Page 9 of Perfect Match
“Mr. Barbieri, would you like refreshments?”
Gio turns to me. “Would you like a drink or something to eat?”
“No thank you. I’m fine.” I smile my reply toward the hostess, who shoots hate back at me like the Valimare women. But when Gio turns from me to her, she transforms from nasty bitchfaceinto an angel. What is it with these people who seem to think I’m some kind of threat to them? It’s almost laughable, and Gio, of course, has no idea.
I brush off the incident; instead, turning my thoughts to enjoying my day on this stunning boat with a handsome, attentive Italian man.
The blonde continues to stare at him, and only when he says, “That will be all. Thank you, Inga,” does she leave us alone again.
“Sorry about that,” he murmurs close to my ear. So he did notice. I’m impressed.
He walks to the left, where a spiral staircase leads to a lower level. “Down there are four staterooms. Would you like to see them?”
I’m tempted to take him up on the offer, but I don’t trust myself not to tackle him on one of the beds after our kiss this morning, so instead, I say, “Maybe later.” He grins at my teasing comment before I add, “I think I’d like to sit on the deck and enjoy the fresh air.”
A soft chuckle rumbles like distant thunder from him. “Let’s do that, then.”
***
A few hours later, we are ashore on the Isle of Capri, sitting on the terrace of a hotel restaurant overlooking the deep-blue waters of the bay. The yacht is so far below at the base of the cliff that it looks more like a toy.
Earlier, Gio went to his meeting while I wandered around the shopping area, buying a couple of little painted pottery Capri bells for my sister and cousin. And this time I could get them posted directly to the States rather than risking them in my bag.
I turn back from the view to face him. “Do you come to Capri often?” Tipping my glass of Aperol Spritz at the spectacular viewon the other side of the low stone wall, I add, “This is all pretty amazing.”
“It is, isn’t it? But sadly, I haven’t been here in years. When I was growing up, my brothers and I spent every summer vacation here.”
His gaze remains hidden behind his sunglasses, which is a damn shame because I noticed on board earlier that his sea-colored eyes are like an incoming tide awash with expressions that tell me more about the man than his guarded words do.Eyesarethe window to the soul, as the saying goes. I bet they are currently sparkling with remembered fun times.
“Tell me about your summers in Capri.”
“Well, there was a big group of us with my three younger brothers and dozens of cousins, so it was always loud and a lot of fun. We spent our days in the ocean and our nights playing games of tag around my nonno’s home.”
“Nonno?”
“My grandfather had a villa on Capri,” he clarifies. “I hated returning to Manhattan at the end of the summer.”
“You didn’t like school.”
He grins. “No, I liked school. But in Manhattan, we had to be inside all the time. While here, we had so much freedom.”
“I get that. After all, I grew up in Australia, and we spent a lot of time outdoors too.”
“All those beaches and nice weather.” He nods. “You said you’ve a twin sister, but did you have any other family around?” He rests his elbows on the table, bringing his face closer to mine. It’s hard not to get lost in the blue depths that stare back at me, the few tiny creases spreading out from the corners, softening his look. I’m learning those lines come from smiles that regularly paint his features, not just his sexy mouth.
“It was only Charli—and Jane, my mother.” I take another sip of my Aperol as I debate in my head whether to tell him more. Iguess he was open with me, so I continue. “We grew up in a small country town north of Sydney, nowhere near the beaches you’re imagining. It wasn’t quite so idyllic.”
A waiter arrives with steamy bowls of pasta at just the right time, saving me from having to add any more.
And when we’re alone again, he asks, “Are your sister and mother still in Sydney?”
“My sister is in New York. I came to Europe for a grand adventure, while she went to America in search of her dreams.”
“What is your sister doing in New York?”
“She’s a mixologist in a bar called Lost Paradise, though from what she tells me, it’s a long way from being a paradise.”
“I’ve heard of that place, and the comments haven’t been good. Why doesn’t she like it?”
