28
LIANA
It’s later than normal when I get back to Massimo’s place. I’ve buried myself in work, not ready to face him after last night, but it does surprise me he didn’t show up at the boutique, let alone text me all day.
I’m not upset about it—it’s just an observation—but it makes me think he’s up to something.
After taking the car elevator up to his place, I park in an open spot, then head inside. As I walk down the marble hallway toward our room, a delicious smell infiltrates my nostrils, and when I turn the corner to the kitchen, I see the island set up for two to eat.
Massimo’s standing there in charcoal slacks and a black button-up with the first few buttons undone. Butterflies erupt in my stomach at the sight of him while he pours two glasses of white wine.
He must feel my presence because with eyes still placed firmly on the glass he’s filling, he says, “Perfect timing.”
I slowly walk into the room. “Um, hi.”
He finally glances up, a charming smile taking over his face.
Stay strong, Liana.
“I made dinner. I hope you’re hungry after a long day of work.”
Unfortunately, I am, and unfortunately, whatever he made smellsamazing.
“You cooked?” I ask, a quirk in my brow as I walk over to the island.
He walks around the counter and places a glass of wine at each plate setting, then turns to face me. “Surprised,mia moglie?”
I narrow my gaze on him, but he just smiles and walks behind me.
“Let me take your coat,” he says, sliding his hands up my arms until they’re at my shoulders and he’s helping me out of it.
It’s just dinner. I can let the man make me some dinner without falling for him, right?
“I made us shrimp scampi. I believe it’s a favorite of yours?”
“I’m not going to bother asking how you know that, because to be honest, I’m starving, and I have to admit, it smells amazing.”
We take our seats at the counter. “Please,” Massimo says, gesturing to my plate that’s filled with the most mouthwatering shrimp scampi I’ve ever smelled. “Dig in.”
I take a bite and let out a moan as the garlic and lemon flavors explode in my mouth. “Oh my gosh.”
“I take it you like it?” he says with a satisfied smile on his face.
There’s no sense in not stroking his already inflated ego. “This has to be the best shrimp scampi I’ve ever had.”
He chuckles softly, then starts eating. We’re silent, nothing but the sounds of our silverware hitting our plates while we enjoy the food, which I’m thankful for. I’m not sure I could endure a conversation about last night right now.
Just when I think I’m going to get through this dinner silently, Massimo says, “So…”
“So…?” I repeat, then shove the last perfectly cooked shrimp into my mouth.
“Are we really going to pretend like last night never happened?”
My face heats. “I mean, we could,” I say, hoping to brush it off.
He laughs and sets the napkin from his lap next to his empty plate. “You’re something else, Liana.”
“What do you mean?”
