven
“NEED A LIFT?” She blinked across at Marco, her breath catching at the sight of him in this early morning light, the sun so golden on his face that he looked like sheer, absolute perfection.
“I’ll take the tube.”
