Mia Dolce (7 page)

Reggie froze.
Were these the two lawyers Sergio had been
talking to the last few mornings? And they discussed
her
?

Sergio cursed at Renaldo in Italian, then swapped to English
again. “I tell you now, man, you may be the Avanti family lawyer but you go too
far. You will never speak of her this way again.”

“I apologize, Sergio, but you have had many women and it is
your way to give them a present after the affair. But you do not need to repay
this one with a lavish production that she could have had for half the cost!”

Reggie sank against the wall. A present? For their affair?
“My god,” she murmured, a hand to her throat. What did Sergio want with her TV
show?

Sergio said something about Renaldo not realizing how many
months he had struggled to find a way to advertise the gourmet business in
America. “This TV show will be the best way. I told you before I left to meet
her.”

No.
Reggie crossed her arms and shook her head.
Sergio had planned to meet her? Had planned to buy the rights to produce a TV
show with her as the star? And this was to advertise his business in the
States? How could he do that?
How could you do that and never tell me
of
your intention, Sergio?

She drifted down the hall back to the bedroom in a haze of
disbelief.

All this passion and delight, all the sweetness was a
planned affair to get to know me and control the production of the television
show? To advertise his products?

She shuddered at the insult. The despair.

But she knew she had no one to blame but herself. For the
first time in her life, she had followed her instincts. She had trusted him
with her body but then given away her heart.

She stripped his clothes from her body and pulled her own
from hangers in the closet.

She was going home to New York alone with whatever she could
salvage of her self-respect. Then she planned to forget whatever she had done
here and never be so bold, so instinctive again.

Reggie inched her way forward in the ticket line at the
Florence train station. She was tired and hungry from her three-hour journey in
the little
lorrie
. The driver had been more than kind and tolerant of
the crazy woman who had flagged him down and then sat all afternoon fuming. More
than angry at Sergio, Reggie was furious at herself. How could she have been so
naïve to think a man of his sophistication would find her so appealing he’d
want her in his bed for more than a few fucks?

She ground her teeth and the woman in line in front of her
glanced back to ask in broken English the state of her health.

Reggie told her she was bad, very bad.

The woman motioned for Reggie to step up in the line and
take her place.

“No, no,
signora
,” she replied, “
Bene, bene.
Grazie
.”

Christ, her Italian skills were miserable. Just like the
rest of her people skills. If she ever thought of writing another cookbook,
she’d better come here and live and learn the art of communication so that she
never, ever naïvely trusted another Italian man.

She looked around her, eyeing quite a few men in business
suits running across the platform to catch any of the trains leaving the docks.
Sleek and toned, dark and delicious, each man made her think of the way Sergio
ran, walked, talked. Fucked. Oh god, she ran a hand through her hair. None
could compare. Damn him.

But then her eyes caught on one man. She squinted at him,
far across the station. He was taller than others, standing over by the central
clock and scanning the quays. She spun away from him. It was him. Damn him.

“
Signora, signora
,” she said to the lady in front of
her, “could I—would you mind if I—” and she made a gesture as if she would be
ill. The woman stepped aside and said something to those in front. They parted
for Reggie.

“
Grazie, grazie
,” she told them as she got to the
front of the line and gave the ticket master her credit card. “
Roma, per
favore. Uno. Si, si. Grazie
.”

The transaction was mercifully quick.

Careful to look for Sergio out of the corner of her eye, she
spun away from him toward the docks. Four trains lined up, huffing as they
prepared to depart. Which one was hers? She looked up at the sign as the
letters flipped to the newest destination. Roma. Dock 4. The time for it to
depart was…oh my god, now! Sprinting, she wended her way through a group of
Americans with tour books out. She ducked behind a pillar, raced toward the
first car of the train and saw the conductor leaning down to raise the step. She
yelled at him and he looked at her as if she were nuts. She climbed aboard and
thanked him as he mounted the steps behind her and the doors snapped shut.

Safe. She grabbed one of the handles hanging from the
ceiling. Sergio had not found her. Couldn’t catch her.

She would never see him again.

The thought made her stagger her back against the cold steel
wall. Determined to forget him, she groped her way forward and found a seat,
alone, blessedly alone. She sank down and felt hot tears sting her eyes.
For
pity’s sake, Reggie
.
If you knew you were going to cry, you could at
least have bought some tissues in the
farmacia
instead of sniveling like
a baby into your hand, couldn’t you?

Oh, what the hell.
She let the tears come.

