It seemed like a casual inquiry, but the way he stared told me there was another reason he’d sought me out. I shifted my weight and tried to look unaffected. After all, it wasn’t like he’d kissed me. He’d been the one to step back and turn that moment into a hug rather than something . . . more. “We’re heading to Santa Maria and doing some shopping. Mom and Allegra made a pit stop first.”
He cocked his head. “Pit stop?”
“Sorry, bathroom. Toilet. Umm, what about you? Do you stay in the area or go back to the hotel?”
“I need to make sure some details are arranged, so I’ll be at the hotel till dinner.” His voice lowered to an intimate pitch. “I wanted to check on you. See if you were okay.”
“Oh yes, I’m fine. No more attacks, and I’ve backed off work. I’ve really been enjoying the tour so far. I loved Maria’s mozzarella farm and all the personal touches you included.”
Mischief flickered in his dark eyes. “I wish I could claim credit for the stops, but that’s on the tour company. I just make sure the guests are happy.”
“Well, I am. I mean, we are.”
Silence settled over us, but it pulsed with unspoken words we weren’t brave enough to say. At least, I wasn’t. He cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you weren’t tired after dinner, maybe we could meet for a cocktail? Or coffee? Afterward.”
Excitement flickered. He wanted to see me. Alone. The thought of sharing some time with him in private made my belly do a slow flip-flop. “Yes, I’d like that. I’m usually not able to go to sleep too early, so that would be nice.”
“Good.” His name cut through the air, and he turned, his expression already changing into his professional mode. “I’ll talk to you later. We can meet on the upstairs terrace. It’s quiet.”
I nodded, and he walked away, smiling as Ray pointed to a map and asked questions. Allegra and Mom returned, so we headed out for the afternoon and I swore I wouldn’t think about our secret meet-up. It was really nothing. A friendly get-together for him to check on me.
But even I couldn’t convince myself it didn’t mean anything.
The hours flew by and we were pleasantly tired and happy by the time we arrived at the restaurant that evening. I’d taken a bit more care with my appearance, pairing wide-leg black trousers with an emerald green top that gave a bit of sparkle to my usually dull brown eyes. I fluffed up my hair and added dangly gold earrings, then even spritzed on perfume.
After all, it was a nice restaurant. I had to look decent.
The restaurant held the perfect balance of charm and coziness. The dimly lit room added a touch of intimacy, and the gleaming wood floors, yellow paint, and stone wall added a dimension of Italian character. There was a hallway where an impressive variety of wines were stacked up, and the bar was bustling. A three-person band was setting up, and I noticed another table of about eight tourists next to us. We all waved at them and tried to engage in conversation, but they were all men and seemed super serious, frowning at our friendly attempts and pretty much ignoring us. Odd. I would’ve figured it was a business meeting, except the guide was talking loudly to them about the next day’s itinerary and wore a name badge that declared florence tours done right!
The menu was Florentine inspired and held an array of delights. Allegra and Mom convinced me to push my food boundaries again, and I enjoyed most of it, squishing my face up as I tried to decide with each new bite if I liked it or not. We feasted on tagliatelle with wild boar ragù and beef fillets in a rich truffle sauce. Mom chose the sea bass and swooned over our wonderful waiter, Rocco, who treated us like royalty and cleaned her fish tableside. The calamari was crisp yet tender inside, and the red wine was the color of rubies, with a heavy tannin and smooth finish that went perfectly with my beef. I didn’t worry about carbs or diets, allowing myself to eat whatever I wanted. The band played and the singer took requests from the guests, launching into familiar old ballads, American favorites, and of course, Frank Sinatra. By the time the berry tarts were served, our table was pretty much drunk and getting rowdier than usual.
Dana refilled her glass, and Rocco promptly brought another bottle. “Have you noticed those guys staring at us, y’all?” she said a bit loudly. “I’ve never seen people in Italy look unhappy. And they seem to be acting a bit assholery to the waiters. Are they not on vacation?”
