Page 70 of I Knew You Were Trouble

‘Oh no, you need to finish that sentence. The type of bloke who what?’

‘I only meant that you seem like… well, more of a man’s man.’

His brows lift a full inch. ‘And what exactly is a man’s man? I’m not sure I’m familiar with that English expression.’

‘Hah!’ I retort. ‘As we’ve previously established, your English is flawless, so I don’t buy that for a second. You know exactly what I mean.’

He doesn’t reply; he just stares at me with that tractor-beam gaze and a faint smile. Does he know the power he has, making my breath catch and my heart pound simply by setting his eyes on me? Maybe he’s oblivious – some men are.

And there’s the (not-so) minor matter that he’s protective of me like a brother would be. Nothing sexy about that. Well, the protectiveness part is sexy, the brotherly part… not so much.

I return Willem’s gaze, wondering what’s really going through that mind of his. Maybe this is him flirting. Maybe he doesn’t think of me as a sibling, after all.

God, I wish I knew for sure, but I’m a little rusty in this area. Jon and I never flirted with each other. In retrospect, our relationship was rather perfunctory.

‘So, the opera…’ I say, steering the conversation away from Willem’s man’s manliness.

‘It’s really spectacular here,’ he replies lightly, letting me off the hook. ‘They perform in the Arena di Verona. We didn’t get to that part of the city, but it’s worth seeing – with or without the opera. The Romans built it.’

‘Oh, that does sound incredible. I guess I would like that.’

‘Should I get tickets?’

‘Sorry, I meantsomeday.’

‘Why not tonight?’ he asks.

Because that would be too much like a date and then we’d return to the flat that doesn’t have any walls and I’m not entirely sure you’re as into me as I’m into you and I don’t want to launch myself at you and have you reject me.

What Isayis entirely different. ‘Because the past two weeks have been… well, exhausting. And with Lucia away, I really do think we should leave Verona today.’

He stares at me again, which is equally thrilling and unnerving, and I look away.

The waiter comes outside and starts fussing with the other tables, pushing in the chairs and gathering the place settings. I look around, realising we’re the last people here and they must be closing for siesta.

‘Scusi,ilconto,perfavore?’ I call out.

He nods curtly and disappears inside.

‘I thought your Italian was practically non-existent,’ says Willem.

‘Other than the basics, it is – and there are probably more polite ways to ask, but I’ve never had an aptitude for languages. Not for want of trying.’

The waiter returns, and when I unlock my phone to pay, Willem protests. ‘You got breakfast,’ I say.

‘That was coffee andpolpettes– a few euros.’

I tap my phone and the transaction goes through. ‘You can buy lunch next time we’re here,’ I say.Andnow I’ve agreed that he can come with me when I return.

‘Okay,’ he says, backing down.

I stand and slip my handbag over my shoulder. ‘Ready?’

Willem gets up and slides his chair under the table, and I do the same.

‘Where to?’ he asks.

‘We should probably go back to the flat and look into changing our flights.’

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