Page 8 of The Italian's Pregnant Enemy (A Diamond in the Rough)

He loved luxury, he could not deny it. Excess would never fail to make the streets feel farther and farther behind him. But he also didn’t mind simple food, simple evenings.

He took his bowl of soup to the table by the window and looked out at the scene. It was twilight, and all the snow was brilliant blue.

Silence was a luxury. In Rome a man could scarcely achieve it, even with millions. It had been far beneath a boy who lived on the streets.

Silence was his favorite indulgence.

“Dario.”

He lifted his head and saw his little blonde problem standing in the doorway. She had shattered his silence. Her hair was wet and she was wearing a white T-shirt that fell down to her knees, with a pair of sweatpants underneath.

“Did you have a bath, Lyssia?”

Her blue eyes widened, her cheeks going pink. “No. A shower. Why?”

Why indeed? Because he’d asked the first question that had come to his mind. Never a good idea. “Just concerned you were engaged in some sort of social media challenge where you stuck your head in a snowbank for clout.”

“As I’m known to do,” she said, dryly. “Is there dinner?”

She expected him to have handled dinner, of course. And he had. She was very spoiled, and he had a feeling she had no real idea that she was. But watching her careen about with her luggage she couldn’t manage, only to emerge hours after he’d left her in her room looking hungry and fragile, he wondered if the child could survive for five minutes on her own, even if she was in a luxury chalet.

“Yes, of course. Soup and bread. Feel free to avail yourself.”

He should leave. He didn’t.

Lyssia returned a moment later with a bowl of soup and a stack of bread on a plate.

She sat at the table across from him and she looked...disappointed to see him there.

“Sad that I’m not your boyfriend?” he asked.

Her cheeks turned pinker still. “Carter isn’t my boyfriend.”

“But you expected to meet him here and stay with him.”

“Yes,” she said.

“He didn’t tell you about the change?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it, and opened it again. Like a very small guppy. “Well, in fairness to him, I don’t think he knew I was hoping for this to be more than business.”

A funny thing about Lyssia. She didn’t lie to him. She might jab at him verbally, she might fight and hiss and spit, but she didn’t lie. Then, he didn’t lie to her either. Why? They drove each other mad. He had no reputation to preserve with her, and she none with him. Dropping bombs was more fun than crafting narratives. And they both seemed to take that tactic.

“How long does it take to send a text?” he asked.

“He’s busy,” she said, her teeth clenched.

“Have you spoken to him?”

“Not yet. But I haven’t texted him either.”

“You could call.”

“I will tomorrow,” she said.

Interesting. He would have thought that thwarted young lovers wouldn’t be able to spend even a moment apart. Unless they were not lovers yet. That could very well be.

She’d obviously intended for this week to change things, in that case.

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