Steve forked up a bite of his tart. “Darlin’, there are a lot of dissatisfied people in the world. They change their location or their relationships or their job, and hope they’ll be happy. But do you think they are? No. Why, you ask? Because happiness comes from within. It’s a lesson we all must learn in our own time.”
I tamped down a chuckle. Since the beginning of the tour, Steve rarely uttered more than a sentence, so this was like a soliloquy. I also noticed he had a bit of a goofy grin and was bombed along with the rest of the group except me, Allegra, and Kai. I was trying to keep sober for my nighttime chat. Even Mom was swaying back and forth to the music and had proclaimed she was feeling a bit fizzy and warm.
Dana sighed. “You’re so deep,” she said to her husband, stroking his arm.
The strains of Dean Martin’s famous classic, “That’s Amore,” boomed from the speakers, and everyone let out a cheer. In unison, we began chanting the well-known lyrics, and then Cherry and Laura popped out of their chairs and began dancing together in the small open area by their table.
I waited for the waitstaff to guide them politely back to their seats, but they only cheered them on, and the room became engaged in trying to sing in tune. It was one of those rare moments when strangers came together—like a well-known bar that protected your secrets and stories because you shared a bonding moment over a cocktail. Smiles were plastered on faces, joviality was high, and then I glanced over at the table next to us and saw their obvious disapproval.
Mom leaned over to whisper in my ear. “They’re a challenge.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
She pointed rudely over to them—solidifying her tipsiness. My mother was always ruthlessly polite and kind. “They don’t want to have fun. It’s our job to push them so they’re forced to be happy. We were brought here to give them a bit of joy.”
I laughed. “Mom, that sounds quite spiritual, but I think they just want to eat and get away from the crazy tourists.”
She shook her head. “I’m telling you, Frannie, I sense we are meant to meet them.”
I nodded, allowing her to believe she’d convinced me, and subtly pushed her water glass toward her so she could hydrate. We finished dessert and we finished the song, and Enzo announced we were wrapping up and needed to return to the bus.
Until the chicken dance came on.
The strains hit my ears and I didn’t know whether to flinch or laugh. The overplayed, awful wedding song that forced people to flap their arms like wings and stamp their feet was either adored or despised, but I had no idea Italy even knew the song existed.
I stood up to grab my purse, and it all went downhill.
Dana screeched and jumped up, dragging me into a half embrace, and began to shake and cluck. Cherry and Laura made a circle around me, and before I could blink, most of our table had streamed out into the open area and was doing a nightmarish, drunken version of the chicken dance.
Eyes wide with horror, I tried to disengage, but Dana refused to let me go, holding my hand tight. “Allegra, Sophia, get out here!” she yelled, motioning them over. Knowing they’d never get involved in such a public display, I figured I’d sway back and forth and get the episode over with so we could return to the hotel. And then I watched as my mother rose from her seat, grabbed Allegra’s wrist, and pulled her into the throng.
No. Way.
Allegra was laughing as Mom began to clap enthusiastically and wiggle her butt back and forth. Within a few more seconds, the entire tour group was stuffed onto the floor of the restau
rant, dancing, and then the circle morphed into a line, and everyone fell into a conga line.
I caught Enzo’s shocked gaze, but he whizzed by as I was pushed forward around the tables, with Dana’s grip firmly around my waist. We passed by the other table of tourists, who were all staring at us, and then Steve reached over with one beefy hand and grabbed one of the men by the arm, lifting him up out of the seat and throwing him with one quick movement into the singing, stomping conga line.
I cringed and prepped for an explosion. I figured the man would start a fight, launch into an outraged lecture, or furiously call for a manager. Maybe even a lawsuit. I stumbled, trying to tell Dana to tell her husband to back off before he got into trouble, but the scene unfolded before my eyes in stunning format.
The man began to dance. The line snaked around the table again, and this time, Steve grabbed another guy. By the third round, the entire table was dancing with us in a giant drunken line of tourists gone wild. Big smiles plastered their faces as they followed the group, bellowing out the last of the lines of the song at the top of their lungs.
