Page 58 of Italy Can Bite Me

Something dark crosses Matteo’s face—there and gone like a camera flash. “Not yet, amico. But days like this…” He shrugs, leaving the sentence hanging like the smoke still curling from our bus’s hood.

“Amore. Wait!” Enrico suddenly shouts, his voice jumping two octaves. “You wait for help!”

A strikingly gorgeous woman, who could easily be mistaken for an Italian movie star, carefully steps down from the second carriage. One hand supports her very pregnant belly while the other grips the rail. She’s petite but fierce with honey-gold skin and waves of dark hair cascading past her shoulders. Her dress stretches over her bump, and she looks more elegant than I do on my best day.

“Enrico,” she says in accented English, “if you treat me like fragile bambina one more time—”

“Caterina.” Matteo smoothly steps in to help. “Still haven’t told him the bambino is mine?”

She lands a playful smack on his arm before kissing his cheek. “Keep joking, I tell him is true. Then you deal with crazy husband,sì?”

“The hormones!” Enrico’s eyes go comically wide as he gestures behind his wife’s back. “They make her…” He mimes what appears to be a brain explosion. “Is no joke.”

“Like sleeping with grapes, amore?” Caterina’s sweet smile promises murder. “That also no joke.”

“Everyone”—Matteo’s voice carries across the field—“meet Enrico and Caterina, owners of the best vineyard in all of Tuscany, La Dolce Vite—The Sweet Life. They’re going to rescue us with some proper Italian hospitality.”

“Ah!” Enrico’s eyes land on me with delighted interest. “This must be yourfidanzata,sì?”

Caterina translates with a knowing smile: “He asks if you are Matteo’s girlfriend? If our wild boy has at last been tamed?”

“No!” Matteo and I yelp simultaneously.

“We’re not—” I stammer.

“She’s just a—” Matteo starts.

“Tourist!” I blurt.

“Temporary!” he adds.

“Purely professional.”

“Completely platonic.”

“Ah yes,” Caterina’s eyes dance with amusement. “This is why you both turn red likepomodoro? Because is so… how you say… platonic?”

Can I just vanish into this field and let the bugs eat me alive? Anything to avoid this humiliation.

Matteo rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Katie, I hate to ask, but could you work your event-planning magic with the group? I need to wait for the tow truck and then handle the hotel check-in. I promise we’ll get your photos later—the vineyard at sunset is bellissimo.”

The fact that he remembers about my pictures—that he’s thinking about me when he’s clearly stressed about fifty other things catches me off guard.

“Of course.” I try to ignore how my stomach drops at the thought of him leaving. “Any special instructions?”

He rattles them off: “Mrs. Thomas needs hourly glucose check reminders. The Dawson sisters turn into wine vampires after two glasses. Chester’s got a new knee—watch the stairs. And Stan needs bathroom breaks hourly but won’t ask—Rose will signal by adjusting her hat.”

A warm sensation flutters through me as I realize how well he knows them all. Every quirk, every need. I was so wrong about him. Behind that flirty facade and those ridiculous pickup lines beats the heart of someone who knows every single one of his tourists like family.

“Wait—” He pulls out his phone just as Enrico starts herding seniors into the carriages. “We should exchange numbers. For emergencies.”

“Only emergencies?” I raise an eyebrow and offer him my phone.

He types. “Unless you can’t resist texting me about how devastatingly handsome I am.” That deadly smirk returns. “How much you miss my accent. My charm. My—”

“Your modesty?” I grab my phone back, glancing at the screen. “Really? You put your contact name as Italian Stallion with an eggplant emoji?”

“Just stating facts, bella.”

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