The Sicilian's Bought Cinderella
Dante listened to Aislin’s enthusiastic chatter about her home with amusement. The money crediting her sister’s account had stripped the defensive, wary cloak she’d worn as swiftly as she’d stripped her jumper.
Aislin, he was learning, loved to talk.
He led her into a pizzeria, wondering how the short walk he’d instigated with the intention of exercising his desire out of him in the fresh air had backfired. Here she was, walking his streets in
leggings, scuffed ankle boots, a jumper wrapped around her waist like the teenagers wore it, her hair loose and unkempt, and she was still the sexiest creature on his island. He’d had to keep his hands rammed in his jacket pocket to prevent them reaching for her.
Gio, an old friend who owned the busy pizzeria, greeted him with a warm embrace. Kissing his friend’s cheeks, Dante introduced Aislin, who returned Gio’s embrace and kisses as if they too were old friends, then they were led to a corner table, menus placed before them.
‘Do all Sicilians snog each other?’ she asked the second they were alone.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You kissed your friend on both his cheeks. And he kissed you.’
He shrugged. ‘It is the Sicilian way. We are a tactile people.’
Her eyes were wide. ‘I don’t know a single Irish man who wouldn’t respond to a kiss by another man without a punch on the nose.’
He couldn’t help himself. Dante laughed. ‘You have a very unique way with words.’
‘I’m Irish. It comes with the territory.’ She took a large drink of the cold lager she’d surprised him by ordering.
She noticed the look he gave her. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be Prosecco all the way at the wedding. I won’t show you up.’
‘Aislin... I cannot stress this enough. I want you to be only you this weekend. If you want to drink Prosecco, then that’s fine, but if you prefer lager then that is also fine.’
‘But everyone else will be drinking Prosecco or champagne or whatever you Sicilians drink. I know you want me to be me but you’re still going to have my clothing for the weekend chosen by a personal shopper—’
‘A personal shopper who will help you, not choose for you. I want you to be able to relax this weekend and be yourself, not feel self-conscious.’
She eyeballed him for a moment then grinned and raised her glass. ‘I’m very glad to hear it. To be honest with you, grape-based drinks and I don’t mix—they give me a headache.’
‘Is that why you drink lager?’
‘I’m a penniless student. Cheap lager is all we can afford. It’s either that or cheap spirits that are as likely to contain windscreen wash in them as proper alcohol.’
Dante could not say why he found her chatter so entertaining and dragged his gaze from the wondrous lips making the chatter.
Thankfully, their pizza arrived.
Dante bit into his first slice and sighed with pleasure.
Conscious that his father’s cholesterol and heart problems, which had ultimately led to his fatal heart attack, had started when he wasn’t much older than Dante was now, he rarely indulged in unhealthy food, but when Aislin had ordered a spicy Sicilian-sausage pizza his mouth had watered so much he’d followed suit.
She devoured her pizza with all the enthusiasm of a starving student. But then, she was a student.
‘I hope I’m not about to say anything insulting, but aren’t you a little old to be at university?’
‘Only by a bit. I had to drop out in my final year because of Orla’s accident. I started my degree again in September.’
‘Are you missing much by being here?’
She shook her head and took another drink. ‘I’m getting the last batch of credits I need through distance learning so I can be around to help look after Finn.’
Bypassing talk about his newly discovered nephew, he smoothly moved the conversation on. ‘And you’re doing something to do with history?’
‘I should end up with a bachelor’s degree in Medieval European history.’