A Taste of Home by Heidi Swain (the beginning after the end read novel TXT) 📕

I should never have come here. As soon as the doctor arrived, I would head back to town and get the bus to Peterborough and then book a flight back to Puglia.

This whole debacle was a disaster, I’d made a huge mistake and so had Mum in thinking that I’d fit in here. It was foolish of her and me to think it was necessary for me to come. A lot had happened in the time since she’d left and neither of us had had the sense to realise that.

‘Get out!’ he shouted again, making me flinch.

‘Now then Bill,’ said a calm voice behind me. ‘What’s all the fuss? I can hear you out on the road.’

I spun round.

‘She’s not my wife,’ he said again. ‘She’s not my Felicity.’

‘I’m Doctor Clarke,’ said the woman who had slipped in unheard, thanks to the furore. ‘I’m here so see Mr Brown. Who are you?’

‘She’s not my wife!’ my grandfather persisted, his words accompanied by an accusatory finger. ‘She’s not my wife.’

‘Would you mind waiting outside please?’

I couldn’t get back to the kitchen and outside fast enough.

My hands were shaking as I reached for my rucksack. I couldn’t believe I’d made such a mess of everything. I hadn’t been so naive as to think my turning up would go without a hitch, but I hadn’t for a single second thought it would all go so spectacularly wrong either. Twice I’d stupidly blurted out my name, and in the process, ruined everything. Right on cue, Mum’s letter, safe and snug with Nonna’s recipe, rustled against the fabric of my shirt. Should I leave it, I wondered?

My fingers hovered over the pocket for the briefest moment and then retracted. No, I’d keep it with me and disappear again without a trace. With any luck, my grandfather’s delirium would stop him from remembering the ugly little scene that had just played out once he’d recovered. Assuming he did. And with even more luck, the doctor wouldn’t mention me, Vicky would be too busy and stressed to remember our brief exchange, and it would be as if I’d never existed.

‘Blast,’ I muttered, as I pulled out my phone and tried to ring for a taxi.

Not a single bar of signal was filled. I hoisted my pack higher and stepped out of the door. Hopefully I wouldn’t have to walk too far along the drove before I hit, if not a signal hotspot, then perhaps a lukewarm one.

The distant drone of an engine met my ears as I reached the farm gate and I swallowed down the lump in my throat which had grown even bigger because of it. It was a Ducati motorbike engine, there was no mistaking it.

Alessandro had strictly forbidden his son from buying a motorbike, but that hadn’t stopped Marco firing up YouTube and watching endless videos of the powerful machines going round and round the circuits at Mugello and Misano, or pointing out that with his famous surname, a bike should have been his birthright.

It used to drive both me and Nonna crackers, but in my heightened emotional state, it made me want to cry. In that moment I would have given anything to swap the dusty drove road in front of me for the equally dusty track which led to the Rossis’ farm. This had to be a sign. I needed to get back to my haven in Puglia as soon as possible.

The bike was on me in a blink of an eye and turned smoothly into the farm gateway as I took a step out of the way. The person riding it was clearly a guy. Tall and well-built, easily filling the leathers which matched the machine’s classic red livery. I turned back to the road and tried to decide which way to go.

‘Wait up,’ called the rider as he cut the engine.

I had no intention of ‘waiting up’. I just wanted to get far away as quickly as possible.

‘Don’t take another step!’ he crossly shouted, when I didn’t stop.

Was he for real? Who the hell did he think he was?

‘Are you talking to me?’ I scowled, spinning back to face him and easily matching his aggression.

If he was looking for a row, he’d certainly picked the right moment and the right person come to that. I could feel all of my grief and frustration welling up. It really wouldn’t take much for my volcano of emotions to erupt on an epic scale.

‘I don’t see anybody else here,’ he shot back.

He unzipped the front of the all-in-one suit to reveal a broad chest encased in a plain dark T-shirt. His helmet and gloves were already balanced on the bike seat and I had to resist the urge to march over and knock them off. I also had to resist the flutter in my chest which occurred in response to the sudden and shocking spark of attraction which rushed through me as I took in his thick dark hair and handsome face.

What a ridiculous and inconvenient moment for me to fancy someone!

‘What do you want?’ I haughtily asked, struggling to extinguish the growing flame as he ran his hands through his hair and readjusted his glasses.

The tough biker image, combined with the studious looking frames and glowering mood, was a total contradiction, but a very sexy one. I could almost feel Mum’s elbow nudging me in the ribs and see the mischievous smile which would have lit up her beautiful face had she been standing next to me. She always had an eye for a handsome man. I ignored what I knew would have been her reaction to this guy’s arrival and instead focused on snuffing out the flame of desire.

‘What?’ I shrugged.

The biker and I stood staring at each other for what must have been just a couple of seconds, but felt far longer. I couldn’t be sure, but he seemed to be as taken aback by the sight of me as I was by the look of him.

‘Who exactly are