Page 69 of Unrelenting
Lorenzo smirks, like he knows I’m trying to get a rise out of him. “Who’s Maurizio? Some stray dog you feed?”
“No, he’s the guy in the apartment below.”
His grin falters. “You want to take food I paid for down to some other guy?”
“Yeah. He gives me gifts all the time. You see those roses.” I point to the vase on the table in the corner. “He gave me those.”
“Did he now?”
“Yes, and he asks me to dinner at least once a week. I think he likes me.”
“Is that so?” Lorenzo snarls. It seems I’ve flipped his caveman switch.
“Mmm-hmm.” I relish the darkening look on Lorenzo’s face. He really is a possessive asshole. “Of course, he’s not really my type. I’m not into nonagenarians with mobility issues.”
As I laugh, Lorenzo blows out a breath. “I am so going to spank your ass for that later.”
“I might let you,” I say as he finishes sending his message to Daniele. “But first you need to explain what happened the other day.”
“Okay. Have you got any wine?”
“Does this conversation require wine?”
Lorenzo raises one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Most conversations are better with wine.”
If a glass of wine is what it takes to get him to open up to me, I’m happy to oblige. I get up and go through to the kitchen.
There are six bottles on my wine rack, three each of two different varieties that a sales rep gave me to try in the hopes I’d offer them at the restaurant.
“I have a very fine Merlot,” I say, popping my head through the door to the living room, “or a Chenin Blanc.”
Lorenzo wrinkles up his nose. “Nothing local?”
“You own a vineyard. If you want something local, bring your own bottle next time.”
He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Pick whichever you prefer.”
I grab a bottle of Merlot, two glasses and a corkscrew. A full-bodied red wine should help us relax. I take the bottle through to Lorenzo and hand it to him along with the corkscrew.
“You do the honors.” I place the glasses on the table in front of him and take a seat on the opposite end of the sofa to him, drawing my legs up under me to make myself comfortable.
Lorenzo uncorks the bottle and sniffs it suspiciously before nodding as if he’s decided it’s passable. He pours two glasses and hands one to me.
“A toast.” He raises his glass. “To the most beautiful woman in Italy.”
“Not the world?” I form my lips into a petulant pout.
Lorenzo grins. “I never realized what a fiend you are for compliments.”
“A girl likes to know she’s special.” I sip the wine and shudder. “Oh, is it off?”
Sniffing his wine, Lorenzo shakes his head, then drinks a little. “Tastes fine to me.”
“You’re sure it’s not sour?”
“I don’t think so.” Lorenzo furrows his brow as he looks at me with concern. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” I set my glass down on the coffee table. “So, tell me what happened at your mother’s house. Is she ill?”
