Page 4 of Dario

“Or you could let her get her own tray.”

I nearly laughed, barely remembering in time who I was speaking to. “Sir—”

“Dario.”

“If I call you Dario, will you let me get back to work?” I snapped.

His eyes flashed. Not with anger, I was relieved to see, but with that same humor I wasn’t sure was much better. Seven hours, I mentally reminded myself. Seven hours. Anything to stop me from reaching for the knife on the breakfast tray and using it to comb his hair with.

“I need to talk to you.”

I waved a hand, silently begging him to get on with what was quickly becoming one of the weirdest conversations of my life.

He smiled. “I have an offer for you to consider.”

“No,” I said in alarm and stepped back, the wall preventing any further retreat.

“You don’t know what I’m going to ask yet,” he said.

“I’m not continuing to work for the family, and I’m not a trained chef. I’m sorry, but today’s my last day.”

He smiled. “If the demonstration I just heard is an indication of your treatment, then I wouldn’t blame you.” My breath caught. He had no idea. Sofia and her mother were bullies. Rocco was something else entirely.

“Let me be clear. I know the arrangement you have with your father.”

I’d heard the phrase “The silence is deafening” all my life. Most people had. But until the word father slipped from Dario Banetti’s lips I hadn’t realized just how noisy silence was. A cacophony of a million voices battering me all at once. I was sure he said something else after that. His lips certainly moved, but the roaring blackness in my head drowned it out. Then I was flying.

Or not. My body had certainly moved and when I tamped down the sheer panic that had stolen my breath and probably what little sanity I had left, I seemed to land back to reality with a bump. Not a hard bump, though, a soft one. Currently cradled on Dario Banetti’s lap, it took me a moment to work outthat while he might be softer than the floor, some parts of him definitely weren’t, and some parts seemed to be getting harder.

“Let me go,” I croaked, and while his arms relaxed, I was still trapped.

“I will not hurt you, but nor can I allow you to be hurt.” Yeah, I thought, and where have you been for the past six years?

“I’m not talking,” I said, trying to stop the embarrassing tremble.

“You misunderstand, Alessandro. I know all about your father. I do not need you to spill any secrets.” Didn’t he? I doubted it.

“Then what do you want from me?”

His smile was sultry, wicked. “I have a silent question first.” I frowned. A silent—? Ohh. Understanding hit me at the same time his lips touched mine. Counting two near-misses and a disaster I’d rather not think about, Dario Banetti was, I supposed, my first kiss. I tried to think, but as his lips teased mine to open and his tongue slipped in, any thought, any higher brain function at all, seemed to disappear on a tidal wave of lust that lit every cell in my parched body.

I was drowning.

He pulled back when he seemed to know I’d ignored my lungs’ demand for oxygen long enough. Gathering my tattered thoughts, my shredded dignity, and the fact I was still sprawled over his knees, I managed to croak out the words. “You’re not gay.” Which was ridiculous and not what I was going to say at all.

He smirked. “Bi actually, but I needed to know how you felt before I asked you a question.”

“Question?” I whispered wondering if I’d fallen into an alternate dimension.

“Amante,” he purred. “The question was will you marry me?” His eyes flashed and deepened, the black almost showing hints of silver. “But don’t worry, your body just answered me.”

I gaped for a few seconds before fury rushed through me, and I almost catapulted off his lap. “Over my dead body,” I snarled.

“Yes,” Dario Banetti replied, his voice cool, all teasing gone, and a frigid tone gripping his words.

“Unless you agree. It might just be.”

3

---