Page 37 of Taking the Heat

Back in my room, I smiled happily at the sight of my dress on the hanger; it was a classic cut, with little cap sleeves and shell-coloured buttons trailing down from the modest neckline to the knee-length hem. In a floral pattern of mainly yellows and greens, it spoke of old-school Europe, like something from a French film. The white low heels set the look off, and Mama Ruby had made the wise choice to braid my long hair in a thick rope down my back.

As the knock sounded at the door, I grabbed my extra-wide-brimmed sun hat with a green ribbon trailing behind and set it prettily on my head. Opening the door, I hoped it was someone I really liked—I felt like I looked pretty damn good and it would be nice to share that with one of the guys who mattered.

My face fell when I saw Dante standing there. ‘Bella!You look magnificent!’

He leaned in and gave me air-kisses, while I did my best not to show how disappointed I was. ‘Hi, Dante. What are we up to today?’

‘A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. We eat, of course!’

Chapter 13

Half an hour later, we arrived at Dante’s chosen lunch spot. He’d had a picnic set up for us on what I’d mentally named Chris’ Hill—the cliff top overlooking the south beach. A red blanket covered the grass and a basket sat in the middle. The inevitable camera crew zoomed in as we settled down.

I searched for something pleasant to say. ‘This is nice.’

‘It is,sì?’ He cracked open the top of the basket and pulled out two glasses and a Perrier bottle. He handed me both and said, ‘Pour us a refreshment,Bella.’

Slightly annoyed by his tone, I did so. As I handed him a glass, I observed him carefully, trying to work out exactly what it was about him that I didn’t like. With his hair slicked back immaculately and his fitted white button-down, he was the image of iconic Italian sophistication. Too bad almost every word out of his mouth made me want to slap him.

Thirsty from the walk to the picnic spot, I drained my glass in a few swallows. Dante nodded in approval. ‘You have strong throat muscles. Do you deep throat when you suck a man’sbelino?’

‘Excuse me?’ I thought perhaps I’d misheard him, but then he grabbed a banana from the basket and mimed a blow job.

‘Like this! Do you take him all the way down?’

Stupefied, I said, ‘That’s not something I feel comfortable answering, Dante.’

He looked at me with distain. ‘Why not?’

‘Because, that’s not who I am.’

Laughing, he said, ‘Of course it is! Every woman here is abaldracca.’

‘I don’t know what that is, but I’m telling you, I’m not.’

‘If you say so, little one.’ He pulled out two sealed containers and handed me one. ‘Greek salad.’

‘What’s in yours?’ I said, suspicious about the clear difference in the contents.

‘Ravioli.’ He popped the lid and smelled the pasta in its red sauce with a rapturous look.

‘Why don’t I get ravioli, Dante?’

‘Because, a woman should be looking after her figure.’

Hotly, I said, ‘I look after my figure, thanks.’

‘I see you with your bacon,Bella.You need to watch your little belly, no?’

‘Actually, I run and I don’t really eat sugar and not that it’s any of your damn business, but I like having a little meat on my bones.’ I stood. ‘I’m not interested in eating with the kind of person who wants to calorie control my diet.’

He pushed to his feet as well, his face lusty and twisted. ‘God,fighetta,you are cute when you are angry! You make me soarrapato.My cock, you can see it is hard through my pants!’

‘You’re a pig,’ I said.

He moved towards me, hands out, oblivious to my ire. Channelling my inner Clara, I swiftly reached down and picked up the tub of ravioli. As he lunged for me, I slung the container, watching as the pasta splattered all up his shirt and face.

‘Argh!’ He clutched at his clothes, trying furiously to scrape the sauce away.

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