VITALE’S blunt confession hit Zara like a brick thrown at a glass window, shattering her composure. She recalled the tour of the gardens that he had said he had arranged. She remembered the gardener waving at him that same day and she turned pale before a flush of mortified pink mantled her cheekbones.

　　‘Oh, my goodness, what an idiot I am!’ she gasped, her temper rising hot and fast because she felt exceedingly foolish. ‘But you told me this place belonged to your uncle—’

　　‘No, I didn’t. I only told you that I was staying here with my uncle and his family when your aunt worked on the garden—’

　　‘Semantics—you...