A Bride for the Italian Boss

by Susan Meier

  Even though she could smell him, feel the heat of his body as he brushed up against her back, and feel the vibrations of his warm whisper as he pulled her arm back and demonstrated how to aim, she knew he meant nothing by any of it. He just wanted to be friends.

  When their third beer was gone and the hour had gotten late, she smiled at him. “Thank you. That was fun.”

  His silver eyes became serious. “You were happy?”

  She shook her head at his dog-with-a-bone attitude. “Sort of. Yes. It was a happy experience.”

  He sniffed and walked back to their table to retrieve his coat. “Everyone is made to be happy.”

  She didn’t believe that. Though she liked her life and genuinely liked people, she didn’t believe her days were supposed to be one long party. But she knew it was best not to argue. She joined him at their table and slipped into her coat.

  “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  She shook her head. “No.” Their gazes caught. “I’m fine.”

  He dipped his head in a quick nod, agreeing, and she walked out into the cold night. Back into the world where her stable fiancé wouldn’t even pick her up at the airport.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  WHEN DANI ENTERED the restaurant on Wednesday ten minutes before the start of her shift, Rafe stood by the bar, near the kitchen. As if he’d sensed her arrival, he turned. Their gazes caught. Dani’s heart about pounded its way out of her chest. She reminded herself that though they’d spent an enjoyable evening together playing darts at the tavern, for him it had been about becoming friends. He hadn’t made any passes at her—though he’d had plenty of chances—and he’d made a very good argument for why being friends was a wise move for them.

  Still, when he walked toward her, her heart leaped. But he passed the podium to unlock the front door. As he turned to return to the kitchen, he said, “Good morning.”

  She cleared her throat, hoping to rid it of the fluttery feeling floating through her at being in the same room with him. Especially since they were supposed to be friends now. Nothing more. “Good morning.”

  “How did your search go for your foster mother’s relatives yesterday?”

  She shook her head. “Still haven’t found them, but I got lots of information from people who had been their neighbors. Most believe they moved to Rome.”

  “Rome?” He shook his head. “No kidding.”

  “Their former neighbors said something about one of their kids getting a job there and the whole family wanting to stay together.”

  “Nice. Family should stay together.”

  “I agree.”

  She turned to the podium. He walked to the kitchen. But she couldn’t help thinking that while Paul hadn’t said a word about her quest for Rosa’s family, Rafe had immediately asked. Like someone who cared about her versus someone who didn’t.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and told herself not to think like that. They were friends. Only friends.

  But all day, she was acutely aware of him. Anytime she retrieved him to escort him to a table, she felt him all around her. Her skin tingled. Everything inside her turned soft and feminine.

  At the end of the night, the waitstaff and kitchen help disappeared like rats on a sinking ship. Rafe ambled to the bar, pulled a bottle of wine from the rack behind it.

  The Chianti. The wine he’d ordered for them at the tavern.

  Her heart trembled. She’d told him she liked that wine.

  Was he asking her to stay now? To share another bottle of the wine she’d said she liked?

  Longing filled her and she paused by the podium. When he didn’t even look in her direction, she shuffled a bit, hoping the movement would cause him to see her and invite her to stay.

  He kept his gaze on a piece of paper sitting on the bar in front of him. Still, she noticed a second glass by the bottle. He had poured wine in one glass but the other was empty—yet available.

  She bit her lip. Was that glass an accident? An oversight? Or was that glass her invitation?

  She didn’t know. And things were going so well between them professionally that she didn’t want to make a mistake that took them back to an uncomfortable place.

  Still, they’d decided to be friends. Wouldn’t a friend want another friend to share a glass of wine at the end of the night?

  She drew in a slow breath. She had one final way to get him to notice her and potentially invite her to sit with him. If he didn’t take this hint, then she would leave.

  Slowly, cautiously, she called, “Good night.”

  He looked over. He hesitated a second, but only a second, before he said, “Good night.”

  Disappointment stopped her breathing. Nonetheless, she smiled and headed for the door. She walked to Louisa’s beat-up old car, got in, slid the key in the ignition...

  And lowered her head to the steering wheel.

  She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to tell him about the countryside she’d seen as she looked for Rosa’s relatives. She longed to tell him about the meals she’d eaten. She yearned to ask him how the restaurant had been the two days she was gone. She needed to get not just the cursory answers he’d given her but the real in-depth stuff. Like a friend.

  But she also couldn’t lie to herself. She wanted that crazy feeling he inspired in her. Lust or love, hormones or genuine attraction, she had missed that feeling. She’d missed him. No matter how much she told herself she just wanted to be his friend, it was a lie.

  A light tapping on her window had her head snapping up.

  Rafe.

  She quickly lowered the window to see what he wanted.

  “Are you okay?”

  Her heart swelled, then shrank and swelled again. Everything he did confused her. Everything she felt around him confused her even more.

  “Are you ill?”

  She shook her head.

  Damn it. She squeezed her eyes shut and decided to just go with the truth. “I saw you with the wine and thought I should have joined you.” She caught the gaze of his smoky-gray eyes. “You said we were going to be friends. And I was hoping you sitting at the bar with a bottle of wine was an invitation.”

