Give a Little (16 page)

He laughed, slinging his arm around her. “You’ll be pleasantly surprised, I promise.”

She wasn’t sure which warmed her more: his arm or his laugh. She suspected they worked in tandem.

He led them to an unmarked door. Without knocking, he opened it and led them inside.

It appeared to be a tiny, abandoned restaurant, based on the empty tables that were meticulously set. Luca didn’t bat an eyelash—he took her straight through the dining room and out a back door.

The patio caught her breath. Colorful lanterns dangled from the trees, unlit but still bright in the sunlight. The tables had sunny yellow tablecloths on them, and there was the scent of herbs in the air. A few people lounged in the corners, talking exuberantly and drinking wine despite the fact that it was a weekday.

“Luca Fiorelli,” a woman exclaimed.

Bea turned in time to see her, hands in the air, approaching Luca with joy and affection. The jealousy that flared in her chest surprised her into frowning.

“Ana,
come stai
?” Luca said, taking her in his arms and kissing her cheeks.

There was a rapid exchange of Italian, where the woman appeared to be scolding Luca. Then she smiled wide at Bea and waved them to a table toward the back of the patio.

“Ana is an old family friend,” Luca explained as he held a chair out for her. “Her younger brother was my best friend growing up. I haven’t seen them in a long time, and she was chastising me.”

“She’s family then.”

“Exactly,” Luca said, looking delighted that she understood.

Bea smiled at the woman, who bustled over with two glasses and a carafe of wine.

Luca said something in Italian to Ana, who exclaimed with a flutter of her hands before she turned to Bea, took her chin in her hand, and kissed both her cheeks.

Lounging back in his chair, Luca smiled fondly. “She says she knew she liked you.”

“Of course she did,” Bea said with all her usual confidence, not wanting to show how much the compliment meant to her.

Ana poured the wine and bustled away. Luca lifted his glass, waiting until Bea did the same to say his toast. “To a lovely week.”

She nodded, not liking being reminded that it was ending.

“Admit it, Beatrice.” He leaned forward, his casual charm disguised by an intensity that still surprised her when it surfaced. “Trusting me isn’t so difficult.”

That was the thing: Trusting him was entirely too easy.

Not wanting to spoil their last couple days together, she put on a blithe smile as she lifted the glass to her lips. “If you’re making a case for men being trustworthy, you’re going to need to present more evidence.”

His expression fell, his disappointment palpable.

At least to her. She looked away and hastily swallowed her wine to fill the sinking feeling in her belly. What he felt wasn’t her responsibility. She was being true to herself, and she had no reason to feel bad.

But that didn’t stop her.

“I don’t think you believe that,” Luca declared, throwing the words down like a challenge. “You trust Nico and Jackson, and Finn, Ian, Jon, Merrick, and Declan. You even trust Sebastian.”

She narrowed her gaze. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would.” Luca gazed at her steadily. “You wouldn’t allow Sebastian anywhere near your family if you thought he wasn’t trustworthy. You’re a fraud.”

“I am not,” she protested, sitting up straight.

“And you trust me,” he said as he took a calm sip of his wine. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have put yourself in this situation with me. Call it what you will, but you put yourself in my hands because you know I won’t let you fall.”

She lifted her chin. “I’m here because I want an invitation to Stallon-E.”

“You’re here because you want me as much as I want you.” Luca frowned. “The problem with you is that everyone is guilty until proven innocent.”

She shook her head. “That’s not true at all.”

“You base all your relationships on the experience you had with one person,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Your father.”

“And to think we were having such a nice time,” she said, hearing her arch tone.

“Yes, and at times it was even genuine,” he said with a sad smile.

A cloud shadowed the courtyard, and Bea shivered. She lifted her wine and took a sip, looking for the warmth that had been so abundant just a few minutes ago.

Coming home from Polesine Parmense, Luca had such high hopes. The days they’d spent there were magic. Despite a couple relapses, Beatrice had opened up and been interested. Even the conversation at Ana’s restaurant hadn’t put a damper on the rest of their time.

