“My head is fine, but thank you for your…concern last night.” His eyes darkened, as if he was remembering the scene.
Her face flushed, but she gave him a mild smile. “I think the bare minimum of my host duty is to make sure my guest doesn’t lose consciousness.”
His laugh was deep and sensual. “You can consider your duty well-done.”
“I’ll take that as glowing praise,” she said primly, but as embarrassment heated her cheeks, she found herself smiling, too.
As Catarina took a sip of her wine, she studied Massimo, aware that he wanted something from her, even demanded it from her at their first meeting. That day, the demand had felt too much like obedience for her to ignore it. Was he trying a softer tactic to the same end, or was this softness an opening to another possibility between them?
Explore it, her body begged traitorously, so willing to ignore the wariness this implacable man stirred inside her. Or maybe this flutter in her stomach was something far more tempting than wariness. Maybe this was why her father had kept her hidden away, she thought darkly. Because Giuseppe d’Avalos knew the power that one person could hold over another. He lived with the loss of it every day. Had he arranged this marriage to help her avoid the same kind of devastation? The idea was a revelation. She could see the merits of this approach, but it was not possible with Massimo. Not when it felt as if he was a gravitational force, and she was helpless to resist the pull.
The table gave her a little space, enough to remind herself that she, too, could play Massimo’s game. She could use this situation to better understand this man who was determined enough to pursue her that he’d ignored avalanche conditions. Despite the fact that he had shown so little interest in her own wants and needs back in Milan. In his bed last night he had shown a completely different side of himself, and now he had prepared a meal for her. At the very least, a little prying could help her make a decision about their future.
“Have you visited Norway before?” she asked.
“I have stayed in Oslo for business, but I have never seen this.” His large hand indicated the windows that lined the room, all clouded in endless snow.
“Impressive, isn’t it?”
Massimo looked out into the white abyss, and she wondered if he was contemplating the storm that had the power to bring even him to a halt? When he turned back to her, he gave a subtle nod in assent and took a drink of his wine.
“But I imagine you’ve traveled to plenty of other far-flung places,” she said.
“My travel is almost exclusively to cities for work.”
“But as a child…?”
“When my parents traveled, Alessandro and I did not come.” There was a flicker of a frown on his lips when he mentioned his parents, but he smoothed it over with a smile. “Though a few of our boarding schools could qualify as far-flung.”
“In Italy?”
“The far-flung schools were in Switzerland, but the last one we attended was in Milan.” He chuckled. “Our grandparents wanted to keep a closer eye on us.”
Catarina was intrigued by this emerging sketch of Massimo’s background. Multiple boarding schools suggested a teen who exercised far less of his current iron control.
“It must have been a comfort to have your brother with you,” she said a little wistfully, thinking back to that strange feeling of isolation at a new school.
Massimo laughed. “Alessandro was often more trouble than comfort.”
And yet, the warmth in his voice suggested a closeness to his brother.
“All those years at boarding school, and yet you cook? I must say it’s a little unexpected,” she said. “Even for a man of all your accomplishments.”
Massimo flashed her a devastatingly handsome smile, threatening her last defenses. “You may want to reserve your praise until after you try it.”
She gestured to the bandage on his forehead, just barely visible under his thick locks of hair. “I have heard many strange reports of survivors of car crashes, people speaking with ghosts or waking up with full novels in their head that they had to write down. But I have never heard of a crash that left someone with professional-level cooking skills. Truly, it’s a miracle.”
Massimo’s stark features lightened, and he laughed, his eyes crinkling in the corners in a way that made her heart stutter. He had been called a lot of things in the press—driven, obstinate, demanding—and their first meeting had more than confirmed those descriptions. But right now, Massimo looked almost…at ease. She was wary of the way she felt herself softening toward him.
“I am afraid the explanation is rather prosaic,” he said, the humor still dancing in his voice. “My grandparents did not grow up wealthy. When my grandmother saw the direction my father was taking the business, she decided to arm her grandchildren with more practical skills.”
“How very sensible of her,” she said. “I wish I could give her my compliments.”
“She would be delighted to know her efforts were not wasted,” he said, though Catarina doubted his grandmother had worried about Massimo’s determination to master whatever the lesson had been. Even in the little time Catarina had known him, she had gleaned that anything that Massimo did, he would relentlessly pursue excellence.
Massimo looked out the window and added, “Her lessons have proved useful in many ways.”
“Indeed. My father tells me that you and your brother rebuilt your family’s business from the ground up.”
