The Playboy of Rome

Somehow he had to smooth things out with her. And he wasn’t well versed with apologies. This was going to be harder than he’d imagined.

“It’s my turn to apologize.” There. He’d said it. Now he just hoped that she’d believe him.

“For what?”

This was where things got sticky. He didn’t want to talk about feelings and emotions. He swallowed hard as he sorted his thoughts.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about dinner.” Her gaze narrowed in on him, letting him know that he now had her full attention. “See, that’s the thing. I’m not a teacher. I have no experience. My grandfather always prided himself on being the one to show people how to do things. He has a way about him that makes people want to learn. If he hadn’t been a chef, he should have been a teacher.”

The stiffness in her shoulders eased. “But I didn’t make you dinner so that you could teach me. I...I wanted... Oh, never mind.”

She clammed up quickly. What had she been about to say? He really wanted to know. Was she going to say that she’d made him dinner because she liked him? Did she want to continue what they’d started earlier that day?

No. She wouldn’t want that...would she? He had to resolve the uncertainty. The not knowing would taunt him to utter distraction. And if they were going to work together, he had to know where they stood.

He cleared his throat. “What is it you wanted?”

“I just wanted to prepare you a nice dinner as a thank-you for what you did by introducing me to your family. And...and I wanted to show you that you wouldn’t be making a mistake by taking me on to work here. But obviously I was wrong.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Yes, I was. You made it clear you don’t care for my cooking.”

He shook his head. “That’s not it. I think you’re a good cook.”

“So then why did you say those things?”

“Because good is fine for most people, but you aren’t most people.”

Her fine brows drew together. “What does that mean? Do you know about my past? Did your grandfather tell you?”

Whoa! That had him sitting up straight. “Nonno didn’t tell me anything.” But Dante couldn’t let it end there. He wanted to believe that he was being cautious because of the business but it was more than that. He wanted to know everything there was about her. “I’m willing to listen, if you’re willing to tell me.”

Her blue eyes were a turbulent sea of emotions. “You don’t want to hear about me.”

“Yes, I do.” The conviction in his voice took him by surprise.

She worried her lip as though considering what to tell him. “I don’t know. I’ve already told you enough. I don’t need to give you more reason to look at me differently.”

Now he had to know. “I promise I won’t do that.”

“You might try, but it’ll definitely color the way you see me.” She leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms.

He wanted her to trust him although he knew that he hadn’t given her any reason to do so. But this was important. On top of it all, if he understood her better, maybe he’d have an easier time communicating with her when they were working together. He knew he was kidding himself. His interest in her went much deeper than employer and employee.

“Trust me, Lizzie.”

He could see the conflicted look in her eyes. She obviously wasn’t used to opening up to people—except his grandfather. Nonno had a way with people that put them at ease. Dante was more like his father when it came to personal relationships—he had to work to find the right words. Sure, he could flirt with the women, but when it came down to meaningful talks, the DeFiore men failed.

But this was about Lizzie, not himself. And he didn’t want to fail her. More than anything, he wanted her to let him in.

* * *

Should she trust him?

Lizzie studied Dante’s handsome face. Her brain said that she’d already told him more than enough, but her heart pleaded with her to trust him. But to what end? It wasn’t as if she was going to build a life here in Rome. Her life—her home—was thousands of miles away in New York.

But maybe she’d stumbled across something.