The last night, they’d stayed in their room and shared a picnic lying in a field of bedding on the floor. Beatrice had worn only one of his shirts, and her hair had been down, and she’d laughed and enjoyed herself.

It’d been one of the best dinners of his life.

They’d come home and he’d expected it to continue, but the moment they arrived back in Bologna, she’d picked up her mobile again.

He hated that device.

She’d said she was catching up with her family, so what could he say? Of course he couldn’t find fault with that; he’d had to agree to let her make her calls. She gave him a time when she’d return to him, for
apperitivo
, she’d said.

How could she just turn a switch and go back to her old self? At Antica Corte Pallavicina, he’d changed on a molecular level. He’d gotten so upset that he’d had to come to his room, where he was now pacing like a caged animal with no hope, the walls closing in on him.

He was running out of time. Tomorrow was the last day of their agreement, and Bea was no closer to admitting her undying love to him.

Maybe she didn’t love him.

He shook his head. Of course she did. He knew it, and she knew it. She was just being stubborn.

“
Basta
,” he exclaimed. Enough was enough. He grabbed his motorcycle jacket from his closet and fished the keys out of his pocket and went for a ride.

He raced through the streets, out of town and back in, ending up at the
enoteca
he loved.

The owner, Fabio, started to smile, but he must have registered Luca’s grim expression because his brows pulled together. The man came out from behind the bar and clamped his hand on Luca’s arm. “What can I help you with, Luca?” he asked seriously in Italian.

Luca looked him in the eye. “No one can help.”

“Ah.” Fabio’s brows raised. “You have, shall we say, a
morsel
at home who’s not pairing as easily as you’d prefer?”

“Exactly.” Luca threw his hands in the air. “She—
it
—refuses to cooperate.”

“This morsel is tasty? The sort you’d happily consume every night for the rest of your life?” Fabio asked in all seriousness. “No one—
nothing
—else will ever be so satisfying?”

“
Yes.
” Finally someone understood. He relaxed, grateful that he was among an ally.

“I thought it might be so.” Fabio rubbed his chin, nodding thoughtfully. “You need a powerful wine to pair with it then, a wine that stands up to her—I mean, it.”

“Do you have suggestions for what might work?”

Clapping him on the shoulder, Fabio looked him in the eye. “You need boldness and strength, yet delicateness, too. It’s a challenge, surely, but aren’t the most worthwhile things in life so?”

“If only she weren’t so challenging,” he murmured.

“Wait. I have just the thing to try.” With a finger in the air, Fabio went to the back and came out with a dusty bottle. He wiped it with his sleeve and held it out. “This is irresistible. It’s persistent and aromatic, but will soften, the way you want your tasty morsel at home to soften.”

Luca took the bottle, dubious. “You really think this will work?”

“Yes,” the man said without any uncertainty. He shook a finger at him. “But the bottle needs to breathe. You can’t open it and pour it and expect everything to work. The flavors need to grow together. It just takes time and patience.”

“I understand.” Luca took the man by the shoulders and kissed both his cheeks. “You’re a savior.”

“I’m only happy I had the bottle you needed.” Nodding, Fabio patted him on the shoulder. “Trust yourself, Luca. You know food, and you know wine. You have the knowledge you need to make the perfect pairing.”

He stayed and chatted a bit, heartened now that he had a plan: He was going to have the wine open and breathing, and they’d have a glass and talk about their days and fall back into the easy camaraderie that they’d found in the countryside. Fabio was right—he needed to be patient and help the flavors blend.

On his way back to his home, he stopped and bought flowers, luscious white ones that reminded him of her. He arrived back at his house happier than he’d been since they’d returned.

He showered, changed, and came back into the kitchen. Pouring two glasses of wine, he checked the clock. Almost.

Their agreed upon time came and went, and there was no sign of Beatrice. He sat at the table, glaring at the wine that seemed to mock him.

Then he caught sight of her sitting on the stone wall lining the perimeter of his property, hands gesturing as she talked into her earpiece. He heard her say something about Stallon-E and recite some numbers.

She was working. On
his
time. And of all the mad things, he was actually jealous of his own company because she wanted it more than she wanted him.

