The Playboy of Rome (12 page)

And with that, she raced for the door. She didn’t have to call Jules, but she did need the excuse to get away from him. It was as if he had some sort of magnetic field around him and it drew out her deepest feelings. She needed to stuff them back in the little box in her heart.

Being alone in a strange city in a country practically halfway around the world from her home made her choices quite limited. She thought of escaping back to the vineyard and visiting some more with Massimo. He was so easy to talk to. He was her friend. But he was also Dante’s grandfather. And the vineyard was Dante’s home.

Her shoulders slumped as she headed for the apartment. What she needed now was to talk to Jules. It would be good to hear a familiar voice. She made a beeline for her room and pulled out her phone. She knew the call would cost her a small fortune but this was an emergency.

She dialed the familiar number. The phone rang and rang. Just when she thought that it was going to switch to voice mail, she heard a familiar voice.

“Lizzie, is that you? What’s wrong?”

The concern in Jules’s voice had her rushing to reassure her. “I just wanted to check in.”

“But you said that we needed to watch how much we spend on the phone. You said we should only call when something was wrong. So what happened?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to hear your voice and make sure you are doing okay.”

There was a slight pause. “Lizzie, this is me. You can’t lie to me. Something is bothering you. So spill it.”

Calling Jules had been a mistake. She knew her far too well. And now Jules wasn’t going to let her off the hook. “It’s Dante. I think I just blew my chance to work with him.”

“Why? What did you do?”

“I...I overreacted. Instead of taking his feedback on my cooking like a professional, I acted like an oversensitive female.” Her thoughts drifted over the evening. “All I wanted to do was impress him and...and I failed.”

“Don’t worry about him. Just come home.”

“I can’t do that. Remember, I quit my job. And your tuition is due soon.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I don’t have to go to grad school.”

“You do if you want to be a social worker and help other kids like us.” The remembrance of her promise to her foster sister put things in perspective. She couldn’t let her bruised ego get the best of her. She couldn’t walk away. “Just ignore what I said. I’m tired. Everything will work out.”

“But, Lizzie, if he’s making things impossible for you, what are you going to do?”

There was a knock at her bedroom door.

“Jules, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

With a quick goodbye, she disconnected the call. She worried her bottom lip and waited. Maybe Dante would go away. She wasn’t ready to talk to him. Not yet.

Again the tap at the door. “I’m not going away until we talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“But I have plenty to say to you.”

That sparked her curiosity, but her bruised ego wasn’t ready to give in. She wanted to tell herself that his words and his opinions meant nothing. But that trip to the vineyard and that kiss in the morning sunshine had cast some sort of spell over her—over her heart.

“Lizzie, open the door.”

She ran a hand over her hair, finding it to be a flyaway mess. What was she doing hiding away? She was a foster kid. She knew how to take care of herself. Running and hiding wasn’t her style. She straightened her shoulders. And with a resigned sigh, she moved to the door and opened it.

Dante stood there, slouched against the doorjamb. Much too close. Her heart thumped. Her gaze dipped to his lips. She recalled how his mouth did the most exquisite things to her and made her insides melt into a puddle. If she were to lean a little forward, they’d be nose to nose, lip to lip, breath to breath. But that couldn’t happen again. It played with her mind and her heart too much.

With effort she drew her gaze to his eyes, which seemed to be filled with amusement.

“See something you like?” A smile pulled at his lips and made him even sexier than the serious expression he normally wore like armor.

“I see a man who insists he has to talk to me. What do you want?”

He shook his head. “Not like this. Join me in the living room.”

“I have things to do.”

“I think this is more important. Trust me.” With that, he walked away.

She stood there fighting off the urge to rush to catch up with him. After all, he was the one who’d ruined a perfectly amazing dinner, nitpicking over her cooking. The reminder had her straightening her spine.

