Page 43 of In Italy for Love

‘How does he get on with Laura’s cat?’ Davide asked with a chuckle.

In her peripheral vision, Alex bolted upright, cursing as he hit his head on a low branch.

Davide continued, oblivious to Alex’s reaction. ‘I can’t imagine Attila would be happy about a dog coming to stay.’

Jules glanced warily at Alex, but he had turned away. ‘Attila is very good at hiding from Arco, but the first time they met?—’

Alex whipped around to face her just as she realised the night she was referring to and cut herself off. She didn’t like how dark his expression was, when she knew how much he’d enjoyed that night too. But they’d gone from ‘Thank you for the best date ever,’ to ‘I wish I’d never met you.’ She knew him well enough to understand that he wouldn’t injure her on purpose, but that didn’t stop it hurting.

And who was Laura? Jules tried to tell herself Davide probably would call his aunt by her first name. She could be Alex’s mother, as Maddalena’s words had suggested. Thosereassurances didn’t quite plaster over the cracks of suspicion Jules had been harbouring.

‘Poor Attila,’ she finished. ‘Lucky for him I’m not staying long.’ She could almost feel the tension in Alex’s jaw from where she stood several metres away. Turning to Davide, she asked, ‘So are you two cousins then?’

Davide gave Alex a sidelong glance before he answered. ‘Only by marriage.’

‘Oh.’ The answer explained why they didn’t seem close, but the more she thought about it, the more confused she became. ‘Whose marriage? His mother’s? But wait, Maddalena said her sister was… But if…’

Both went still, Alex turning white. The worried look Davide sent him confirmed that Jules was ignorant of something important – something Alex really should have told her, even if they were only platonic housemates, something she had perhaps already suspected, but hadn’t wanted to know for certain.

With a sigh, Davide turned to her and muttered, ‘Alex’smarriage. To my cousin Laura. You didn’t know?’

She could barely think for the tide of emotion welling up, embarrassed that Alex had kept silent, afraid of what that meant for their already awkward cohabiting situation – but more afraid of what she could already feel was the truth.

The shadows…

Licking her lips, she forced out the question that needed to be asked: ‘She died?’

18

Alex definitely should have explained sooner. Jules was looking at him in horror, as though every conversation between them had been a lie. He certainly felt as though he’d been lying to her for weeks and now she knew it too.

‘How long has it been since she died?’ she asked. He was also very familiar with that cautious tone from others.

‘More than three years.’ He looked away, refusing to wonder what she thought of those three years. His grieving wasn’t her business.

‘Um, okay. Now I—’ She cleared her throat. ‘Right. I understand. I mean, of course I can’t really understand?—’

He cut her off. ‘You don’t need to say anything.’

‘Of course. Okay.’

With a deep sigh, he returned to harvesting. He meant to give her some relief from the pressure of sympathy or condolences or whatever she felt was the right thing to say – which wouldn’t be the right thing. But the easy conversation under the olive tree was gone for good.

She barely looked at him as she raked at the leaves until she was cradling her wrist in her hand and her cheeks were pink andher hair filled with twigs. He’d thought he’d wanted her to keep her distance, but as the day of harvesting wore on, he couldn’t stand it.

He enjoyed the relief of a few moments alone as he stacked crates of golden-green olives onto the back of the truck in the afternoon.

‘Feels like she’s always been here, hmm?’

Berengario’s voice cut into his thoughts, making him realise how deeply he’d descended into his own miserable mind when he usually enjoyed the camaraderie of the raccolta. ‘What?’

‘Julia.’ Berengario gave him a nudge and Alex glanced over to see her in conversation with Davide as they laid out the nets for the next tree.

‘Hmph,’ was all he could say in reply, especially when he saw her smile at Davide. In the afternoon sun, she’d taken off the jacket and wore a peach-coloured hoodie that seemed to accentuate the contrast between her blonde hair and dark eyes. Wearing work gloves, her sleeves pushed up her arms and her wide-leg jeans drawing attention to her height, she made a picture he could have gazed at for a lot longer than he would allow himself.

‘I’m heading to the mill with the first load of berries,’ Berengario continued.

‘Va ben,’ he responded automatically in the affirmative.

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