The Vineyards Of Calanetti
He pointed at the side-by-side elevators. “I don’t use those, and you can’t use them to get to my apartment.”
His breath tiptoed to her neck and trickled down her spine. Still, she kept her expression neutral when she turned and put them face-to-face, so close she could see the little flecks of silver in his eyes.
Just as her reactions couldn’t matter, how he looked—his sexy face, his smoky eyes—also had to be irrelevant. If she didn’t put all this into perspective now, this temptation could rule her life. Or ruin her life.
She gave him her most professional smile. “And I’d be a few floors away?”
“Not just a few floors, but also a locked elevator.”
Dangling the apartment key, he motioned for her to enter the elevator when it arrived. They rode up in silence. He unlocked the door to the available unit and she gasped.
“Oh, my God.” She spun to face him. “I can afford this?”
He laughed. “Yes.”
From the look of the lobby, she’d expected the apartment to be ultramodern. The kind of place she would have killed to have in New York. Black-and-white. Sharp, but sterile. Something cool and sophisticated for her and distant Paul.
But warm beiges and yellows covered these walls. The kitchen area was cozy, with a granite-topped breakfast bar where she could put three stools.
She saw it filled with people. Louisa. Coworkers from Mancini’s. And neighbors she’d meet who could become like a family.
She caught that thought before it could take root. Something about Italy always caused her to see things through rose-colored glasses, and if she didn’t stop, she was going to end up making this choice before she knew for certain that she could work with Rafe as a friend or a business associate, and forget about trying for anything more.
She turned to Rafe again. “Don’t make me want something I can’t have.”
“I already told you that you can afford it.”
“I know.”
“So why do you think you can’t have it?”
It was exactly what she’d dreamed of as a child, but she couldn’t let herself fall in love with it. Or let Rafe see just how drawn she was to this place. If he knew her weakness, he’d easily lure her into staying before she was sure it was the right thing to do.
She pointed at the kitchen, which managed to look cozy even with sleek stainless-steel appliances, dark cabinets and shiny surfaces. “It’s awfully modern.”
“So you want to go back to the farmhouse with the holes in the wall?”
“No.” She turned away again, though she lovingly ran her hand along the granite countertop, imagining herself rolling out dough to make cut-out cookies. She’d paint them with sugary frosting and serve them to friends at Christmas. “I want a homey kitchen that smells like heaven.”
“You have that at Mancini’s.”
“I want a big fat sofa with a matching chair that feels like it swallows you up when you sit in it.”
“You can buy whatever furniture you want.”
“I want to turn my thermostat down to fifty-eight at night so I can snuggle under thick covers.”
He stared at her as if she were crazy. “And you can do that here.”
“Maybe.”
“Undoubtedly.” He sighed. “You have an idealized vision of home.”
“Most foster kids do.”
He leaned his shoulder against the wall near the kitchen. His smoky eyes filled with curiosity. She wasn’t surprised when he said, “You’ve never really told me about your life. You mentioned getting shuffled from foster home to foster home, but you never explained how you got into foster care in the first place.”
She shrugged. Every time she thought about being six years old, or eight years old, or ten years old—shifted every few months to the house of a stranger, trying unsuccessfully to mingle with the other kids—a flash of rejection froze her heart. She was an adult before she’d realized no one had rejected her, per se. Each child was only protecting himself. They’d all been hurt. They were all afraid. Not connecting was how they coped.
Nonetheless, the memories of crying herself to sleep and longing for something better still guided her. It was why she believed she could keep her distance from Rafe. Common sense and a longing for stability directed her decisions. Along with a brutal truth. The world was a difficult place. She knew that because she’d lived it.
“There’s not much to tell. My mom was a drug addict.”
He winced.
“There’s no sense sugarcoating it.”
“Of course there is. Everyone sugarcoats his or her past. It’s how we deal.”
She turned to him again, surprised by the observation. She’d always believed living in truth kept her sane. He seemed to believe exactly the opposite.
“Yeah. What did you sugarcoat?”
“I tell you that I’m not a good bet as a romantic partner.”
She sniffed a laugh.
“What I should have said is that I’m a real bastard.”
