Page 8 of The Roman's Woman (A Singular Obsession)

His gaze was direct, looking at her with obvious appreciation when in reality there was little for him to find attractive. She was wearing a loose t-shirt with boxy khaki shorts that disguised her big body as much as possible.

She had learned long ago that wearing form-fitting clothes tended to attract the wrong kind of attention. Skinny women and a good number of men gave her alookwhen they caught an unencumbered view of her full bust and the exaggerated curves of her hips and ass.

Sophia would never be a size six, and she was okay with that. Most of the time. But there were moments when she’d catch a sly whisper or sideways glance full of judgement, and she’d cringe with something close to shame. Which was stupid. She couldn’t help her body type. God knows she exercised and ate right. But no Pilates class or diet could diminish her curves, no matter how hard she tried.

Kelly kept telling her that the Kardashians had made rear ends like her's popular, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. The unending criticism from her father, Jorge, about her weight coupled with her recent break up had ensured that. But Gio appeared to see through her camouflage, his appreciation obvious. It was a definite boost to her confidence after the way things ended with Richard. And shewassupposed to get that survey form filled out.

She reluctantly agreed to have a quick meal with him before her train, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

“Florence is a quick ride away, and the meals atTratto Stivaleare unforgettable,” he said, insisting that he had nothing better to do than go to another city to have dinner with her.

“I’m not sure how I feel about you going all the way to Florence just for dinner. And it would bejustdinner,” she stressed, one brow raised for emphasis.

Gio gave her another boyish grin. “Of course it would only be dinner. And I have family in Florence. It would be a good excuse to see my aunt. I have to speak to her, anyway,” he said, a shadow crossing his face for a moment before his expression cleared.

Biting her lip, she stared at him indecisively for a minute. She couldn’t argue when he was going to visit family, could she?

Gio put his forearms on the table and leaned forward. “After dinner, I’ll take you to the best gelato place in Florence, possibly all of Italy.”

Huffing out a laugh, Sophia finally agreed.

They left the cafe and headed for the train station, detouring briefly to pick up her suitcase. He didn’t do the same. He hadn’t seemed bothered by the idea of spending the night in another town without a change of clothes, which was a good thing. If he’d asked her to go to his apartment to pick some up, she probably would have changed her mind about dinner. Maybe he sensed that, so he opted to head straight to the train after retrieving her bag.

Once Gio had bought a ticket to Florence—which she tried to pay for without success—Sophia started to have serious misgivings about letting him talk her into dinner. And the reason why made her hate herself…but the idea of a date with a street performer was a little difficult for her, as uncharitable as that was.

She was a highly educated professional, a medical doctor with a Ph.D. She could say, without conceit, that in her field she was near the very top. The thought of going on a date with someone who scrabbled in the streets for a living made her uncomfortable. Though Richard had been her one real relationship, she had gone on a few dates with other men here and there. Without exception, those guys had all been white-collar professionals or fellow students headed in that direction.

Her own snobbery shamed her, so she shoved down her misgivings and ignored them. After a while, it became easy. Gio was an incredibly efficient distraction.

The train ride passed in a blink. They sat close together while he asked about her work. Strangely comfortable around him, she described her research project. He asked insightful questions, and she was a little surprised at how well he understood the technical aspects of her job.

She’d never experienced this before—an instant sense of ease. The conversation between them flowed so naturally, she forgot her misgivings about Gio’s profession. It was only one dinner.

Once she had dropped off her bag at her hotel, they headed back out onto the sun-baked streets, strolling leisurely. Gio didn’t try to fill every silence, but the occasional lulls in the conversation didn’t feel awkward.

The restaurant he took her to was small and intimate, a family run place where the owner greeted him by name so effusively she was momentarily taken aback. After Gio exchanged a few words with the owner in rapid Italian, they were ushered to a charming table in a private nook—despite the crowd of people waiting to be seated near the entrance.

“I take it they know you well here,” Sophia said, blushing as he pulled her chair out for her. She sat down, feeling as if there were in much fancier restaurant. “I thought you were mainly based in Rome.”

Gio’s brow rose before smoothing. “Er, I am. But as I mentioned, I have family here. The owners are family friends of a sort. My father and I eat here whenever we’re both in town. They have the best white truffle pasta. It’s a specialty of the house.”

Sophia smiled. “Then that’s what I’m getting.”

After waving over a waiter and ordering two of the dish and a bottle of Chianti, Gio settled back in his chair. When the bottle arrived, he poured her a large glass, and she sipped the deep red wine with pleasure.

“Have you enjoyed your visit so far?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’ve always wanted to come here, ever since I was little. My mom loved all things Italian. She named me after Sophia Loren.”

His eyes lit in understanding. “That explains the spelling, with a “ph” instead of an “f” like the more common Hispanic version.”

She cocked her head at him. “Did I spell it for you?”

With a last name like Márquez, most people assumed it was spelled with an “f”. She used to have to spend a while fixing forms whenever she changed schools or jobs.

He pursed his lips and shook his head. “It must have been your friend, um—”

“Kelly,” she supplied.

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