When the song ended, the entire restaurant clapped and cheered. I wiped sweat from my brow and watched Steve pat a few guys on the back, chatting away with Dana at his side. Cherry and Laura hugged another guy. Allegra was shaking her head as Mom beamed with delight, telling one of the strangers she was proud of him and she’d pray for him.
Unbelievable.
Enzo finally wrested back control and we reboarded the bus. The entire way home, we sang songs together in sloppy unity, and when my phone began to violently vibrate, I refused to even check it.
It was one of those rare moments I didn’t want to miss and I craved to remember. One night in Florence, we’d danced with strangers and become temporary friends. I’d forgotten what surprises felt like. The last few years, my life had followed a ruthless schedule, and though boring, it was familiar and controlled. Tonight, I felt ready to burst out of my shell and take risks.
Big risks.
When we got back to the hotel, I settled Allegra and Mom into their room, making sure Mom took a Tylenol and had a big glass of water. Her face glowed with a joy that warmed my heart. “I had so much fun, Frannie,” she said with a bit of a slur, and then she reached out and hugged me hard. I hugged back, comforted by her familiar strength even though her body seemed frail under my touch.
“Me too, Mom,” I said, kissing her papery cheek. “Now get some sleep.” I walked over to my daughter and stood before her. “Good night, sweetheart. Did you have fun?”
A rare smile crossed her face as she looked at me. “Yeah, it was cool. Everyone was pretty drunk, huh?”
“I think so. But nobody was driving, and I think there should be one night where our group gets funky.”
She groaned. “Freaky, Mom, gets freaky.”
“Right.” I stared at her beloved face and my heart squeezed with longing. “I love you, Al.” I hadn’t used the nickname in years, retiring the tag when she hit her teen years and began to complain it was a stupid thing to call her. Not waiting to gauge her reaction, I quickly pulled her in for a hug, desperate to smell her hair and feel my child’s body pressed against mine. She relaxed and hugged me back, and those few seconds were pure perfection—a memory of how close we’d once been and a temporary forgiveness.
Emotion choked my throat. She slowly broke the embrace, ducking her head in slight embarrassment, and I stepped away to allow her the space.
“See you in the morning,” I said. Then I left.
It took me only a few minutes to brush my teeth, reapply some lipstick, and check my phone. He hadn’t texted, but since he’d mentioned the bar upstairs, I’d simply head there. If he didn’t show, I’d go back to my room and shrug the whole thing off.
No big deal.
The warm, balmy air caressed my skin like a whisper-soft kiss. I entered the bar area and immediately saw him at a table. It was situated in an intimate corner, overlooking the terrace wall. The sky was studded with stars, and the full moon hung like a ripe fruit before me. I’d tried to keep my interactions with Enzo to a minimum tonight. I didn’t want any of the tour group to figure out we were meeting up, and my guilty secret pulsed with a thrill I relished.
I slid into the chair opposite him and smiled. “Hi.”
“Buona sera, Francesca,” he said in his deep, lilting voice. “What can I get you? Vino? Cocktail?”
“Chianti is perfect, grazie.”
He lifted a finger and gave the waiter my order. He already held a low tumbler of whiskey or cognac in his other hand. The ice rattled against the crystal glass. The lingering scent of smoke drifted to my nostrils.
“Did you have your evening cigarette yet?” I teased. “Or did the chicken dance push you to the edge so you smoked two?”
His chest rumbled with a laugh. He’d stayed in his evening clothes, dressed in sleek, tailored navy pants and a short-sleeve blue striped shirt. He’d discarded the red tie and opened up the first button of his shirt. His hair looked mussed, as if he’d run his fingers through the thick strands too many times. “In all my years of being a guide, tonight was the first time I witnessed a drunken group take over a restaurant and do the chicken dance.”
“Pretty badass, huh?” I said with a wink. “Did you see when Steve grabbed that guy? I thought it would be a disaster.”
