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“Bianca is going to be jealous,” I said as I neared his table.
“Oh? Why is that?” He rose to pull out a chair for me. I paused. I’d never had a man do that before and it was incredibly charming. Provincial some might say, but I would not agree.
“Well, thank you,” I replied as I sat delicately and he eased my chair closer. The man next to us paid us little mind as he nibbled on what looked to be a tasty charcuterie board filled with meats, cheeses, and, of course, olives and dates. “I come out of my lessons to find you talking up a woman who…” I tapped the empty white cup that bore dark pink lipstick marks, “…is using a shade that does nothing for her based on skin tone and hair color.”
“Is that so?” he replied with amusement dancing in his extraordinary eyes. Those lashes. There ought to be a law. He turned to yell into the caffè, got a gruff shout back, and then refocused on me as a trio of motorbikes sped past, the conversation among those on the zippy little bikes energized. “I order you a cappuccino to refresh your mouth.”
“That sounds incredible.” And it did. My coffee levels were quite low. Back in the States we—we meaning some Americans who were slaves to the coffee bean—drank it all day long. Here, it seemed they only drank it after meals. “So, your Bianca will be quite testy when she hears that you were having coffee with that young woman.”
I sat back, crossing one leg over the other and bouncing the crossed leg, and locked him down with a curious look.
“You are trying to stir the shits,” he teased, sitting up to study me over the empty cups splayed out in front of him.
“Moi?” I asked, fingertips resting between my collarbones. “I would never do such a thing. I’m just doing my best to protect the hearts of all the Tuscan beauties who are enthralled by you.”
He laughed and sat back to allow an older gent with a black mustache and a yellow apron to place my coffee and a small dish with sweetener packets in front of me. I thanked him profusely then passed him some euros. I waved him off when he tried to make change.
After getting the coffee to my taste, I lifted my sight to Donvino, who seemed utterly engrossed in my coffee prep.
“You’re staring,” I whispered, taking a sip while batting my lashes.
“You are very…” he squished his face as he parsed, “prim and proper.” I wiggled my lifted pinkie at him. “You can tell you come from monied family. That is no offense, please, it is just easy to notice you have airs.” Now it was my turn to make a face. He started to offer apologies.
“No, please, it’s fine. No need to apologize. I do have airs and elegant mannerisms. It’s part of the Arlo brand. You, on the other hand, are quite adept at steering the conversation away from things you don’t want to discuss. Bianca? Will she get angry?”
“She will not because she has no reason.” His gaze stayed on me as we spoke, no matter what zoomed by behind me. I loved it. Yes, I was a little vain. Fine. A lot vain. But when I was trying to flirt with a man, I liked them to fixate on me. Call me shallow.
“Is that your way of saying that there is nothing between you and Bianca?” I prodded.
“I hope there is nothing between us.” I arched a brow for him to continue as the glory that was strong coffee made its way into my bloodstream. “She is my cousin.”
Oh. Well, that was fine. “So not kissing cousins?”
“No, no kissing cousins.”
“And that young señorita who left her tacky pink lipstick behind?”
“Signorina.”
“Sorry, we didn’t get past the number five today. That young signorina with the too-pink lip shade? Is she a cousin as well?”
“You are so catty for a man.” I smiled sinfully, unable to argue. I totally was a catty bitch. Me and ow. “I like it,” he tacked on.
“Yes, I suspected. Do you like it on me singularly or on women as well?” Enquiring minds—mine—wanted to know.
“I like it on you especially,” he replied, his gaze softening as he examined my lips. I wet them because why not?
Damn the man. He was quite cagey. “Donvino, do I need to come out and ask?”
He fluttered those stupidly thick lashes. I rolled my eyes. He chuckled. “I like it on you, but I also like it on women.”
“Understood. Did you kiss her goose bite as well?”
His mischievous glance made me flush. “I do not think she has been bitten by a goose.”
I huffed, pouring on the flounce vibes yet staying put. “You’re purposely foot-dragging!”
“Moi?” he asked so innocently I had to snicker behind my hand. “I am only replying to your questions. Perhaps you should ask more clear questions?”
