Page 29 of Ciao, Amore

It sat below the D’Alessio property and was much more modern, made of lots of glass and chrome and white stone. A woman clad in a bikini was sunning herself on her terrace while a small blond child ran naked in circles. It wasn’t a horrible view, but most likely when the D’Alessio villa was constructed, the pretty princess who dwelled in this room could probably see all the way to the bay with no obstructions.

Dani could make out the water if she stood on tiptoe and peered far to the right. The baby looked up and pointed at her, and she ducked inside, hoping the woman wouldn’t feel as though she were being spied on.

“Oh well.”

It was still gorgeous. She crossed to the bathroom, but the story in there was even more concerning. The sink was now almost full to the rim with rusty water.

“Well, that’s not good,” she said, pausing.

The floors and surfaces were all spotless, but as she looked around, examining the room in the clear light streaming in from the window, it was obvious this bathroom hadn’t been updated in some time. The tiles in the shower were cracked, and the flooring was wet. She checked the tub, where she found a brownish puddle in the center. She’d been too tired to shower or bathe last night before falling into bed, so none of this was her leftover wash water. Looking up, she saw a crack in the ceiling and a moderate drip—the source of the puddle.

“The fuck,” she exclaimed softly. That looked really bad. It must be new. Nonno wouldn’t have purposely put her in this room if he’d known about this issue. The perils of an old house, for real.

“Stop being a choosy beggar,” she muttered. At least the toilet flushed, although the water rose perilously close to the rim. She held her hand to her pounding chest, waiting to see if there’d be a filthy flood, but thankfully, the water subsided.

Toilet crisis averted, at least for now, she pondered what to do about her shower and stopped the mental whine. The fact that she was here at all was awesome, even if she had to take rusty showers. There was always Nico’s bathroom right across the hall.

Nico D’Alessio Donahue.

His admission that he hadn’t told the truth about his family wasn’t personally hurtful. She realized it was the smart thing to do to vet women he didn’t know. No, what she hadn’t felt was hurt. She’d felt stupid. And more than a little concerned.

Her mind flitted from his new car to his expensive education, the little luxuries that an average working man would think twice splurging on, even if he’d saved up for the trip. All she could think of when they’d chatted with his grandfather about the winery and the manor home was what else did she not know about him.

“A fucking manor home. Who lives in one of those?” she exclaimed to the girl in the portrait. “Well, except for you.”

What other secrets was he keeping? Who was this man, who’d sat at her family’s table and presented himself as a regular Joe Blow from the Bronx? The man she’d let inside her body less than twenty-four hours ago.

Of course she didn’t know him. It had been one fucking month.

Still, her heart had gone out to him when he’d confided in her what was really going on—how much he cared about his heritage and his family’s future, and how much he’d give up making either choice. Not quite so much Bruce Wayne, the wealthy playboy. More like Aragorn, the quietly noble, reluctant heir to the besieged throne, hiding beneath the rough and humble Bronx-bro exterior.

Without even knowing, he’d taken her heart and carried it across the hall with him when he left.

Now she appreciated the hilarity of all the assumptions she’d made about Nico before she’d met him. How she was ready to dismiss him outright because she thought he was somehow not up to par according to her stupid fucking list.

The irony that he possessed everything on that list and so much more—his humor, his intelligence, the sense that he could be counted on to do what he’d said he would do—was even richer than the wine they produced.

Terri would find this turn of events hysterical. Doing the mental calculation, Dani scooped up her phone from where it was charging on her bedside table but then stopped. It was eight in the morning Naples time; that meant it was only two in the morning in New York. And it was just as well. She hadn’t cleared it with Nico if he was comfortable with her telling anyone about his background.

A surprising stab of longing pierced her right in the heart that she couldn’t talk about this to Terri, Jade, Melody, or anything else at this hour. They were so far away. A series of sharp knocks on her door broke her out of her pang of homesickness.

“Just a minute,” she called. She’d bought a cute short pajama set for the trip that came with a matching light cotton robe. Even if it was just Nico, she pulled on the robe and belted it before answering. Flinging the heavy wood door open, she was in the midst of saying, “Whattup, Aragorn, Son of Ara—?” when she saw it wasn’t him on the other side, but a gang of littles who giggled and ran with glee.

Isabella looked at her pajamas and her pedicure with slow interest, then nonchalantly said, “My mom sent me to tell you we’re going to the beach. If you want to come, we’ll be there.” For a tween, she was well on her way to mastering the disaffected teenager persona.

“Okay, thanks. I’m Dani. You’re Isa, right?”

“Yeah, me and five other girls in my class. My parents are so original,” Isa drawled with a hair toss. She paused, still studying Dani, and then mumbled, “Did you get your hair done at a place, or did you do that yourself?”

“My braids?” Dani ran her hand over her cornrows, getting fuzzier already after the travel. “Yes, I did them myself.”

“Oh.” Isa didn’t say any more about them, but she twirled a strand of her own hair and bit her bottom lip, staring at the plaits. “Anyway, we’re leaving. Mom said Uncle Nico can bring you. Bye.” She lifted a hand with chipped painted fingernails, bitten down to the quick, and waved before going down the hall, turning to glance at Dani until she reached the corner.

Dani turned back to her room, gazing helplessly across at the bathroom. She couldn’t go in there and wash in brown water, no matter how badly she needed the shower. But there was no way she was showing up flaunting her funk in front of the other women either. That would not be cute.

“Oh well. He’s just gonna have to share.” She grabbed her toiletry kit, her two-piece bikini, cover-up dress, and beach flip flops and headed for Nico’s suite.

When she knocked on his door, it was slightly ajar and swung open with barely a touch. His bedsheets were rumpled, but he wasn’t in them. When she heard his shower running, she debated whether to leave and come back or wait for him.

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