Refusing to continue to let him have the upper hand, she closed the door and rushed over to the walk-in closet to retrieve some fresh clothes that didn’t smell as if she’d been working in the kitchen for hours. She wished she had time for a shower, but she didn’t want to press her luck.

With a fresh pair of snug black jean capris and a black sheer blouse that she knotted at her belly button, she entered the en suite bathroom that was almost as big as her bedroom. She splashed some water on her heated face. Then she took a moment to run a brush through her hair. Not satisfied with it, she grabbed a ponytail holder and pulled her hair back out of her face. With a touch of powder and a little lip gloss to add a touch of color to her face, she decided that she wasn’t going to go out of her way for him.

Satisfied that she’d taken enough time that it didn’t seem as though she was rushing after him, she exited her room. She didn’t hear anything. Had he given up and disappeared to his office?

Disappointment coursed through her. The fact that she was so eager to hear what he had to say should have been warning enough, but curiosity kept her moving forward. When she entered the wide open living area, she was surprised to find Dante kicked back on the couch with his smartphone in his hand. He glanced up at her with an unidentifiable expression.

“What?” she asked, feeling self-conscious about her appearance.

He shook his head, dismissing her worry. “Nothing. It’s just that when I think I’ve figured you out, you go and surprise me.”

“And how did I do that?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. Otherwise you wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“It’s just that as tough as you act, on the inside you’re such a girl.” His gaze drifted over her change of clothes down to her strappy black sandals. “And a beautiful one at that.”

She crossed her arms and shrugged. “I...I’m sorry for being sensitive. I’m not normally like that. I swear. It won’t happen again.”

But the one subject she didn’t dare delve into was that her appearance was an illusion. Unlike his other women friends, her clothes didn’t come from some Rome boutique. Her clothes were hand-me-downs. For a moment, she wondered what he’d say if he knew she was a fraud. Her insides tightened as she thought of him rejecting her.

“Apology accepted.” He patted a spot on the black leather couch next to him. “Now come sit down.”

It was then that she noticed the candles on the glass coffee table. And there were the dishes of berries and fresh whipped cream and a sprig of mint. Why in the world had he brought it up here?

When she sat down, it was in the overstuffed chair. “I don’t understand.”

He leaned forward. His elbows rested on his knees. Her instinct was to sit back out of his reach, but steely resistance kept her from moving. She wasn’t going to let him think that he had any power over her.

“Dante, what’s this all about? Are you trying to soften the blow? Are you calling off the television spot?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

L
IZZIE
’
S
HARD
GAZE
challenged him.

Dante wondered if she truly wanted him to step away from this project. Had she gotten a taste of his mentoring skills and changed her mind? Not that it mattered. It was too late for either of them to back out.

Somehow he had to smooth things out with her. And he wasn’t well versed with apologies. This was going to be harder than he’d imagined.

“It’s my turn to apologize.” There. He’d said it. Now he just hoped that she’d believe him.

“For what?”

This was where things got sticky. He didn’t want to talk about feelings and emotions. He swallowed hard as he sorted his thoughts.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about dinner.” Her gaze narrowed in on him, letting him know that he now had her full attention. “See, that’s the thing. I’m not a teacher. I have no experience. My grandfather always prided himself on being the one to show people how to do things. He has a way about him that makes people want to learn. If he hadn’t been a chef, he should have been a teacher.”

The stiffness in her shoulders eased. “But I didn’t make you dinner so that you could teach me. I...I wanted... Oh, never mind.”

She clammed up quickly. What had she been about to say? He really wanted to know. Was she going to say that she’d made him dinner because she liked him? Did she want to continue what they’d started earlier that day?

No. She wouldn’t want that...would she? He had to resolve the uncertainty. The not knowing would taunt him to utter distraction. And if they were going to work together, he had to know where they stood.

He cleared his throat. “What is it you wanted?”