And she must’ve been a wailing mess too because the woman
two seats up got up to hand her a few tissues and mutter some condolence.

“
Grazie, grazie
,” Reggie repeated like a parrot. How
foolish did she feel now?

Her tears were dry, her hands crushing the mangled tissues
when someone came and sat beside her. The scenery fled past in a blaze of
yellow sun, ripe emerald hills and red-tiled roofs. The mesmerizing rhythm of
the tracks on the rails soothed her ravaged soul and she sat limply, wiping the
last of her tears.

“Here, you need this too.” A dark male hand pressed a can of
orange soda between her fingers.

The voice she knew. The hand she knew.

She thrust the can back at him. “I want nothing from you.”

“That, my darling, is a lie.”

She looked around. People turned, gazed at Sergio and nudged
each other, assuring themselves it was indeed the great Sergio Avanti. Reggie
crossed her arms and stared out the window. “Go away.”

“No.”

“I. Do. Not. Want. To. Talk. To. You.”

“Good. Because the one who needs to talk is me.”

She shot up from her seat, grabbed her little purse and
tried to walk around him. But his legs barred her exit and when she pushed and
managed to thrust one leg forward, his caught it between both of his knees. “Hear
me, Regina.”

This time his tone was louder, adamant.

People shifted in their seats, murmured to each other,
“Avanti, Avanti.”

“No.” Reggie raised her voice. “Let me pass,
Signore
.”
She would let them think he had made advances on her, which of course he had,
but then that was moot now, wasn’t it? She groaned at him and nudged his legs. “I
can make a scene, you know.”

“Do it. I will say you handled me. Approached me.”

“What?”

He pointed to his crotch. Improbably, his cock tented his
trousers.

She gaped at him.

The devil. He smiled.

“You are insatiable.” She stomped her foot on one of his.

And when he yelped, she lifted a leg high to climb over him.

He caught her thigh and his fingers gripped her while his
other hand rose beneath her skirt to plunge into her cunt. “And you are so wet,
my little cat, that you want me even when you are mad at me.” His fingers taunted
her, teased her, stroked her and her eyes drifted closed with the beauty of his
skill.

“Oh god, Sergio. Leave me alone.”

“Never. I want to make you feel good,” he crooned. “You do
feel good, don’t you? Hmm?” His fingers whisked over her clit and tugged on a
curl of her pussy hair. “I think you feel very good,
bella
.”

On a cry, she surged away from him. But where could she run?

There were no options. Only the next car, the dining car.

She went for it. She was stepping into the luggage area,
ready to stride beyond the precariously wobbling bags piled high into the
connecting doors when Sergio caught her arm and turned her to him.

As if she weighed two pounds, he maneuvered her back to the
wall and pressed himself flush against her. “I have been mad to find you,
darling.”

She knew from experience it would be a waste of her energy
to push at him. He was so much stronger, especially when enraged or denied.

She wilted against the wall in surrender.

His grip eased.

Over his shoulder, she saw her one chance to foil him. She
stared at the approaching conductor and with ice in her voice, she complained,
“
Signore, per favore
, this man is annoying me.”

The man did not understand her words but her tone he got. In
ripe and harsh Italian, he told Sergio to leave her alone. And by his gestures,
he insisted that Sergio move back to his seat. There was some exchange of angry
words but Sergio complied.

“You will not go without listening to me, Regina.”

No? Watch me
. She whirled, entered the dining car and
found it filled with only one seat vacant at a table for four. She asked in
English if she might join them, and when the waiter came, she ordered a plate
of cheese and bread that she had no appetite for. Instead, she contemplated how
to escape him.

Her one chance was to be faster than he to disembark. She’d
jump from the steps the first chance she got. From what she remembered about
the Rome Train Station, the quays were wide and the numbers of passengers were
always huge. She could lose herself in the crowd and if she was quick about it
all, she could move on to her next train to Fiumencino and a plane home to New
York—and Sergio would never catch her.

The train chugged to a halt. She clutched her purse, became
first in line to exit the door and when the train stopped, she jumped from the
second step, sprinting for the inside of the station.
Don’t look back,
Reggie. The man is an opportunist, trying to learn my techniques and then
trying to make a television show using them. Without me! What arrogance. What
gall to take me for a fool. To fuck me silly and…

For me to let him.

Instantly crowds closed around her and she charged ahead,
elbowing her way forward. Her first refuge was a ladies’ room. Putting on
foundation and lipstick and a bit of mascara, she combed her hair and felt
fairly human again.