Incensed, he stormed out of the kitchen. Before he realized what he was doing, he took her phone and threw it over the wall.

They both turned to follow its trajectory. He lost sight of it, wincing when he heard it break apart.

She faced him, eyes large and sparking, staring at him.

He said calmly, “I have wine.”

“That was my mobile,” she replied as though he hadn’t said a word, her voice clipped.

“You love your mobile more than anything”—he stepped forward, pointing at her—“but your mobile won’t make love to you the way I do.”

Her eyes narrowed even more. “It vibrates.”

“Do you prefer an inanimate object to me?” He reared back, unable to believe she’d even insinuate it. “I would never say such a thing to you. I’d never treat you so cruelly.”

Something flickered behind her eyes, but when she lifted her chin again the old Beatrice was there—hard and unmovable.

He threw his hands in the air. “I give up! I tried. I tried so hard to pair the wine to you.”

“You’re worried about your wine?” she asked coolly.

“The wine is
me
.” He began pacing, arms waving. “I have done everything. I have even breathed, and still you’re impossible. I love you, Beatrice, but you won’t acknowledge that I exist. You know nothing of my vintage.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, brow furrowed. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“Then I’ll put it this way.” He stopped and pointed at himself. “The dog is nice to you, fetching you everything to make you happy, and you kick it. You promise to play with the dog and not to work, but you cannot keep your promise.
You kick the dog.
This dog will no longer tolerate being kicked.”

He stomped back to the house and poured himself wine, waiting for her to come to him.

But she didn’t.

Instead, sometime later, she went upstairs. After a bit, she quietly let herself out of the house, no explanations, no goodbyes. The door closing behind her sounded final.

He sipped the wine. It tasted tart on his tongue, lacking the promise it’d had earlier.

“I’ve been thinking about the mystery woman you’re in love with,” Chloe said as she handed him an Allen wrench.

Wrinkling his nose, he finished tightening the bolts on the rack. “I never said I was in love with her.”

“You never said you weren’t, either.”

He glanced at her. “You’re supposed to be helping me set things up.”

“I am. I’m multitasking.” She picked up a rag and wiped down the rack. “So the weights get loaded on here?”

“Yup.” He sat back on his heels and looked around his clinic. It was coming along. The walls were freshly painted, and the massage rooms were set up. Tomorrow a guy was coming in to set up the computer system and sound.

His phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number, so he answered it. “Yeah?”

“Could I speak to Gary Stimson?”

“Speaking,” he said, handing a five-pound weight to Chloe.

“This is Peter from Balance Fitness. I’m calling about the equipment you put a deposit on. It’s arrived, so we wanted to schedule delivery.”

“Awesome.” It was all coming together. He only had one more task to complete on his bucket list and then the money would be his. “I think my place should be ready for the delivery next week. Can I call you back to set up a time?”

“Yes, please. Ask for me.” The guy murmured thanks and then hung up.

Grinning, Rowdy set his phone down only to find Chloe sitting there, frowning at him. “What?” he asked.

She shook her head and picked up one of the smaller weights. “That was the exercise equipment place?”

“My order’s ready. They want to deliver the machines.” He held his hand up. “Before you say anything, I only have one more thing to finish on Pop’s bucket list, and I’m doing it later this week.”

“What happens if you don’t do it?”

“There’s no chance of that.” He hefted a pair of the heaviest weights into their spot. “It’s not rocket science.”

“What is it?”

“Dancing in the moonlight.”

The kid rolled her eyes.

“Hey, I’m looking forward to this one.” He pictured Jasmine in his arms, swaying to the slow beat of something sexy, and smiled wide.

He could hold her forever.

Did she feel that way? He stopped and stared at the weight rack. He thought that she did, but she had a bruised heart. She might be squirrely. The only way to know was to ask her, which he also planned to do at her party.

Chloe nudged him. “You’re thinking about Jasmine, aren’t you?”

“Hey.” He frowned at her. “How’d you figure it out?”

“ESP.” She shrugged. “Actually I’m friends with her on Facebook, and she’s been posting about you.”