Page 3 of Hidden Heir, Italian Wife

Was he looking at her?

A sting of self-conscious pleasure touched her cheeks. She looked back at the menu, but her ears strained to hear his voice. He and the maître d’ were speaking Italian too quickly for her rudimentary grasp of the language. She couldn’t help smiling faintly at their affection, though. Were they related? From the corner of her eye, she caught the way he angled his head to allow his cheeks to be kissed by the shorter man. Perhaps he wasn’t interested in heterosexual women?

He’s not interested in me. Who would be?

That dark thought was leftover insecurity from Kabir’s callous,You said living together would be convenient and affordable. It was. Now I’m going home.

The memory was sharp enough to leave her chest feeling freshly impaled. Her next few breaths stung. She reminded herself that she was off men and dating. She didn’t care if a stranger looked at her. She wasn’t part of the insta-lust, hookup culture. She’d had one boyfriend. Their relationship had been a slow burn and lasted almost three years. She had expected she would marry him.

She’d been kidding herself, though. Wasting her time. Succumbing to Daddy issues.

Her eyes burned and the menu blurred before her eyes.

Shehadto stop pining and wallowing in maudlin self-blame, punishing herself for not being able to keep a man. The whole point of this trip was to leave Kabir and all her dreams for their future in Europe so she could go home and start with a blank page.

“The view is better at this table, Alphonso.” The deep voice spoke in affable English with an American accent. A masculine hand descended on the chairback across from her. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Gorgeous waited until she’d lifted her startled gaze to ask her, “Would you like company?”

Hedidlike women. Masculine interest radiated off him so unabashedly, he nearly gave her a sunburn with it.

“You’re American.”

She was more surprised by that than his request to join her. “How did you know that I am?” Wasshetrying too hard, wearing her new shoes from Milan and her sundress from Rome?

“My sister has a similar handbag.” He nodded at the tote her mother had given her after modeling it in a photo shoot. “They’re made in New York and not well-known enough to have knockoffs yet. May I buy you lunch?”

“Um…” A tingling glow filled her, one her ego drank up like a magic elixir. She was flattered that she’d gained the attention of a man whose magnetism was so tangible. Shehadbeen mooning over him. And berating herself for not moving on.

This was a bigger leap than she had had in mind, though. If she wanted to start dating, she ought to cut her teeth on a quiet-spoken claims adjuster from Des Moines, not a man with this much overwhelming confidence. She had the sense she could easily be pulled into his orbit and absorbed like light into a black hole.

She was willing to risk it, though. Because this was the new Bree, a woman who was self-sufficient and autonomous and secure in her worth.

“I can buy my own lunch,” she said as a precaution, so nothing would be misconstrued. “But company would be nice. My friends call me Bree.” She stood to offer her hand across the table.

“Mine call me Jax. Or Giacomo.” He nodded to Alphonso while his hand engulfed hers. He was at least six feet tall with a warm, strong grip and a self-assurance that made her feel special simply because she’d been noticed by him. He pointed at her glass. “The same, Alphonso,per favore.”

“Of course. I’ll tell Chef you’re here. He’ll be pleased.”

“Are you a celebrity?” Bree asked in an undertone as they sat.

“Not at all. Alphonso used to work for me.”

“At home? Or do you live here in Italy?”

“Naples, but my grandparents had a cottage here.” He waved toward the far side of the lake. “It was their first home when they married. My sister bought it from the estate after Nonna passed. The house is doing its best to slide into the water, but she won’t tear it down and rebuild. She wants it saved. She is not here, however.” He made that pronouncement with good-natured, put-upon disgust.

“She’s in New York?” Bree guessed.

“Yes. She enlists me every week or so to come deal with plumbers or painters.”

“Oh, dear.” She was both amused and sympathetic. “Is she your only sibling?”

“We have an older brother and another between us. You?”

“Three stepsiblings from my dad’s second marriage, but I was basically raised an only child by my single mom.” She shrugged, trying not to feel alienated after all this time. “That part of my life is a bit of a hot mess, so I don’t talk about it much.”

“Let’s talk about something else, then. What brings you to Italy?”

“Another hot mess,” she said wryly.

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