of the Med. Some of the people even waved at Ben as the boat sped by.
‘That’s mine,’ he said, raising his voice to be heard over the engine as he pointed to an impressive white villa dominating the rock face.
Katya stared at it. It was huge, sprawling along the cliff top, its clean white lines and arched windows elegant. Purple bougainvillea crept along the façade on one side, a colourful foil to the stark whiteness. It too had steps that led down the cliff to the sea below, with more bougainvillea creeping along the iron railings, blazing a trail of color down to the sea.
‘That’s where we’ll live,’ he said.
She glanced at him quickly meeting his unflinching brown gaze. So, he was taking her up on her offer to cohabit? She turned back quickly, her heart beating a mad tattoo. What would it be like living in this beautiful white home? It looked like a palace sitting atop the cliffs in all its dazzling white glory and Katya found it difficult to digest. In a couple of short months her whole life had been turned upside down and she wasn’t sure about anything.
She had a moment’s yearning for her previous life as the villa passed from her direct line of sight. At least she’d known who she was before she’d become pregnant. She’d been her own person. Now she was having a baby and was about to live in a palatial villa in Italy with a one-hundred-and-eighty degree view of the Mediterranean in the company of a devilishly good looking count.
She knew how to be Katya Petrova, poor Russian nurse. She didn’t know how to be this Katya. Ben’s Katya.
The scenery continued to dazzle her as the boat sped on. Positano appeared in the distance, nestled on the shoreline at the feet of the soaring mountains behind. As it grew bigger she could see the alternating orange and blue lines of the deckchairs adorning the front, a striking contrast to the black stones of the beach.
Rows and rows of villas clung to the two main cliffs in a haphazard, colourful display, each one on top of the next, crammed in so the rock of the cliff wasn’t visible. Just buildings. Private homes sharing space with tourist hotels. The impressive Duomo nestled between, dominating the seafront.
People, locals and tourists alike, cluttered the beach, swam in the sea or sunned themselves.
Katya had a moment of complete disconnectedness. She was really here. In a beautiful Italian seaside resort village. An Italian count beside her. It seemed too incredible to be true. Never, even as child, had she dreamed this big.
Ben cut the engine and dropped anchor a little way from the shore. Katya watched as he shaded his eyes from the sun and searched through the crowd of people. He spotted who he wanted on the short rickety wooden pier, then put his fingers in his mouth and let out a short sharp whistle. ‘Hey, Marco!’
A man turned and Ben waved at him. The man dived into the sea and swam quickly to one of the many small boats that bobbed calmly nearby. He hauled himself in, pulled up the anchor and started the motor.
‘You ready?’ Ben asked, turning to Katya as Marco’s small boat with the outboard motor grew closer.
She nodded and stood just as Marco reached The Mermaid and pulled up alongside.
‘Hey, Marco. Thanks for the lift,’ Ben said in Italian.
‘Anything for you, Count,’ Marco replied, grinning.
‘This is Katya.’ Ben introduced them in English and Marco held out his hand to help Katya into his boat.
Marco said something in Italian to Ben and they both laughed. ‘Bella,’ he said to Katya and grinned. ‘Benedetto is a lucky man.’
Ben roared with laughter and said something else in Italian and they both laughed again as Ben also stepped into the boat. Katya sat on one of the wooden cross seats and Ben plonked himself beside her and placed his hand on her knee and smiled down at her.
It was such a dazzling smile, Katya forgot to breathe, and she certainly forgot to tell him to get his bloody hand off her. It seemed that Ben wanted to portray them as a young, in love couple and Katya gave him a small smile back. If he thought it was important to pretend to be something they weren’t then she could go along with that. As long as he remembered that their act had a definite end date.
They reached the jetty a minute later and