Page 70 of The Wrong Move

“Excuse me.” Pushing between them, I advance toward the bar, ready to down a bottle of whiskey. I don’t turn to give them a chance to see my face before the doors close when I’m already twenty yards away.

I don’t trust the bastard.

As I stride through the doors to the bar, a few heads turn my way. I keep moving and find a stool, ignoring the hum of a foreign language. The mirrored wall behind the bar is lined with some of the finest wine on the planet.

The bartender, I assume, asks me for my order.

“Blanton’s. Double, on the rocks.” I pause. “Doppio.”

“Sì.”He pours the whiskey on ice and slides the glass to me. “American?”

“Sì,”I repeat.

“East or West Coast?”

“West. Los Angeles.”

“Ah. Are you charging to your room, signore?”

“No.” I pull out my card, ready to pay. There is a quarter of the bottle remaining. “I’ll pay for the rest if you could leave it here.”

“Certainly, signore. What brings you to Rome?”

“A story similar to others.” He slides the glass to me, and I take a sip, relish the burn as the liquid slides down my throat. “A girl who owns my heart.”

He watches me for a moment. “Does this girl know you’re here?” he asks in broken English.

I peer into my glass. “She does.”

“Then why the sad eyes with such a handsome face?”

I choke. I should be flattered.

“There’s an ex trying to win her back.”Win.What the fuck is wrong with me? I hate losing, so I need a game plan to make sure I don’t fucking lose. “What’s the most romantic thing to do in Rome?”

He considers my question. “Serenade her beneath her balcony.”

I cough and inhale my whiskey. “Sing?” I choke out, wiping my mouth. “I don’t want to scare her, or anyone, for that matter.”

“Sì.”He wipes his hands with a towel. “Walk with her, always holding her hand. Buy her flowers along the way. Take her to dinner and pay for a private violinist.”

Giana has lived here, so tourist places are out. “Do you recommend any specific restaurants?”

“Sì.”He pauses and glances over my shoulder. His lips part as though he is transfixed by something. I swivel on the stool just as a gentle hand lands on my shoulder.

“I thought I would find you here,” Giana says in a soft voice. “Whiskey?” Her brows pull together. “You know we’re in Italy, right?”

I lean in and kiss those lips, pulling back to admire my girl. Her hair is swept off her shoulders and pinned on her head with a loose curl here and there. Her makeup is perfect, her brown eyes capturing my attention as well as the attention of every other person nearby.

“You look stunning.” I kiss her again and, with an arm around her waist, pull her close to me.

She flutters her long lashes and lowers her gaze. “Thank you.”

She doesn’t believe it?“Giana, you’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I can’t take my eyes off you.”

“Stop it.” She leans on my shoulder playfully and smiles at the bartender. “How many has he had?”

“One glass, signora. He does not lie.” He looks at me. “Bellissima.”

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