She emerged, glanced furtively around her and discovered a
little dress shop two doors down. Finding a large straw sunbonnet and a
shapeless oversized dress was easier. Within minutes she was newly attired and
out again into the main station. But she needed one more item and she ducked
into another shop to buy a pair of huge sunglasses. Safe in her camouflage, she
strode toward her next quay to take the commuter train the few miles to the
main airport—and a flight home to the States.

Telling herself to not look around, not look anywhere but
forward, she headed for the ramp to her train. But there was a commotion ahead
of her and the entrance to the quay was closed. Stretching up to see if she
might squeeze past the throng of those yelling at someone, she decided to go
for it. If she missed her train, then she would have less time to find an empty
seat on any of today’s flights home. She was tired and ragged enough as it was.
So she pushed against the throng.

Weaving in and out, she managed to reach the front of the
group—and there was a tall, dark, dashing man telling a group of paparazzi a
tale that had all of them smiling and applauding and snapping dozens of
pictures of him.

Sergio?

Good god. It is!

She stumbled backward. What was he doing? Whatever it was,
it involved her, she was certain. And she was not, not,
not
participating.

And at that moment, his onyx eyes found hers.

“There she is!” Sergio climbed up on a chair. And pointed at
her too.

She stepped to one side.. Tripped on someone’s foot. Someone
righted her.

“Don’t let her go!” Sergio yelled at those around her. “I
need to talk to her!” He spoke in English followed by Italian, and she was
certain he was enjoying himself thoroughly knowing she could understand him. The
dog.

She spun away. “Let me through,” she commanded.

“
No
!” Sergio yelled.

Two
carabineri
, one on either side of her, grabbed
her arms. “
Signorina
.” The police chirped in crisp Italian something
that she could bet meant “Come with us”.

“No.” She tugged at them.

They did not comply. Instead they practically lifted her in
the air as they frog-marched her toward Sergio, who still stood on his chair,
smiling and nodding and clapping.

And when the two policemen stood her before him, his
expression changed to one of compassion as he called her, “My darling. It was
the only way I could find you. Stop you. Listen to me.”

Those around him yelled and screamed phrases that amazingly
made her furious or curious. Sergio not only tolerated it, he loved it. This is
the man who avoided crowds and paparazzi like a plague?

She frowned at him. Two paparazzi nudged each other to take
pictures of her. “What the hell are you up to, Sergio?”

“I have come to tell you,
mia dolce
, that what you
overhead—”

“About the television show.
My
television show.” She
crossed her arms. The carabineri did not let her go. “You came to New York to—”

“To meet you! Talk with you! Negotiate with you.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. “To seduce me!”

“My queen, your anger makes you speak this lie.”

His soft words made her tremble.

“Regina,
bella
, I loved your cooking and I wanted to
fund a new cable TV show here in Europe and in America. I knew you were Sandy’s
aunt, she raved about you so. And I had heard from her that you were, in
person, lovelier than the picture on your book cover. I wanted to meet you. To
taste your cooking. To see how you walk, how you talk. To imagine how you would
be on the screen. I did not plan to see how you would look in my b—”

“No?” She bristled. “You planned to use sex to persuade me—to
seduce me—so that the show would advertise your foods.”

The crowd knew the English word seduce—and
ahhed
and
oooed
.

“No less than you planned to have me,
bella
.”

That was true and Reggie bit her lip.

“Sandy’s wedding was the perfect opportunity.” His voice dropped
to a velvet caress. “How could I know that you would be so delicious?”

The crowd knew that last English word too. Another crow of
delight swept through them.

She yanked at her captors. “And so easy too, eh?”

“Easy to love,” he affirmed.

She stared at him.
No, do not be foolish, Reggie
. “You
cannot just say that.”

“I can, Regina. I love you.”

“Ahhhhhhhhhhh,” the crowd sighed in vocal bliss. Others
kissed their fingertips.

Sergio, who stood on his chair above her, looked down at her
like some medieval lord who had found a wandering subject he adored.

“You love me?” She was half mad with longing for him, half
mad at his insistence to stand on the damn chair so very far away.

“I do. I did not plan before I met you to take you to bed.”

The crowd cooed over that, so clearly some knew English.

Sergio said, “Look at me, sweet. I should have told you, but
each hour I grew more afraid you would think I had planned it all. I never did.
But I saw you, and like you, my instinct said to me this woman is the one you need.
The one you must have. And so it was. I could not believe my good fortune.”