I held out my hand and she took it. I kissed her knuckles, my eyes rising to meet hers. “Rocco Fausti. Give me your name. Apart frombella.”
She laughed, and her cheeks flushed scarlet. “Scarlett,” she said, and I almost sighed.
“Ah, Scarlett Poésy. The dancer.”
“You’ve seen me dance?” She laughed again, but it was lighter, more carefree.
“Yes, in Paris.” I smiled. “I thought I recognized you. Though I wasn’t positive. Tell me something,bella. You keep stealing my packages and using my name. What is the reason for this.”
“I didn’t—” She waved her left hand, and the sun hit her wedding rings, sending a sharp beam of light into my eyes. “Well, not really. A case of mistaken identity.”
Of course, her rings blinded me. Jewelry on a woman was a claim. Whoever the man was who had bestowed those rings upon her fingers wanted a man such as me to see them.
Doubtful the man knew I would kill him over this woman.
“Tell me that you enjoyed it,” I said.
“Yes. All of it was delicious.Grazie.” She shook the empty bottle at me to prove her point.
“I am no longer upset.”
“Good to know.”
I grinned, and she released a deep breath.
“Would you mind if we—” I cocked my head to the side, absorbing every inch of her. “Take a picture with me. You made such an impression. Your dance, I am referring to.” I wanted the picture because she was stunning. I also wanted the picture asproof. Whatever was going on was not as simple as this ballerina finding her way to Italy from Paris, using my name for packages, and buying my grandmother’s family home in the Tuscan hills.
“If you’ll stay for dinner.”
I smiled. “No even trade.” I left her to retrieve the camera from my car. When I returned, it was as if she had time to think, and whatever she was thinking went against her original plans.
“Listen,” she said, motioning for me to follow her to a terrace I was familiar with. “Do you mind eating outside? The weather is lovely, and it would be nice to enjoy it.”
True enough, but not the entire truth. I would not push her for it, though. “What are we having?”
She laughed, her cheeks heating again. “Your pears and your cheese—what’s left of them.”
“You are very beautiful when you blush,” I said. “Do not worry,bella. I have come to save the day. I have chicken, pasta, and some olives in my car. I was saving these to eat on the way home.”
“Perfect,” she said.
I invited myself into her kitchen after I grabbed the food from the car. Using pottery I had never seen before in the farmhouse, we plated everything together. We took our food on the back terrace, and while we ate, her eyes were on me, as if she were studying for a test. I did not mind it. Her attention felt nice. It was almost soothing, and so was her presence.
“Rocco,” she said, “tell me about yourself.”
I finished my bite and took a drink of Chianti. “I am an attorney in Florence. I spend my time between there and Maranello. Have you heard of it,bella?”
“I have.”
I nodded, wiping my mouth. “I come from a line of racers.”
“Like who?” Her response came too fast, and she tilted her head, leaning on her arm, slipping a hand through her beautiful hair. She took a sip out of her glass, the red wine staining her lips.
“My father is Lucious Fausti. You have heard of him?”
She blinked after a second. “I heard the name…somewhere before.”
My instincts were sharp and stabbing at me. She was keeping something from me.