“Me too. I planned to step in, but my presence wasn’t needed.” The waiter came back with my drink and Enzo inclined his head in thanks. “I see you have some dance moves you’ve kept hidden.”
I choked out a laugh. “I already had a disaster with my fall on the Spanish Steps. If I find another video with me flapping my arms, I’ll never recover.”
He quirked a brow. “What video?”
Uh-oh. Of course I hadn’t told him and was completely relieved when the fervor died down. I checked every day and views were only a trickle with an occasional LOL comment. Thank God I had a business IG account and not a personal one, or I’d have been screwed. I hesitated but figured I’d confess. “Someone must have filmed my tumble, because Allegra found the video blowing up on Instagram. I freaked out.”
He shook his head. “That’s terrible. They actually posted it? What’s wrong with people today?”
I shrugged. “Guess they thought it was funny. You got a lot of fans.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
I took a sip of my wine. “They filmed you swooping in to my rescue and carrying me away from the steps. You have a new fan club. A ton of comments were posted regarding your swoon-worthiness.”
“My what?”
“The public, mostly women, thought you were hot.”
It took a few moments for my statement to register, but then he began to laugh. I relished the sound, which woke up my body and sent tingles to my nerve endings. “I had no idea. As honored as I am about my fan club, I’m worried about you. Did that affect your job?”
“I was terrified it would. If a client saw it, who knows if he or she would pull their business? Anything that leaks on social media is an unknown element. Allegra said the fervor would fade away, and the next day views and sharing were way down. But we ended up having a fight anyway. I pretty much locked myself in the room all night to try and do damage control and missed dinner.”
He shifted his chair and leaned forward. Up close, I studied the angled curve of his jaw, the hint of stubble hugging his chin. “Are things getting better with Allegra?” he asked. “You seemed more relaxed tonight.”
“I backed off of work. It’s not fair to my mom or my daughter to be only partially present.” I sighed, tapping my finger against my glass. “I don’t know when I realized work was getting the lion’s share of my attention. I can’t go back, but we have two weeks left together. I need to prove to my family they’re more important than anything else.” I paused, lifting my gaze to meet his. “
You helped me see that.”
“No, you did that on your own. I just listened. How are the panic attacks?”
“None since that morning.”
“Good. I did some research after my sister struggled. I can send you some really good articles.”
“Thank you, I’d like that.” We fell silent and the connection between us tugged and hummed, pushing me to be a bit reckless. “You mentioned your home was close to the villa we’re renting. I was thinking maybe you could give me some tips about the local area. Things to do. Places to go.”
“Of course.” His hand stretched casually across the table surface. “I could even take a day to drive out there and show you around personally. If you’re interested.”
My breath caught and I knew there was an undercurrent of meaning in his offer. He was giving me the power right here and now to safely back out and keep him at a distance.
Or not.
“That would be very kind of you,” I said.
He stared at me. His jaw clenched, like he was struggling with something. “I’m not doing it to be kind, Francesca. But if I say it aloud, I can’t take it back.”
I reached out my own hand until our fingers touched. The slight contact made my skin burn. “Maybe I don’t want you to take it back. Maybe I need to know if I’m being silly or I’m alone in this.”
It was the most I could give him. Vulnerability cut through me. I’d never been the beautiful, most popular woman in the room, and I’d accepted my fate with grace. I was smart and capable and sometimes funny. My partners had been picked by my head rather than my heart, until I was driven to have Allegra on my own and stopped looking for a magical romance that didn’t exist. At least, not for me.
Yet, tonight, with my pinky brushing his, I experienced more electricity than I ever had. I wanted more of him. His words, his gaze, his touch. I wasn’t comfortable with this version of myself, but if I didn’t try, I’d never know what I was missing.
His voice rumbled deep and rough like sandpaper. “Then I’ll tell you. It’s against the rules to get involved with the tourists. I could lose my job for pursuing anything with you. I’ve been hit on numerous times before and not once did I have to battle even a passing temptation. Until you.”
Our Italian Summer Page 22
