His Million-Dollar Marriage Proposal

She sank her teeth into her lip, finding that an all-too-accurate description of what Antonio had done to her. “There was someone,” she acknowledged quietly, “and yes, he broke my heart. But in hindsight, it was for the best. It made me see his true colors.”

“Which were?”

“That he was not to be trusted. That men like him are not to be trusted.”

He eyed her. “That is a massive generalization. So he hurt you...so he burned you badly. He is only one man, Chiara. What are you going to do? Spend the rest of your life avoiding a certain kind of man because he might hurt you?”

Her mouth set at a stubborn angle. “I’m not willing to take the risk.”

“Did you love him?”

“I thought I did.” She gave him a pointed look. “I could ask you the same thing. Where does your fear of commitment come from? Because clearly, you have one.”

A lift of his broad shoulder. “I simply don’t care to.”

“Why not?”

“Because relationships are complicated dramas I have no interest in participating in.” He took a sip of his drink. Rested his glass on his lean, corded thigh. “What about family?” he asked, tipping his glass at her. “I know nothing about yours other than the fact that your father, Carlo, runs Ferrante’s. What about your mother? Brothers? Sisters?”

A shadow whispered across her heart. “My mother died of breast cancer when I was fifteen. I’m an only child.”

His gaze darkened. “I’m sorry. You were close to her?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “She ran the bakery with my father. She was amazing—wonderful, wise. A pseudo parent to half the kids in the neighborhood. My father always said most of the clientele came in just to talk to her.”

“You miss her,” he said.

Heat stung the back of her eyes. “Every day.” It was a deep, dark hollow in her soul that would never be filled.

Lazzero curled his fingers around hers. Strong and protective, they imparted a warmth that seemed to radiate right through her. “My father died when I was nineteen,” he murmured. “I know how it feels.”

Oh. She bit her lip. “How?”

“He was an alcoholic. He drank himself to death.”

She absorbed his matter-of-fact countenance. “And your mother? Is she still alive?”

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