Run To Rome

Warm evening air brushed against his bare arms and Trent doubled his effort to banish his father from his mind by surveying the untamed Italian vista before him. The sun rode a downward decent in the cloud-free sky toward the surrounding mountains, casting a golden hue across the rippled lake and everything else in its reach.

The bustle of the morning markets on the wharves had quieted to the ever-constant bells that echoed over the water. He’d spent enough time on the lake that they were normal, predictable, relaxing. Occasional carefree laughter of children, or the call of a parent added to the end of day tranquility. Mixed in with the damp, musty smell of the shoreline soil was the more pleasing scent of dinner simmering below. His stomach growled in anticipation.

A brief sense of peace washed over his unsettled nerve endings and ironically, he immediately thought of Halli. This was the Italy she’d come to see and experience. Not the one with murderers and guns and her sister getting shot while her brother was being held for ransom. To think he’d envied the Midwest upbringing he’d imagined she’d had. Parents in prison made his father look like a saint. She deserved so much more, like the garden tour this morning.

Their kiss replayed yet again.

That’d be a nice bonus—really nice—but this was about giving her experiences to remember beyond the bad stuff. It was the least he could do in exchange for the tantalizing aromas wafting up from the galley.

“How about we eat up top?” he called down to her. “It’s a nice night.”

“Sure. This’ll be done in about ten more minutes.”

Trent used the time to set up the table, then made a few trips below for a small linen table cloth, dishes, wine, water, and two long, tapered candles. Once everything was ready, he stood back to survey the scene. The wine glasses sparkled in the flickering candlelight and the seat Halli would occupy faced the lake where lights were starting to wink on across the water.

Perfect. Ambiance…lighting…he snapped his fingers. Music.

He met Halli at the short set of stairs. Flattening against the side to allow her room to pass with two covered serving dishes, he said, “I’ll be right back.”

Once the smooth, seductive tenor of Luciano Pavarotti flowed from the Scappare’s speakers, Trent returned to find Halli staring at the romantic setting, a dish still in each hand. He took one on his way past, set it on the table, and started to turn back for the second.

She was already beside him, setting the dish on the linen covered table. “What is all this?”

Suspicion underscored the casual question. Trent knew exactly what it looked like, and he’d be lying if he didn’t admit—to himself—the thought of seducing her made his pulse beat faster. But he could honestly say his intention here was nothing so selfish. He wanted and expected nothing more than to give her an evening to take home to Wisconsin.

“A truce,” he declared. “A few hours to put everything aside and not worry about tomorrow.”

For a moment, she stood there, staring at the table, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Then she shook her head with dismay. “Ben can’t put anything aside. How can I just forget what he’s going through? Or Rachel? In fact, I should call her.”

Trent caught her arm when she would’ve gone back down below. “I’m not saying you forget, Halli, you just let it rest. Give your mind a break and clear your head so we can come up with a strong plan of attack for tomorrow. There’s nothing better you can do for Ben right now, and Simone promised to call if there were any problems with your sister. Let her rest, too.”

She didn’t look completely convinced, but at least when she pulled free from his light hold, it was more of an afterthought, not a jerk. Her gaze swept over the picture-perfect scene and he glimpsed longing in her expression.

“You really think this will help?”

“It’s worth a try. Besides, a trip to Italy wouldn’t be complete without an authentic Italian dinner. While I apologize that you had to make your own, I figured the least I could do is provide the rest.” He gestured to the small bench seat facing the water. “After you.”

One last, slight hesitation and she sat with a quiet, “Thank you.”

Trent uncorked the bottle of Chianti and scooped up both glasses.

“Oh, no.” She held up a hand and he stopped pouring with her glass only a quarter full. “You think better on a full stomach, I think better without alcohol. You saw what happened last night,” she protested when he set the glass in front of her, half-full.

“You were stressed, jet-lagged, and exhausted, of course it knocked you out.”

“Sure, o-kay. That was it,” she said with a wry grin.

He poured himself three quarters of a glass. Before sitting down, he reached back to pull the gun from his waistband and laid it on the table within reach. Much as he hated the reminder, he wanted protection ready and available.

Halli stared at the weapon as he sat. Without a word, she transferred her attention from the gun and removed the covers from the dishes to serve. Trent found he couldn’t look away from her face. Candlelight softened the pink tint across her cheekbones and picked up the reddish highlights in her hair. Their knees brushed under the cramped table, sending instant warmth through him.

Latent desire flared in his veins like a match to gasoline. He shifted, and then immediately wanted to press his leg back against hers. He second-guessed his noble gesture of a friendly romantic dinner. This was going to be torture without the sensual promise of his definition of dessert afterward.

But it was a torture he’d endure again and again if it would put a smile back on her face. Whenever she smiled, truly smiled, those blue eyes sparkled and her whole face lit up with an inner beauty that took his breath away. His chest tightened, and without warning, his heart thudded hard. Suddenly, it felt like he’d just tossed her into his convertible and stepped on the gas all over again.

She glanced up, caught him staring, and gave a questioning lift of her brow and a self-conscious smile. He quickly took a gulp of wine before leaning forward for an appreciative sniff of his full plate of steaming pasta.

“Smells great.”