You Had Me at Merlot: Part 2 by Lisa Dickenson Read Free Book Online Page B

Italian very well but are absolutely entranced by
     our culture anyway. And that you are very vain and like to take a lot of photos of yourself wherever you go.’
    ‘You told them I was taking a selfie?’
    ‘Yes. I was like, look how beautiful she is, why wouldn’t she take a lot of photos of herself?’
    ‘Thank you, for the compliment, and for saving me from ending up in an Italian prison. Can I buy you a gelato?’
    ‘Um, YES.’ Jamie led me straight into the nearest
gelateria
, of which there was practically one on every corner, and we were faced with the agonising decision of which flavour to choose
     from the rows of tubs overflowing with soft, pillowy ice cream, all swirled with sauces and decorated with carved fruit.
    ‘What’s
fior di latte
?’ I asked Jamie.
    ‘It’s “flower of milk” – it means the best bits of milk. It’s a little bit sweet, like thick cream.’
    ‘Sold, I like trying new flavours. What’ll you have?’
    ‘The best flavour,
stracciatella
. It’s the same as yours, but with chocolate flakes in it.’
    I ordered and paid, all in broken Italian which had Jamie sniggering beside me, and we stepped back outside onto the cobbled
     street.
    ‘I just have something I need to do, really quickly, and then I’m going to take you to secret Florence. Will you be okay just
     hanging out here for a few minutes?’
    ‘Of course,’ I said through a mouthful of gelato, which I couldn’t bring myself to stop eating, even to talk.
    Off he went, and I took a slow stroll down the street, peering through the glass in the many arched windows of the shops.
     I stopped outside an
intimissimi
, and gazed at the slim, slowly rotating mannequins with pert bottoms in chic, frilly undergarments.
    I took a spoonful of ice cream. I was not the owner of any chic undergarments. Don’t get me wrong, just because I’m single
     doesn’t mean I only wear multi-pack briefs from Tesco (or at least I only do on gym days). I possess a fabulous array of brightly
     coloured thongs and sequin-bedazzled bras, but it’s been an awfully long time since I’ve bothered to match them. Or buy anything
     sexy. The sexiest thing I own is a way-too-small corset I forked out for at an Ann Summers party at university, which I keep
     for that special occasion that has never happened and if I dragged it out now I’d feel like a right lemon.
    But this lingerie was pretty, feminine, stylish. It was all dusky pinks and creams and carbon greys. I wondered if I should
     get some.
    I took another spoonful of ice cream. Would Jamie like this kind of underwear?
    ‘Going shopping or just admiring the view?’ he asked, standing next to me and making me snort ice cream and blush all at once.
    ‘Well, those mannequins do have fantastic bums,’ I coughed. ‘Shall we go?’
    ‘I got you a present.’ He handed me a brown paper bag and I tried to shake from my mind the present I’d just been contemplating
     giving him. I pulled out an electric blue T-shirt and unfolded it to see emblazoned on the front, in the Coca-Cola font, the
     words ‘Ciao Bella’.
    ‘For me?’
    ‘For you. To remember Italy by. I thought it was perfect.’
    ‘As if I could forget Italy.’ I was touched and looked up at him, holding the T-shirt close to my chest. ‘Thanks Jamie, this
     is sweet of you.’
    ‘It’s nothing really, just … you suit the name Bella. It suits you.’
    I ran my fingers over the words. ‘I’m having the best time so far. I really didn’t think I would. And you’re helping.’
    ‘You didn’t think you’d have fun?’
    ‘Not this much fun. You know, with the whole not-looking-for-love thing.’
    ‘I’m having fun, too. Now, how are your feet? Can you handle a walk or do you want to take the bus to our final stop?’
    ‘I’m walking; I don’t want to miss a thing.’
    We set off, following broad, leafy roads to the outskirts of the city, crossing over the Arno River and on to the south bank,
     where we started to