Page 74 of Tempting Tessa

Contessa

I’m mid-bite of a croissant when Matteo’s phone buzzes for the third time in five minutes. He glances at the screen, his jaw tightening in that way that tells me something’s wrong.

“Mr. Del Mar,” he mutters, pushing back from the table. “I have to go address something with Armand outside for a moment.”

I roll my eyes and wave my butter knife at him. “Go, Mr. Mafia Man. Do your shady business. But I’m not promising your bacon will be here when you get back.”

His eyes darken as he leans down, his breath hot against my ear. “Touch my bacon and you’ll get a spanking, stellina.”

The promise in his voice sends a shiver down my spine, but I refuse to let him see it. “You’ll have to catch me first,” I whisper back.

He growls, nipping at my earlobe before straightening up. “Ten minutes. Behave yourself.”

I watch him weave through the crowded restaurant, his broad shoulders cutting an imposing path through the Sunday brunch crowd. The hostess practically melts as he passes her, and I can’t blame her. Matteo is in his casual Sunday best. Dark jeans and a charcoal Henley that hugs his shoulders and chest. It’s enough to make any woman’s panties evaporate.

Unfortunately for the rest of the population, I’m the only one whose panties disappear now when it comes to him.

The second he’s out of sight, I reach across the table and snag a strip of bacon from his plate. The crispy, salty perfection practically melts on my tongue. Worth every potential consequence.

I’m on my third piece when I hear it.

“Coco?”

My blood turns to ice. That voice is familiar, and absolutely not supposed to be here right now. I freeze mid-chew, a piece of stolen bacon halfway to my mouth, as my father appears at the edge of our table.

“Dad?” I manage, nearly choking on the evidence of my petty crime. “What are you doing here?”

He glances at the empty chair across from me, then at the plate with its decimated bacon. “Having brunch with Kat and Sofia. We were just leaving when I spotted you.” His eyes narrow. “Alone?”

I swallow hard, my mind racing. “Just eating with a friend.”

“Which friend?” He pulls out Matteo’s chair and sits down, making himself comfortable. My stomach drops to my toes.

“Natalia,” I lie, the name tumbling out before I can stop it. “She had to run, so I’m just enjoying the rest of my food.”

There’s no way I can say she’s running late. The second plate and glass gives that away.

My father nods, but his eyes are scanning the restaurant with that shrewd look I know too well. “Your mother used to love this place. Remember?”

I nod, memories of Sunday brunches with both my parents flooding back. “Yeah, the French toast was her favorite.”

“She’d be proud of you, you know.” His voice softens. “Building your own company from nothing.”

I feel a pang of guilt. If only he knew how much nothing actually cost, and who’s been footing the bill. “Thanks, Dad.”

He’s quiet for a moment, studying me in that way that always made me squirm as a teenager. “You look good, Coco. Different.”

“Different how?” I ask, my throat suddenly dry.

He tilts his head, studying me like I’m a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “I can’t quite put my finger on it. You look…settled, content. Maybe even happy.”

My heart pounds against my ribs. If only he knew why. “I guess I am. Work is going well.”

“It’s not just work.” He leans forward, lowering his voice. “You’ve been avoiding me, Coco. And I want to know why.”

I shift in my seat, guilt gnawing at my insides. “I haven’t been avoiding you, Dad. I’ve just been busy.”

“Don’t give me the same shit you gave me on the phone.” His eyes narrow. “Something’s going on with you. I can feel it.”