Whenever Philippa tried to talk to him about Carina and Giorgio, Salvatore shut her down immediately. He seemed determined that this wedding should go ahead, as did Rafaella, and Philippa couldn’t understand why it was so important to them or why she felt that everyone was in on something apart from her. In all the years she’d lived with the Russo family, she had never felt excluded once. Now, for the first time, she was starting to feel like an outsider. Glancing out of the kitchen window, she saw Salvatore and Carina stroll across the terrace, passing the fountain with its statue of Bacchus, the Roman god of wine and festivity, on their way to the vineyards beyond. Sometimes, Philippa felt that she loved and hated those grapes in equal measure. Yes, they had given her a wonderful life, with two beautiful houses, holidays to the South of France and the Seychelles, as well as the opportunity to mingle with interesting and cultured people, but it felt as though she was forever coming second to a pile of fruit – at least in her husband’s eyes. It seemed to be a theme with the men in her life, she thought wryly. Wait! the young man wanted to shout, but knowing it was futile the word died on his lips. He nodded as their eyes met for a split second. They stared at each other in horror and disbelief at what had just happened. One of them had killed a man, a fellow soldier and compatriot. This crazy war had turned everything on its head, and now they were fugitives.

Swept away by his enthusiasm, the wedding preparations temporarily abandoned, Carina hurriedly followed her father out of the room while her mother mused that this wasn’t the first time her husband had brushed his daughter’s wedding aside recently. Carol replied: "Yes." Nina said: "Are you reading a book at the moment Carol? What are you reading?" The meteorologist replied: "More or less," after Nina quizzed her on whether she "always had a book on the go."Philippa was the epitome of British elegance combined with Italian style. She was in her early fifties, her long blond bob expertly cut and styled, the perfectly blended highlights given that little something extra from exposure to the Italian sun. She wore a shift dress in cream linen with a tan belt that emphasized her hourglass figure – less slender than it had been in her youth, but still adored by her husband. A simple gold wedding band encircled her ring finger, with classic pearls at her ears and throat.

Carina stiffened, knowing her mother would react like this. ‘Yes, and I’ve just had the same conversation with him, but there’s nothing he can do.’Jon said: "It is indeed, Carol. And Nina. We are going to be talking about - people might be reading books over the bank holiday... Read More Related Articles Salerno had been heavily bombed in recent weeks, the scene of fierce fighting. Italy had withdrawn its support for Germany, and the Allies had landed in Sicily before making their way to the mainland. Now the country had been split in two, with Mussolini’s supporters in the north and those loyal to King Victor Emmanuel in the south, effectively a state of civil war. PDF / EPUB File Name: Secrets_of_the_Villa_Amore_-_Carol_Kirkwood.pdf, Secrets_of_the_Villa_Amore_-_Carol_Kirkwood.epub Busy, with the wedding plans. Although I just found out that Giorgio is leaving for a few days. He has business in the US.’ Philippa’s tone made it clear what she thought of that. ‘The timing isn’t the best, but he’s an ambitious young man. He wants to provide for his family,’ Rafaella said neutrally. Carina’s mother, Philippa, was Scottish. At first glance, people often thought Carina was too, with her light skin and fair colouring, but those close to her knew that she was Italian through and through – fiercely loyal, quietly determined, with a stubborn streak that meant she wasn’t afraid to fight her corner and stand her ground.

How is your day going?’ Rafaella asked as she began wiping down the table where she’d just been working. The two young soldiers joined in heartily with each toast, raising their glasses high in the air before crashing them together with cries of ‘ Salute!’ They shouted and cheered with the rest of the patrons, hammering noisily on the wooden tabletop. It was the safest thing to do right now; impossible to know from appearances who was friend and who was foe. The multiple third-person POV works to an extent in providing their thoughts, but the voice shifts repeatedly from one person to another. At the same time, it’s not omnipresent narration either. This makes it hard to connect with the characters.I was hoping Giorgio would face the music for his actions. While he does to a minor extent, the book sadly sweeps a good portion of it under the carpet. Financial fraud is one thing, infidelity and mistreating women is another matter. He isn’t even questioned about it. That is NOT acceptable. Do you have to go?’ Carina murmured, wrapping her arms around her fiancé as she gazed up at his handsome face. Then he was gone, and Carina was left fighting a whirl of emotions: frustration, confusion, disappointment. The wedding will take place in Villa Amore, where family and friends will gather but there are so many secrets that will blow up around this union. Why has Carina's dad hired a bodyguard for her and how will she feel with Tom following her everywhere ? What secrets are Salvador keeping from his wife and Carina, and will their marriage crumble when she leaves. What has the groom been up to and why has he gone to America a week before the wedding?

The dialogue is nice, but I didn’t like it. The conversations sound off in many places. It’s like the characters are acting their part in a play rather than being themselves on paper. Nonsense, that can wait.’ Salvatore waved away his wife’s words. ‘The wedding will take care of itself, everything is in hand.’

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Carina looked from one parent to the other. She could sense her mother’s frustration, and felt torn between the two of them. Then he ran too, and kept on running, and didn’t stop until he was far away from that dreadful moment. Giorgio, we’re almost married. Surely it doesn’t matter if we . . .’ She let the question hang, an unspoken invitation.