  He stepped back. She’d never particularly thought of a chef’s uniform as being sexy, but he’d taken off the jacket, revealing a white T-shirt that outlined muscles and a flat stomach. Undoubtedly hot from working in the kitchen, he didn’t seem bothered by the cold night air.

  “I always have a glass of wine at the end of the night.”

  So, her instincts had been wrong. If she’d just started her car and driven off, she wouldn’t be embarrassed right now. “Okay. Good.”

  He glanced down into the car at her. “But I wouldn’t have minded company.”

  Embarrassment began to slide away, only to be replaced by the damnable confusion. “Oh.”

  “I simply don’t steal women who belong to other men.”

  “It wouldn’t be stealing if we were talking about work, becoming friends like you said we should.”

  “That night was a one-time thing. A way to get to know each other so we could stop aggravating each other.”

  “So we’re really not friends?”

  He laughed and glanced away at the beautiful starlit sky. “We’re now friendly enough to work together. Men only try to become ‘real’ friends so that they can ultimately become lovers.”

  The way he said lovers sent a wave of yearning skittering along her nerve endings. It suddenly became difficult to breathe.

  He caught her gaze again. “I’ve warned you before to be careful with me, Dani. I’m not a man who often walks away from what he wants.”

  “Wow. You are one honest guy.”

  He laughed. “Usually I wouldn’t care. I’d muscle my way into your life and take what I wanted. But you’re different. You’re innocent.”

  “I sort of liked being different until you added the part about me being innocent.”

  “You are.”

  “Well, yeah. Sort of.” She tos
sed her hands in exasperation, the confusion and longing getting the better of her. “But you make it sound like a disease.”

  “It’s not. It’s actually a quality men look for in a woman they want to keep.”

  Her heart fluttered again. “Oh?”

  “Don’t get excited about that. I’m not the kind of guy who commits. I like short-term relationships because I don’t like complications. I’m attracted to you, yes, but I also know myself. My commitment to the restaurant comes before any woman.” He forced her gaze to his again. “This thing I feel for you is wrong. So as much as I wanted you to take the hint tonight and share a bottle of wine with me, I also hoped you wouldn’t. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “We could always talk about the restaurant.”

  “About how you were missed? How a customer actually asked for you?”

  She laughed. “See? That’s all great stuff. Neutral stuff.”

  “I suppose you also wouldn’t be opposed to hearing that Emory thinks that after the success of your lunch menu, we should encourage you to make suggestions.”

  Pride flooded her. “Well, I’ll do my best to think of new things.”

  He glanced at the stars again. Their conversation had run its course. He stood in the cold. She sat in a car that could be warm if she’d started the darn thing. But the air between them was anything but cool, and she suddenly realized they were kidding themselves if they believed they could be just friends.

  He looked down and smiled slightly. “Good night, Dani.”

  He didn’t wait for her to say good-night. He walked away.

  She sat there for a few seconds, tingling, sort of breathless, but knowing he was right. They couldn’t be friends and they couldn’t have a fling. She was innocent and he would hurt her. And though technically she’d stretched the truth about being engaged, it was saving her heartbreak.

  After starting her car, she pulled out, watching in the rearview mirror as he revved the engine of his big SUV and followed her to Monte Calanetti.

  * * *

  Though Dani dressed in her usual black trousers and white blouse the next morning, she took extra care when she ironed them, making them crisper, their creases sharper, so she looked more professional when she arrived at the restaurant.

  Rafe spoke sparingly. It wasn’t long before she realized that unless she had a new idea to discuss, they wouldn’t interact beyond his thank-you when she introduced him to a customer who wanted to compliment the chef.

  She understood. Running into each other at the tavern the first time and talking out their disagreement, then playing darts the second, had made them friendly enough that they no longer sniped. But having minimal contact with her was how he would ignore their attraction. They weren’t right for each other and, older, wiser, he was sparing them both. But that didn’t really stop her attraction to him.

  To keep herself from thinking about Rafe on Friday, she studied the customer seating, the china and silverware, the interactions of the waitresses with the customers, but didn’t come up with an improvement good enough to suggest to him.

  A thrill ran through her at the knowledge that he took her ideas so seriously. Here she was, an educated but simple girl from Brooklyn, being taken seriously by a lauded European chef.

  The sense of destiny filled her again, along with Rafe’s comment about happiness. This time her thoughts made her gasp. What if this feeling of rightness wasn’t about Rafe or Italy? What if this sense of being where she belonged was actually telling her the truth about her career choice? She loved teaching, but it didn’t make her feel she belonged the way being a part of this restaurant did. And maybe this sense of destiny was simply trying to point her in the direction of a new career when she returned to the United States?

  The thought relieved her. Life was so much simpler when the sense of destiny was something normal, like an instinct for the restaurant business, rather than longing for her boss—a guy she shouldn’t even be flirting with when she had a marriage proposal waiting for her at home.

