The Sicilian's Marriage Arrangement

He sat down in the chair opposite hers. No sooner than he had done and a drink was placed in front of him by a discreet servant. The first course was served moments later. They were eating their main course, a meatless moussaka when she realized the entire meal had been vegetarian.

“You remembered I don’t care to eat meat.” It shocked her. She’d lived with her grandfather since she was five years old and he still couldn’t remember that about her. And if he had remembered, he would never have catered to her desires.

“It is not such a big thing.” His shoulders moved in a typical throw away gesture. “But tell me, does it bother you to be at the table when others eat it?”

“No, but I don’t look too closely at their plates either,” she admitted ruefully.

He seemed pleased by that, though she could not imagine what it had to do with him. Their conversation flowed, Luciano asking her questions about her life in Boston and answering her questions about his life in Sicily.

“So, what are you doing in Athens, or is it top-secret business stuff?” She was used to her grandfather keeping tight lips about many areas of his life.

“I make frequent trips to my headquarters here and elsewhere.”

He was as driven as her grandfather. “Do you ever take time off to relax?”

His smile sent sensations quivering through her. “I am relaxing now, with you.”

“But even this,” she indicated their almost finished dinners, “is prompted by your business interests.”

“I assure you, business has not been in the forefront of my mind since I spied you walking back toward your tour bus laughing with your companion, your hand in his.” His voice had taken on the hardness of tempered steel.

She didn’t want a reenactment of their earlier argument, so she opted not to reply to his comment. She chose instead, to change the subject. “How is your mother? Your sister is twenty now, isn’t she? Is she dating anyone special?”

For a moment he actually looked bemused. “You know a great deal about me.”

“It is inevitable after a five-year acquaintanceship.” Or rather five years of infatuation, she thought with some sadness.

“My mother is fine.” He laid his fork down and leaned back against his chair. “She is pressing me to marry soon.”

An irrational sense of loss suffused her at his words—irrational because you could not lose what you had never had. He would oblige his mother, she was sure. At thirty, Luciano was of an age for a Sicilian male to start making babies. The thought of another woman big with his child was enough to destroy what remained of her appetite.

“And your sister?” she asked, pushing away her half-finished plate, trying not to dwell on the prospect of him marrying soon.

Warm indulgence lit his almost black eyes. “Martina is enjoying university too much to allow any one male to seriously engage her interest.”

“You allowed her to attend university in America, didn’t you?” She could remember discussing the merits of different colleges with him a couple of years previously at one of her grandfather’s business dinners.

“Si. She enjoys it very much. Mamma worries she will not wish to return to a traditional life in Sicily though.”

Hope had nothing to say in reply to that. She had no experience of daughters and mothers. Hers had died when she was much too young.

“It is understandable,” Luciano brooded. “Life in Sicily is still very traditional in some ways. Mamma has never worn a pair of trousers in her whole life. If you were seen holding hands with your young blond friend in the small village in the country outside Palermo where I grew up, an engagement announcement might be expected.”

Why did he keep harping on that? It had been totally innocent, unlike the kiss they had shared not too long ago. “David is from Texas,” she tried to explain. “He’s very affectionate, but he doesn’t mean anything by it.”

His brows rose in mockery. “This is why he invited you back to his room.”

Oh, dear. Luciano was back to looking dangerous. “He’s never done that before. He was just reacting to your arrogant claim on me. It’s a guy thing, I guess.”

“Are you truly so naive you do not realize this man wants you?”

“I’m not naive.” Introverted did not equal stupid.

His dark eyes narrowed. “Your inexperience of men and their ways shows in your foolish belief that the touches of a man who pays you particular attention mean nothing.”

He didn’t need to rub in how gauche she must appear in comparison to his usual date. So, she seemed a fool to him. She must be to have allowed herself to enjoy his kisses and conversation when he thought so little of her. “If you’re finished insulting me, I’d like to go back to my hotel now.”