I was so in love.
Being with him, holding his hand, snuggling into his side . . . laughing and teasing and being fully us . . . it was a perfect day. And when I woke to another TMZ barrage of images of us lip-locked on the Ponte Vecchio, I simply smiled and mentally high-fived myself for kissing such an amazing human being.
But I had things I needed to do today. Important things. I insisted Jack be ready to leave with me by ten o’clock in the morning.
“What’s up, Chiara?” he asked as we walked downstairs. “Where are we going?”
“Pisa,” I answered.
Silence for a couple steps.
“What’s in Pisa?”
“You’ll see.” I winked at him.
The drive promised to be fun. Well . . . once we settled our argument over who would drive. Jack pulled out all the Lord Knight stops.
“I’m driving,” I said as we reached the car.
“And as I said, I would like the opportunity to learn how to drive, so perhaps I should do so.” Jack made it sound so reasonable.
Of course, our massive shopping spree the day before meant Jack was one hundred percent international playboy. Slim, dark gray wool pants, mossy green collared shirt with the top button undone and sleeves cuffed, hair cut short on the sides but left a mop of auburn curls on top.
My heart did this Irish step-dancing jig every time I saw him. How had I bamboozled him into liking me?
Oh, that’s right. I shot him and landed him on a boatload of pain killers. That was about on par with how things went with most my boyfriends.
I was a freaking genius.
“Jack, driving in downtown Florence, Italy is not for the faint of heart, no matter how many years of driving experience you have. But to start out here? For the first time? Nope. Not gonna happen.”
“Chiara, I have been observing your driving habits for the past year. I assure you, I understand all the rules and mechanics of it.”
My eyebrows instantly drew down. “Was that a jab at my driving?”
Jack paused, staring me down. “Mentally review my comment and see if there is an insult there.”
I frowned, replying his words.
Chiara, I have been observing your driving habits for the past year. I assure you, I understand all the rules and mechanics of it.
On the surface, they seemed . . . okay. Maybe. Was this some sort of test? Was he training me to see insults? Or helping me tonotsee them?
My frown deepened.
“There’s no insult there,” he helped me along.
“See. This is what I mean.” I poked his chest. “I gotta stop doing this.”
He winced. “Ribs. Chest wound.”
Grrrr.
“Jack, I’m a horrid, awful girlfriend. This is what I’m talking about. I take a good thing and totally mess it up by being obnoxious and paranoid.”
“Well, it’s too late now. You’re mine. No take backs.” He threw a heavy arm around my shoulder. “You’ll just have to make it up to me.” His expression was tender and sorrowful and completely, utterlyinsincere.
My eyes narrowed.
