Page 91 of The Tuscan Child
“And me?” he asked. “Does part of your reason for staying mean that you do not want to leave me?”
“Yes,” I said carefully. “I think it does.”
He leaned toward me, put a hand under my chin, and pulled my face toward his. Then he kissed me hard and with longing. When we broke apart he laughed uneasily. “It is lucky we are on a terrace where we can be observed, or I don’t know where that would have led.”
“I’m a respectable young English lady,” I replied. “I expect to be courted properly.”
“Of course, my lady.” He laughed, his eyes flirting with me.
I looked at him, suddenly struck by a thought. “You could go back to London to finish your studies and then open your restaurant.”
“We could turn your Langley Hall into a hotel and restaurant,” he said.
“We?”
“Am I moving too fast? Maybe just as business partners, you know.”
“Why England? It’s rains too much. You could open your restaurant here as you once dreamed. You could turn this house into your dream restaurant. Imagine the diners sitting here on your terrace and feasting their eyes on the view before they feasted them on the food.”
“I would need to return to England first to finish my apprenticeship,” he said. “And you should pass your exam. And then, who knows?”
He reached across and took my hand. We sat there side by side on the terrace not saying a word while the sun sank behind the western hills and one by one lights twinkled on in the world spread out below us.