“I just wanted to prepare you a nice dinner as a thank-you for what you did by introducing me to your family. And...and I wanted to show you that you wouldn’t be making a mistake by taking me on to work here. But obviously I was wrong.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Yes, I was. You made it clear you don’t care for my cooking.”

He shook his head. “That’s not it. I think you’re a good cook.”

“So then why did you say those things?”

“Because good is fine for most people, but you aren’t most people.”

Her fine brows drew together. “What does that mean? Do you know about my past? Did your grandfather tell you?”

Whoa! That had him sitting up straight. “Nonno didn’t tell me anything.” But Dante couldn’t let it end there. He wanted to believe that he was being cautious because of the business but it was more than that. He wanted to know everything there was about her. “I’m willing to listen, if you’re willing to tell me.”

Her blue eyes were a turbulent sea of emotions. “You don’t want to hear about me.”

“Yes, I do.” The conviction in his voice took him by surprise.

She worried her lip as though considering what to tell him. “I don’t know. I’ve already told you enough. I don’t need to give you more reason to look at me differently.”

Now he had to know. “I promise I won’t do that.”

“You might try, but it’ll definitely color the way you see me.” She leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms.

He wanted her to trust him although he knew that he hadn’t given her any reason to do so. But this was important. On top of it all, if he understood her better, maybe he’d have an easier time communicating with her when they were working together. He knew he was kidding himself. His interest in her went much deeper than employer and employee.

“Trust me, Lizzie.”

He could see the conflicted look in her eyes. She obviously wasn’t used to opening up to people—except his grandfather. Nonno had a way with people that put them at ease. Dante was more like his father when it came to personal relationships—he had to work to find the right words. Sure, he could flirt with the women, but when it came down to meaningful talks, the DeFiore men failed.

But this was about Lizzie, not himself. And he didn’t want to fail her. More than anything, he wanted her to let him in.

* * *

Should she trust him?

Lizzie studied Dante’s handsome face. Her brain said that she’d already told him more than enough, but her heart pleaded with her to trust him. But to what end? It wasn’t as if she was going to build a life here in Rome. Her life—her home—was thousands of miles away in New York.

But maybe she’d stumbled across something.

Whatever she told him would stay here in Rome. So what did it matter if she told him more about her past? It wasn’t as if it was a secret anyway. Plenty of people knew her story—and plenty of those people had used it as a yardstick to judge her. Would Dante be different?

With every fiber of her being she wanted to believe that he would be. But she’d never know unless she said the words—words that made her feel as though she was less than everyone else. Admitting to her past made her feel as though she wasn’t worthy of love.

She took a deep breath. “Before my mother died, I was placed in foster care.”

Dante sat there looking at her as though he were still waiting for her big revelation.

“Did you hear me?”

“I heard that you grew up in a foster home, but I don’t know why you would think that would make me look at you differently.”

Seriously? This was so not the reaction she was expecting. Growing up, she’d learned to keep this information to herself. When the parents of her school friends had learned that she came from a foster home, they’d clucked their tongues and shaken their heads. Then suddenly her friends had no time for her. And once she’d overheard a parent say to another,
“You can never be too careful. Who knows about those foster kids. I don’t want her having a bad influence on my kid.”

The memory made the backs of Lizzie’s eyes sting. She’d already felt unwanted by her mother, who’d tossed her away as though she hadn’t mattered. And then to know that people looked down on her, it hurt—a lot. But Lizzie refused to let it destroy her. Instead, she insisted on showing them that they were wrong—that she would make something of herself.

“You don’t understand what it’s like to grow up as a foster kid. Trust me. You had it so good.”

Dante glanced away. “You don’t know that.”

“Are you serious? You have an amazing family. You know where you come from and who your parents are.”

“It may look good from the outside, but you have no idea what it’s like to live in that house and never be able to measure up.” He got to his feet and strode over to the window.

“Maybe your family expected things from you because they knew you were capable of great things. In my case, no one expected anything from me but trouble.”