Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 100605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“I found old Playmen under my brother’s mattress once. It’s the Italiano equivalent to your Playboy. We were ten or eleven, and Matteo, he’d found my diary and read it and was poking fun because I wrote about one of his friends I had a crush on. So I went in search of his secrets. I gave it to my mother to get him in trouble, but all it did was get my father in hot water for leaving his stash lying around.”
I laughed. “That figures.”
“I leave tomorrow,” Luciana said. “I come to invite you to dinner tonight. At a ristorante I love—L’Altro Cantuccio. It’s in da village. Me, you, and my brother.”
“I’d love that. What time?”
“Nine?”
“I have to check my busy calendar,” I joked. “Oh look, it seems I’m free.”
“Fantastico. I go to visit a winery up north before, so I meet you there.”
“Oh. Okay.”
She kissed both my cheeks. “Ciao. Matteo will pick you up.”
***
Hours later, Matteo pulled into the driveway as I was finishing getting ready. I wore a red dress that hugged my curves and dipped a bit lower at the neckline than I’d normally choose for dinner with friends. But I’d be lying if I said I thought of Matteo as only a friend, or that I hadn’t had him on my mind while picking out what to wear. I spritzed on perfume and went to set the bottle down, then thought better of it and added a little more. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I was happy with the way I looked. It made answering the door and facing Matteo a whole lot easier.
“Hello.”
Matteo’s gaze swept over me, lingering long enough in certain places to make me glad I’d gone back for a second spritz. As usual, he looked insanely handsome. He’d dressed in a crisp white shirt and simple, dark, tailored trousers, shorter in length than most men in the U.S. wore. Italian men liked to be stylish and made an effort when they got dressed. Tonight, Matteo had pulled off the perfect combination of elegant and relaxed. Even the way he smiled, effortless and confident, made my heart skip a beat, and I was both grateful and disappointed that it wasn’t only the two of us having dinner.
He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “You look bellissima.”
“Thank you. You look very handsome yourself.”
Matteo offered his elbow for me to hold as he walked me to the passenger door of his truck. He waited for me to get in and shut the door behind me. On the drive over to the restaurant, I didn’t miss the subtle glances he stole over at my legs. I might’ve uncrossed and recrossed them more than once just for fun.
The restaurant Luciana had picked was cozy, with vaulted brick arches, heavy wooden beams that stretched across the ceiling, and soft lighting accentuated with real candles on the table. Matteo and the host seemed to know each other. They spoke in Italian, and I was pretty proud of myself for understanding.
“Luciana is not here yet,” he said. “They will seat us in the meantime.”
“I know,” I said with a smile. “I actually understood.”
He put his hand on my lower back, guiding me to follow the host to a quiet table in the corner.
“La lista dei vini.” The host offered a padded leather book of the wine selections, and Matteo gestured for me to take it.
“Oh. Thank you.” I shook my head. “But I think you’re definitely the better person to pick the wine.”
Matteo handed the menu back to the host without opening it and ordered something in Italian. This time, I couldn’t catch what he said, but it sounded sexy as hell. That accent might just be my kryptonite. Spreading the napkin across my lap, I glanced around the restaurant. Everyone here seemed to be on a date. In fact, we were the only table set for more than two.
“This must be a hot date spot.”
“They have good food. And good taste in wine.” He smiled. “They carry my bottles.”
“Is that what you ordered?”
He shook his head. “I ordered a French one that is one of my favorites. It’s a small vineyard like mine, and I like to support other growers.”
Fifteen minutes passed, and there was still no sign of Luciana—not that I minded too much. Conversation with Matteo had flowed effortlessly since we first met. Plus, it was a toss-up what was more delicious, the wine or the man sitting across from me.
The host came back and leaned his hands on the empty chair. He said something about Luciana and nine fifteen, then disappeared, taking the third chair with him.
“My sister is not coming.” Matteo frowned. “Apparently, she called the restaurant and said to let us know.”
“Oh. Is everything okay?”
“I’m sure everything is fine. This is just Luciana being Luciana.”