“And you don’t think that will be a big deal?”
“They already know about you.”
“They do?”
“It’s a small town. Everyone knows each other. So yes, they already know I’ve spent the week with you. My mom has heard about it from about twenty different people.”
I felt like I was under a microscope, under the careful surveillance of cameras and intelligence officers. “Now I understand why you’ve never done this with a woman in Taormina.”
He gave a quiet laugh. “If my mother knew about all my extracurricular activities, she’d take me to an exorcist.”
“Does she know what you do for a living?”
He raised his hand and twisted it left and right, indicating his knowledge was wishy washy. “Yes, but we don’t talk about it. She chooses to pretend it’s not happening. Helps her cope.”
“You really think this is a good idea?”
“I’ve got to go. I haven’t spent as much time with them on this trip as I should have—not that I have any regrets.” Big and burly, he sat beside me on the bed, his weight making the mattress dip, all of his muscles hard and more like stone than human flesh. And he had this lightheartedness to his eyes, this contagious energy that drew me in. “And I don’t want you to spend your last night in Taormina alone.”
“I’ll be fine—”
“Sweetheart, what are you afraid of? Because I thought you remembered how tough you are.”
“Jumping off a rock is not the same as meeting an Italian mother. They’re vicious.”
He chuckled. “My mother is great, I promise you. There will be great food, wine, and people. It’s the perfect Taormina send-off. One thing my family does well is hospitality. So, just come.”
“You’re sure?” I asked, not wanting to put him in a tough spot.
“Yes.”
“I just don’t want you to be bombarded with a million questions.”
“They’ve already bombarded me. There’s really nothing new they can ask me at this point. So you may as well come and have a good time.”
“Well . . . if you’re sure.”
His hand slid into my hair at the back of my neck, and he tipped my head. “I’m absolutely sure.” Then he kissed me, kissed me slow and tender, a tantalizing embrace with his soft, full lips. When he started to lean me back into the bed, I knew he wanted me again. Not a throw-me-on-the-bed kind of want, but a gentle want, the kind that would take time neither of us had before dinner. But we made time for it anyway.
We took a taxi farther up the mountain above Taormina because there wasn’t a lot of parking in a city like this. We were dropped off outside, and I could see the terrace lit up with a stream of white lights, dozens of people already talking and drinking, music playing over the speakers.
It was a beautiful house, a grand two-story villa with unobstructed views of the sea. “Damn, the restaurant business does well,” I said as I walked to the front door with him, wearing wedged heels with my sundress and jean jacket.
“Notthatwell,” he said as he walked with me. “I bought this for her.”
“Oh.”
“After putting up with my bullshit all her life, she deserved it.”
“What kind of bullshit?”
“Oh, pretty much anything you can think of.” He opened the front door, that playful smirk on his lips, and he gave me a gentle smack on the ass when I stepped over the threshold.
It was a beautiful entryway with a round table in the center, an enormous vase of flowers atop it. Other people had already placed their purses and coats on the coat hangers and one of the couches. The smell of dinner hit us right when we walked in, and just when I thought Iwas too nervous to have an appetite, the hunger suddenly gnawed at my stomach.
“Beatrice, I told you to turn the arancini. Now they’re going to burn.”
“Ma, I told you I already turned it—twice.”
