She narrowed her eyes and went to her desk. She looked up a few times, and after she realized I wasn’t budging, she moved her torch closer.
If she only knew that she’d set fire to my world the day before, and I could feel it inching closer and closer, so fucking close, I felt overheated. I removed my jacket, and a man appeared to take it from me.
Adone cleared his throat.
When that didn’t take my attention, a loudbang!rang out through the store, followed by the cracking of glass. I didn’t look toward the noise until Sistine did. I knew what it was: her sister throwing a temper tantrum. And I was right. Capri had slammed the door to the case so hard it had cracked the glass.
Adone apologized toZioRomeo, then cleared his throat before he asked me if I needed anything. He wasn’t outrightcalling me out on being in the store for no reason, but it was a subtle attempt to figure out what my intentions were.
What had me narrowing my eyes was when Adone set his hand on Capri’s back and set her in front of Sistine. He was blocking my view with one I didn’t fucking care to see.
ZioRomeo looked between Adone and me as I moved to the side. I gave him a look daring him to pull the same fucking move again. This time, he moved Capri to the other side of him and asked me again if I needed anything. She growled a bit in her throat, and then her eyes narrowed on Sistine before her stare came back to mine, a sweet smile on her face.
“Yes,” I spoke to Adone in Italian. “I do. Sistine will design it and create it.”
“Capri—” he started.
“She can only design,” I said. “I want the same artist from start to finish.”
Adone stared at me, debating, then came to the smartest conclusion: he stepped to the side and invited me to the back. He spoke to Sistine in Italian, giving her instructions to take my order. She’d be designing the piece and creating it.
Her cheeks puffed out, and I knew she was fighting the urge to huff at me. She stood taller, though, and grabbed her notebook. After Adone returned to the front of the store, she met my eyes.
“I do not know what game you are up to, SignorCasanova, but whatever it is, I am not playing. Tell me what you want.”
I ran my fingers along her desk, and her eyes flew to my hands, inspecting them, just like she’d done the day before. As quickly as they flew down, they returned to my face, full of fire. I perched on the edge of her desk, and she pinched her lips at me.
“I want a name plate—the name Annie,” I said. “I don’t care about metals, and as far as the design, I want the name in script,and a cowgirl boot to be added to it somehow. A diamond for the ‘I’ in the name. Something dainty, for a slim neck.”
She wrote down the name and what I’d told her. “Poor Annie,” she mumbled, staring at the page and her notes.
I used my finger to pull the notebook down. “I know this is a process, but you’ll approve it from start to finish. You have creative control.”
She looked up, and I almost fell off the desk. She had those eyes. The kind of eyes that could deliver a look that could reform a man’s life to fit hers. They were innocent, but so damn...knowing. She looked at me like she’d known me her entire life, but at the same time, I was new.
“Needless to ask, but I am required to, SignorCasanova.” She whispered the “Casanova.” “Price does not matter?”
I nodded.
She jotted down a few more notes, then lifted the book to her chest and looked me in the eye. “Anything else?”
“A question.”
She sighed—it was fucking dramatic. As dramatic as her eye rolls.
“Tell me, do you always wear your hair that way.”
Her hand went straight to her hair before she blinked at me. “This is not a professional question.”
“Humor me. Answer it.”
She studied my face. “I work with a torch. To keep it down would be a hazard.”
“Ahhh.” I sighed. “You answered without truly answering.”
She didn’t respond. We stared at each other. Then she glanced behind me and leaned in close. “I know what you are up to, CasanovaPrince. It is not working.”
“Tell me,” I whispered back, only because it set a more intimate mood between us. “What am I doing.”