She laughed again. “Seriously, Rafe. I got the message the first time. You want nothing romantic between us.”
“Mancini’s needs you and I am not on speaking terms with any woman I’ve ever dated. So I keep you for Mancini’s.”
She looked around at the apartment, unable to stop the warm feeling that flooded her when he said he would keep her. Still, he didn’t mean it the way her heart took it. So, remembering to use her common sense, she focused her attention on the apartment, envisioning it decorated to her taste. The picture that formed had her wrestling with the urge to tell him to get his landlord on the line so she could make an offer—then she realized something amazing.
“You knew I’d love this.”
He had the good graces to look sheepish. “I assumed you would.”
“No assuming about it, you knew.”
“All right, I knew you would love it.”
She walked over to him, as the strangest thought formed in her head. Maybe it wouldn’t take a genius to realize the way to entice a former foster child would be with a home. But no one had ever wanted her around enough to figure that out.
“How did you know?”
He shrugged. His strong shoulders lifted the black leather of his jacket and ruffled the curls of his long, dark hair. “It didn’t take much to realize that you’d probably lost your sense of home when your foster mother died.”
She caught his gaze. “So?”
“So, I think you came to Italy hoping to find it with her relatives.”
“They’re nice people.”
“Yes, but you didn’t feel a connection to Rosa’s nice relatives. Yet, you keep coming back to Mancini’s, because you did connect with us.”
Her heart stuttered. Even her almost fiancé hadn’t understood why she so desperately wanted to find Rosa’s family. But Rafe, a guy who had known her a little over two weeks, a guy she’d had a slim few personal conversations with, had seen it.
He’d also hit the nail on the head about Mancini’s. She felt they were her family. The only thing she didn’t have here in Italy was an actual, physical home.
And he’d found her one.
He cared about her enough to want to please her, to satisfy needs she kept close to her heart.
Afraid of the direction of her thoughts, she turned away and walked into the master bedroom. Seeing the huge space, her eyebrows rose. “Wow. Nice.”
Rafe was right behind her. “Are you changing the subject on me?”
She pivoted and faced him. He seemed genuinely clueless about what he was doing. Not just giving her everything she wanted, but caring about her. He was getting to know her—the real her—in a way no one else in her life ever had. And the urge to fall into his arms, confess her fears, her hopes, her longings, was so strong, she had to walk away from him. If she fell into his arms now, she’d never come out. Especially if he comforted her. God help her if he whispered anything romantic.
“I think we need to change the subject.”
“Why?”
She walked over to him again. For fifty cents, she’d answer him. She’d put her arms around his neck and tell him he was falling for her. The things he did—searching her out in Rome, making her general manager, helping her find a home—those weren’t things a boss did. No matter how much he believed he needed her as an employee, he also had feelings for her.
But he didn’t see it.
And she didn’t trust it. He’d said he was a bastard? What if he really was? What if he liked her now, but didn’t tomorrow?
“Because I’m afraid. Every time I put down roots, it fails.” She said the words slowly, clearly, so there’d be no misunderstanding. Rafe was a smart guy. If she stayed in Italy, shared the joy of making Mancini’s successful, no matter how strong she was, how much discipline she had, how much common sense she used, there was a chance she’d fall in love with him.
And then what?
Would she hang around his restaurant desperate for crumbs of affection from a guy who slept with her, then moved on?
That would be an epic fail. The very thought made her ill.
Because she couldn’t tell him that, she stuck with the safe areas. The things they could discuss.
“For as good as I am at Mancini’s, I can see us having a blowout fight and you firing me again. And for as much as I like the waitstaff, I can see them getting new jobs and moving on. This decision comes with risks for me. I know enough not to pretend things will be perfect. But I have to have at least a little security.”
“You and your security. Maybe to hell with security and focus on a little bit of happiness.”
Oh, she would love to focus on being happy. Touring Italy with him, stolen kisses, nights of passion. But he’d told her that wasn’t in the cards and she believed him. Somehow she had to stop herself from getting those kinds of thoughts every time he said something that fell out of business mode and tipped over into the personal. That would be the only way she could stay at Mancini’s.
When she didn’t answer, he sighed. “I don’t think it’s an accident you found Mancini’s.”