  Emory came to the podium and interrupted her thoughts. “These are the employee phone numbers. Gio called off sick for tonight’s shift. I’d like you to call in a replacement.”

  She glanced up at him. “Who should I call?”

  He smiled. “Your choice. Being out here all the time, you know who works better with whom.”

  After calling Zola, she walked back to the kitchen to return the list.

  Emory shook his head. “This is your responsibility now. A new job for you, while you’re here, to make my life a little easier.”

  She smiled. “Okay.”

  Without looking at her, Rafe said, “We’d also like you to begin assigning tasks to the busboys. After you say goodbye to a guest, we’d like you to come in and get the busboys. That will free up the waitresses a bit.”

  The feeling of destiny swelled in her again. The new tasks felt like a promotion, and there wasn’t a person in the world who didn’t like being promoted.

  When Rafe refused to look at her, she winked at Emory. “Okay.”

  Walking back to the dining room, she fought the feeling that her destiny, her gift, was for this particular restaurant. Especially since, when returning to New York, she’d start at the bottom of any dining establishment she chose to work, and that would be a problem since she’d only make minimum wage. At Mancini’s, she only needed to earn extra cash. In New York, would a job as a hostess support her?

  The next day, Lazare, one of the busboys, called her “Miss Daniella.” The shift from Dani to Miss Daniella caught on in the kitchen and the show of respect had Daniella’s shoulders straightening with confidence. When she brought Rafe out for a compliment from a customer, even he said, “Thank you, Miss Daniella,” and her heart about popped out of her chest with pride.

  That brought her back to the suspicion that her sense of destiny wasn’t for the restaurant business, but for this restaurant and these people. If she actually got a job at a restaurant in New York, she couldn’t expect the staff there to treat her this well.

  Realizing all her good fortune would stop when she left Mancini’s, her feeling of the “destiny” of belonging in the restaurant business fizzled. She would go home to a tiny apartment, a man whose marriage proposal had scared her and a teaching position that suddenly felt boring.

  “Miss Daniella,” Gio said as she approached the podium later that night. “The gentleman at table two would like to speak to the chef.”

  She said it calmly, but there was an undercurrent in her voice, as if subtly telling Daniella that this was a problem situation, not a compliment.

  She smiled and said, “Thank you, Gio. I’ll handle it.”

  She walked over to the table.

  The short, stout man didn’t wait for Dani to speak. He immediately said, “My manicotti was dry and tasteless.”

  Daniella inclined her head in acknowledgment of his comment. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure what happened. I’ll tell the kitchen staff.”

  “I want to talk to the chef.”

  His loud, obnoxious voice carried to the tables around him. Daniella peeked behind her at the kitchen door, then glanced at the man again. The restaurant had finally freed itself of people curious about Rafe’s temper. The seats had filled with customers eager to taste his food. She would not let his reputation be ruined by a beady-eyed little man who probably wanted a free dinner.

  “We’re extremely busy tonight,” she told the gentleman as she looped her fingers around his biceps and gently urged him to stand. “So rather than a chat with the chef, what if I comp your dinner?”

  His eyes widened, then returned to normal, as if he couldn’t believe he was getting what he wanted so easily. “You’ll pay my tab?”

  She smiled. “The whole meal.” A quick glance at the table told her that would probably be the entire day’s wage, but it would be worth it to avoid a scene.

  “I’d like dessert.”

  “We’ll get it for you to go.”
She nodded to Gio, who quickly put two slices of cake into a take-out container and within seconds the man and his companion were gone.

  * * *

  Rafe watched from the sliver of a crack he created when he pushed open the kitchen door a notch. He couldn’t hear what Dani said, but he could see her calm demeanor, her smiles, the gentle but effective way she removed the customer from Rafe’s dining room without the other patrons being any the wiser.

  He laughed and Emory walked over.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Dani just kicked somebody out.”

  Emory’s eyes widened. “We had a scene?”

  “That’s the beauty of it. Even though he started off yelling, she got him out without causing even a ripple of trouble. I’ll bet the people at the adjoining tables weren’t even aware of what was happening beyond his initial grousing.”

  “She is worth her weight in gold.”

  Rafe pondered that. “Gio made the choice to get her rather than come to me.”

  Emory said, “She trusts Dani.”

  He walked away, leaving Rafe with that simple but loaded thought.

  At the end of the night, the waitstaff quickly finished their cleanup and began leaving before the kitchen staff. Rafe glanced at the bar, thought about a glass of wine and decided against it. Instead, he walked to the podium as Dani collected her purse.

  He waited for the waitresses on duty to leave before he faced Dani.

  “You did very well tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I saw you get rid of the irate customer.”

  She winced. “I had to offer to pay for his meal.”

  “I’ll take care of that.”

  Her gaze met his, tripping the weird feeling in his chest again.

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” He sucked in a breath, reminding himself he didn’t want the emotions she inspired in him. He wanted a good hostess. He didn’t want a fling with another man’s woman.

  “I trust your judgment. If not charging for his food avoided a scene, I’m happy to absorb the cost.”

  “Thanks.”

  He glanced away, then looked back at her. “Your duties just keep growing.”