Page 125 of A Scottish Teashop in Napoli

Lucy shook her head, again reminded that it took more than designer dresses and four-inch heels to master the art of Italian cool.

One hand clasping Dario’s, the other her shoes, she walked barefoot across the square, her stomach churning – and not just from hunger.

Pizzeria Don Pasquale was tucked away in a narrow cobbled street, a ten-minute walk from the opera house.

‘Va bene?’

Lucy winced.

Before she could register what was happening, Dario had scooped her up in his arms.Richard Gere, eat your heart out.

In stark contrast to its warm, friendly interior, the entrance to the pizzeria was rather shabby, with graffiti scrawled over its crumbling yellow walls.

‘Benvenuto!’ said the owner, greeting Dario with a warm embrace, like a long-lost brother.

‘Buonasera,Pino. I’d like you to meet my friend, Lucy.’

‘Piacere,’ said Pino, kissing her on both cheeks.

He smelled of charcoal mixed with garlic and rosemary.

Conversation stopped as the diners turned around, casting admiring glances at the well-dressed pair.

Pino gave a low whistle.‘Che bella coppia.Beautiful couple. Dario, Lucy, you bring some class to my pizzeria.’

Dario shrugged nonchalantly. ‘We try.’

‘Come, I show you to your table.’

As they passed by the counter, a ruddy-cheekedpizzaiolo– pizza chef – lifted his gaze from the dough he was kneading. ‘Eh, Dario!Come stai?Did you see the match?’

As Dario stopped to chat, Pino uncorked a bottle of Chianti and sat down next to Lucy.

‘Allora,you are the face of the Scottish teashop.Sì?’

Lucy nodded.

‘Dario has told me a lot about you.’

‘Don’t believe a word,’ Lucy joked, secretly thrilled.

‘Would you like to taste the wine?’

Lucy smiled. ‘No need. I love all Italian wine, just as I love the food, the language, the architecture—’

‘And Italian men?’

Lucy gulped down a large swig and nearly choked.

Pino’s voice then took on a serious tone. ‘I heard about the fire.’

Lucy’s heart missed a beat. ‘Dario saved my life.’

‘He is a good man. The best.’

‘Eh, Pino!’ came a roaring shout from the kitchen. ‘Telefono!’

‘Scusi.Dario, my friend, we are talking about you.’