“Of course not. Nico sent me.”
“I am not talking about Nico. I’m talking about destiny.”
She laughed lightly and walked away from him. It was almost funny the way he used the words and phrases of a lover to lure her to a job. It was no wonder her thoughts always went in the wrong direction. He took her there. Thank God she had ahold of herself enough to see his words for what they were. A very passionate man trying to get his own way. To fight for her sanity, she would always have to stand up to him.
“Foster kids don’t get destinies. We get the knowledge that we need to educate ourselves so we can have security. If you really want me to stay, let me come to the decision for the right reasons. Because if I stay, you are not getting rid of me. I will make Mancini’s my home.” She caught his gaze. “Are you prepared for that?”
CHAPTER TEN
WAS HE PREPARED for that?
What the hell kind of question was that for her to ask?
He caught her arm when she turned to walk away. “Of course, I’m prepared for that! Good God, woman, I drove to Rome to bring you back.”
She shook her head with an enigmatic laugh. “Okay. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He rolled his eyes heavenward. Women. Who could figure them out? “I am warned.” He motioned to the door. “Come. I’ll drive you back to Louisa’s.”
But by the time they reached Louisa’s villa and he drove back to his condo to change for work, her strange statement had rattled around in his head and made him crazy. Was he prepared for her staying? Idiocy. He’d all but made her a partner in his business. He wanted her to stay.
He changed his clothes and headed to Mancini’s. Walking into the kitchen, he tried to shove her words out of his head but they wouldn’t go—until he found the staff in unexpectedly good spirits. Then his focus fell to their silly grins.
“What’s going on?”
Emory turned from the prep table. “Have you seen today’s issue of Tuscany Review?”
In all the confusion over Daniella, he’d forgotten that today was the day the tourist magazine came out. He snatched it from Emory’s hands.
“Page twenty-nine.”
He flicked through the pages, getting to the one he wanted, and there was a picture of Dani. So many tourists had snapped pictures that someone from the magazine could have come in and taken this one without anyone in the restaurant paying any mind.
He read the headline. “Mancini’s gets a fresh start.”
“Read the whole article. It’s fantastic.”
As he began to skim the words, Emory said, “There’s mention of the new hostess being pretty and personable.”
Rafe inclined his head. “She is both.”
“And mention of your food without mention of your temper.”
His gaze jerked up to Emory. “No kidding.”
“No kidding. It’s as if your temper didn’t exist.”
He pressed the magazine to his chest. “Thank God I went to Rome and brought her back.”
Daniella pushed open the door. Dressed in a sheath the color of ripe apricots, she smiled as she walked toward Rafe and Emory. “I heard something about a magazine.”
Rafe silently handed it to her.
She glanced down and laughed. “Well, look at me.”
“Yes. Look at you.” He wanted to pull her close and hug her, but he crossed his arms on his chest. The very fact that he wanted to hug her was proof he needed to keep his distance. Even forgetting about the fiancé she had back home, she needed security enough that he wouldn’t tempt her away from finding it. Her staying had to be about Mancini’s and her desire for a place, a home. He had to make sure she got what she wanted out of this deal—without breaking her heart. Because if he broke her heart, she’d leave. And everything they’d accomplished up to now would have been for nothing.
“You realize that even if every chef and busboy cycles out, and every waitress quits after university, Emory and I will always be here.”
Emory grinned at Daniella. Rafe nudged him. “Stop behaving like one of the Three Stooges. This is serious for her.”
She looked up from the magazine with a smile for Rafe. “Yes. I know you will always be here.” Her smile grew. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe that’s part of the problem?”
With that she walked out of the kitchen and Rafe shook his head.
“She talks in riddles.” But deep down he knew what was happening. He’d told her they’d never become lovers. She had feelings for him. Hell, he had feelings for her, but he intended to fight them. He’d told her anything between them was wrong, so she had to be sure she could work with him knowing there’d never be anything between them.
And maybe that’s what she meant about being prepared.
Lately, it seemed he was fighting his feelings as much as she was fighting hers.
