Page 49 of The Boss and the Adoption Mess
“I tried to research you, but there’s hardly anything to find. Why do you keep your private life so strictly secret?” I ask him. “People really know nothing about you.”
“And that’s exactly how it should be. Just because I run a company doesn’t mean the world needs to know my birthday, my marital status, whether I have children, or even if I’m allergic to something. Unfortunately, there are people who will use those details against you. And I have no intention of ending up in gossip magazines. I love my work, but I also love my private life.”
I nod quietly.
“Do your parents feel the same way?” I ask.
He pauses for a moment, then takes another spoonful of panna cotta. Clearly not a topic he’s eager to discuss. “If there are certain things I shouldn’t ask, please tell me. I just want to know who I’ll be living and working with before I dive headfirst into this whole adventure,” I explain gently.
A luxury mansion and an exquisite dinner aren’t enough on their own to make me commit.
“My father died several years ago. Shortly after Rosie was born.”
Damn, no wonder he reacted that way. I’d walked right into a hornet’s nest.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, guilt washing over me. The last thing I wanted was to stir up something so painful.
“My mother has lived in seclusion ever since. She avoids contact with the outside world. Only I visit her, as often as possible. No one else is welcome in her home.”
“I understand.” That makes it clear I’ll probably never meet her, which is a shame. “Not even Rosie sees her grandmother?”
“No. It’s complicated.” He offers a small smile and goes back to his dessert. I let the subject drop immediately.
“What does your week look like?” I ask.
“Business as usual. But on Friday I have an important appointment in Rome. I’ll fly out in the morning and return Saturday evening. Will you come with me?”
A short trip to Rome? Absolutely!
“Yes. Gladly.” I keep my fear of flying to myself—better not give him a reason to leave me behind.
“Do you have your passport with you, or is it still at home?”
“It’s still at my place, but it’s valid. Chloe and I planned to fly to Barcelona in November, to soak up some sun before the Christmas season. It’s just become so damn complicated since we left the EU.”
“Yes, a bit,” he agrees, “but it’s good you’re prepared for that.”
“Do you speak any Italian?” I ask curiously.
“Yes. I can get by in several languages. The usual ones. My parents made sure I learned the basics—important words and phrases.”
“Which ones?” I ask, intrigued. “I only speak Spanish and a little French.”
“Italian, Spanish, French, Greek, Turkish, Chinese, Korean, and Japanese.” The list is long.
“I’m still working on Portuguese and Thai, but that has to wait until next year.”
Wow. Impressive.”
“When I meet someone and I know they’re proud of their roots, I memorize a few sentences. It always makes a good impression. Customs, jokes, little traditions—things like that go a long way.”
“Any tips for Italy?”
“Never call pastanoodles. No pineapple on pizza. And most importantly: never break long pasta. Never. Under no circumstances." Gabriel smirks as he adds: "For you as a woman, it would also be worth noting that men there love to flirt. For them, it's completely normal."
“Okay, I think I can handle that. And why exactly are you flying to Rome?” I ask, nibbling one of the petit fours at last. I'm really loving the pistachio cream.
“I’m meeting with an olive oil producer. His oils are very popular with restaurants here, and we need to increase our supply. Plus, he has new varieties I want to try on site.”