* * *
Two nights later, as the dinner service began to slow down, Rafe stepped out into the dining room to see his friend Nico walking into Mancini’s. Nico’s eyes lit when he saw Dani standing at the podium.
“Look at you!” He took her hand and gave her a little twirl to let her show off another pretty blue dress that hugged her figure.
Jealousy rippled through Rafe, but he squelched it. He put her needs ahead of his because that served Mancini’s needs. It was a litany he repeated at least four times a day. After her comment about him being part of the reason her decision was so difficult, he’d known he had to get himself in line or lose her.
As he walked out of the kitchen, he heard Nico say, “Rafe tells me you’re working out marvelously.”
She smiled sheepishly. “I can’t imagine anyone not loving working here.”
Rafe sucked in a happy breath. She loved working at Mancini’s. He knew that, of course, but it was good to hear her say it. It felt normal to hear her say it. As if she knew she belonged here. Clearly, keeping his distance the past two days had worked. Mancini’s was warm and happy. The way he’d always envisioned it.
“We don’t have reservations,” Nico said when Dani glanced at the computer screen.
She smiled. “No worries. The night’s winding down. We have plenty of space.”
Seeing him approach, Nico said, “And here’s the chef now.”
“Nico!” Rafe grabbed him and gave him a bear hug. “What brings you here?”
“I saw your ravioli on Instagram and decided I had to try it.”
“Bah! Damned trust-fund babies. I should—” He stopped suddenly. Half-hidden behind Nico was Marianna Amatucci, Nico’s sister, who’d been traveling for the past year. Short with wild curly hair and honey skin, she was the picture of a natural Italian beauty.
“Marianna!” He nudged Nico out of the way and hugged her, too, lifting her up to swing her around. Rafe hadn’t even seen her to say hello in months. Having her here put another piece of normalcy back in his life.
She giggled when he plopped her to the floor again.
“Daniella,” he said, one hand around Marianna’s waist, the other clasped on Nico’s shoulder. “These are my friends. Nico and his baby sister, Marianna. They get the best table in the house.”
She smiled her understanding, grabbed two menus and led Nico and Marianna into the dining room. “This way.”
Rafe stopped her. “Not there. I want them by my kitchen.” He took the menus from her hands. “I want to spoil them.”
Nico chuckled and caught Dani’s gaze. “What he really means is use us for guinea pigs.”
She laughed, her gaze meeting Nico’s and her cheeks turning pink.
An unexpected thought exploded in Rafe’s brain. He’d told Dani he wanted nothing romantic between them. Her fiancé was a dud. Nico was a good-looking man. And Dani was a beautiful, personable woman. If she stayed, at some point, Dani and Nico could become lovers.
His gut tightened.
Still, shouldn’t he be glad if Nico was interested in Daniella and that interest caused her to stay?
Of course he should. What he wanted from Daniella was a face for his business. If Nico could help get her to stay, then Rafe should help him woo her.
“You are lucky the night is nearly over,” Rafe said as he pulled out Marianna’s chair. He handed the menus to them both.
Smiling warmly at Nico, Dani said, “Can I take your drink orders?”
Nico put his elbow on the table and his chin on his fist as he contemplated Daniella, as if she were a puzzle he was trying to figure out.
Thinking of Dani and Nico together was one thing. Seeing his friend’s eyes on her was quite another. The horrible black syrup of jealously poured through Rafe’s veins like hot wax.
Unable to endure it, he waved Daniella away. “Go. I will take his drink order. You’re needed at the door. The night isn’t quite over yet.”
She gave Nico one last smile and headed to her post.
Happier with her away from Nico, Rafe listened to his friend’s wine choice.
Marianna said, “Just water for me.”
Rafe gaped at her. “You need wine.”
She shook her head. “I need water.”
Rafe’s jaw dropped. “You cannot be an Italian and refuse wine with dinner.”
Nico waved a hand. “It’s not a big deal. She’s been weird ever since she came home. Just bring her the water.”
Rafe called Allegra over so she could get Nico’s wine from the bar and Marianna’s water. All the while, Dani walked customers from the podium, past Nico, who would watch her amble by.
Rafe sucked in a breath, not understanding the feelings rumbling through him. He wanted Daniella to stay. Nico might give her a reason to do just that. He could not romance her himself. Yet he couldn’t bear to have his friend even look at her?
“Give me ten minutes and I will make you the happiest man alive.”
Nico laughed, his eyes on Daniella. “I sincerely doubt you can do that with food.”
Jealousy sputtered through Rafe again. “Get your mind out of the gutter and off my hostess!”
Nico’s eyes narrowed. “Why? Are you staking a claim?”
Rafe’s chest froze and he couldn’t speak. But Marianna shook her head. “Men. Does it always have to be about sex with you?”
Nico laughed.
Rafe spun away, rushing into the kitchen, angry with Nico but angrier with himself. He should celebrate Nico potentially being a reason for Daniella to stay. Instead, he was filled with blistering-hot rage. Toward his friend. It was insane.
To make up for his unwanted anger, he put together the best meals he’d ever created. Unfortunately, it didn’t take ten minutes. It took forty.
Allegra took out antipasto and soups while he worked. When he returned to the dining room, there were no more people at the door. All customers had been seated. Tables that emptied weren’t being refilled. Anticipating going home, the busboys cheerfully cleared away dishes.
And Dani sat with Nico and Marianna.
Forcing himself to be friendly—happy—Rafe set the plates of food in front of Nico and his sister.
Marianna said, “Oh, that smells heavenly.”
Nico nodded. “Impressive, Rafe.”
Dani inhaled deeply. “Mmm...”
Nico grinned, scooped up some pasta and offered it to Dani. “Would you like a bite?”
“Oh, I’d love a bite!”
Nico smiled.
Unwanted jealousy and an odd proprietary instinct rushed through Rafe. Before Daniella could take the bite Nico offered, Rafe grabbed the back of her chair and yanked her away from the table.
“I want her to eat that meal later tonight.”
Nico laughed. “Really? What is this? A special occasion?”
Rafe knew Nico meant that as a joke, but he suddenly felt like an idiot as if Nico had caught his jealousy. He straightened to his full six-foot height. “Not a special occasion, part of the process. She’s eaten bits of food to get our flavor, but tonight I had planned on treating her to an entire dinner.”
Dani turned around on her chair to catch his gaze. “Really?”
Oh, Lord.
Something soft and earthy trembled through him, replacing his jealousy and feelings of being caught, as if they had never existed. Trapped in the gaze of her blue eyes, he quietly said, “Yes.”
She rose, putting them face-to-face. “A private dinner?”
He shrugged, but everything male inside him shimmered. After days of only working together, being on his best behavior, he couldn’t deny how badly he wanted time alone with her. He didn’t want Nico to woo her. He wanted to woo her.
“Yes. A private dinner.”
She smiled.
His breath froze. She was happy to be alone with him? He’d warned her...yet she still wanted to be alone with him? And what of her fiancé?
He pivoted and returned to the kitchen, not sure what he was doing. But as he worked, he slowed his pace. He rejected ravioli, spaghetti Bolognese. Both were too simple. Too common—
If he was going to feed her an entire meal, it would be his best. Pride the likes of which he’d never felt before rose in him. Only the best for his Dani.
He stopped, his finger poised above a pot, ready to sprinkle a pinch of salt.
His Dani?
He squeezed his eyes shut. Dear God. This wasn’t just an attraction. He was head over heels crazy for her.
* * *
Dani alternated between standing nervously by the podium and sitting with Nico and Marianna.
The dining room had all but emptied, yet she couldn’t seem to settle. Her fluttery stomach had her wondering if she’d even be able to eat what Rafe prepared for her.
A private dinner.
She had no idea what it meant, but when he emerged from the kitchen and walked to Nico’s table, her breath stalled. He’d removed his smock and stood before the Amatuccis in dark trousers and a white T-shirt that outlined his taut stomach. Tight cotton sleeves rimmed impressive biceps and Dani saw a tattoo she’d never noticed before.
“I trust you enjoyed your dinners.”
Nico blotted his mouth with a napkin, then said, “Rafe, you truly are gifted.”
Rafe bowed graciously.
“And, Marianna.” When Rafe turned to see her half-eaten meal, he frowned. “Why you not eat?”