than ever.”
“We are two of a kind. Driven, ambitious and determined.”
“I hate being beholden to anyone,” she admitted. “Just so you know, our trip is the first time I’ve ever accepted anything like this.”
He nuzzled her neck. “Renata, Renata, please don’t worry. If you were only interested in my money and status, you would have tripled the charges for Stefania’s dress, accepted my offer to the hotel immediately and then dragged me to the nearest jeweler for a ‘little remembrance’ of our time together. And I would have realized what kind of person you were, and extricated myself with a polite excuse.”
Jealousy swelled in her stomach and she pointed her fork at him. “Been in that situation before?”
Giorgio kissed her cheek. “Yes, a couple times when I was young and stupido . Not in the last several years, of course.” His free hand came to rest on her knee, stroking her thigh. “I have become a much better judge of character, but I have never been so impulsive as this.”
“Me, neither.” She set down her fork. “And since we’re being impulsive, why don’t we order dessert to go?”
“I impulsively agree.” He sat up and signaled the waiter, his hand still on her knee. “Dessert is best eaten in private.”
T HE NEXT MORNING , Giorgio slipped from their bed and pulled on a pair of shorts. Renata murmured in her sleep and rolled over, a lock of red hair falling over her round white breast to curl around her coral-pink nipple. He nearly changed his mind and slipped back into bed, but realized they had only fallen asleep a few hours earlier and he hated to wake her.
He contented himself with staring at her for a minute, something he couldn’t do while she was awake. She reminded him of an Andrew Wyeth painting he had seen at a museum in New York during college—a beautiful redhead sleeping, the sheets falling to her waist to bare her breasts.
Something about the painting had intrigued him, and it wasn’t just the sight of a naked woman. The sheer peacefulness of the painting, pale linens, pale skin and a dark window behind, the only color from her hair and the crests of her nipples.
Giorgio realized why he’d been so struck by both the painted woman and Renata, the real woman—it was the sheer trust exhibited to be vulnerable to a man in sleep.
He gazed at her for a minute longer and gave a deep sigh of contentment before walking into the living room. After a quick call, the café across the street was happy to send over a carafe of coffee and platter of pastries. He thought for a second and added an assortment of fruit for him. His doctor had made him promise to eat better. He had wanted Giorgio to stay for more tests and not leave Vinciguerra at all, but once he learned Giorgio was taking a vacation, he stopped protesting.
He tipped the delivery boy and checked on Renata again. She’d rolled onto her back, a round arm slung above her head in sleeping abandon. He couldn’t get enough of her, but she’d had enough of him—at least until she woke again.
Some grapes, melon and a small pastry were enough to tide him over and he realized he hadn’t checked his phone. Although he almost never turned it off, his time with Renata was an exception. The palazzo had Paolo’s number and would notify him if there were a serious problem.
A text from Stefania, inviting him to Germany to have a meet-the-parents dinner with Dieter’s family. Lovely, beer and brats for everyone—oh, and maybe sauerkraut and some of those lead ingots that masqueraded as German dumplings. He’d have to check his schedule with Alessandro for the week after his vacation, since hell would freeze over before he cut short his time with Renata.
Mmm, a text from Frank, asking him how New York was and if the German footballer was a suitable match for Stefania. Too complicated to text back.
Frank answered on the second ring. “Hey, George! How’s New York?”
“I’m actually back in
“We are two of a kind. Driven, ambitious and determined.”
“I hate being beholden to anyone,” she admitted. “Just so you know, our trip is the first time I’ve ever accepted anything like this.”
He nuzzled her neck. “Renata, Renata, please don’t worry. If you were only interested in my money and status, you would have tripled the charges for Stefania’s dress, accepted my offer to the hotel immediately and then dragged me to the nearest jeweler for a ‘little remembrance’ of our time together. And I would have realized what kind of person you were, and extricated myself with a polite excuse.”
Jealousy swelled in her stomach and she pointed her fork at him. “Been in that situation before?”
Giorgio kissed her cheek. “Yes, a couple times when I was young and stupido . Not in the last several years, of course.” His free hand came to rest on her knee, stroking her thigh. “I have become a much better judge of character, but I have never been so impulsive as this.”
“Me, neither.” She set down her fork. “And since we’re being impulsive, why don’t we order dessert to go?”
“I impulsively agree.” He sat up and signaled the waiter, his hand still on her knee. “Dessert is best eaten in private.”
T HE NEXT MORNING , Giorgio slipped from their bed and pulled on a pair of shorts. Renata murmured in her sleep and rolled over, a lock of red hair falling over her round white breast to curl around her coral-pink nipple. He nearly changed his mind and slipped back into bed, but realized they had only fallen asleep a few hours earlier and he hated to wake her.
He contented himself with staring at her for a minute, something he couldn’t do while she was awake. She reminded him of an Andrew Wyeth painting he had seen at a museum in New York during college—a beautiful redhead sleeping, the sheets falling to her waist to bare her breasts.
Something about the painting had intrigued him, and it wasn’t just the sight of a naked woman. The sheer peacefulness of the painting, pale linens, pale skin and a dark window behind, the only color from her hair and the crests of her nipples.
Giorgio realized why he’d been so struck by both the painted woman and Renata, the real woman—it was the sheer trust exhibited to be vulnerable to a man in sleep.
He gazed at her for a minute longer and gave a deep sigh of contentment before walking into the living room. After a quick call, the café across the street was happy to send over a carafe of coffee and platter of pastries. He thought for a second and added an assortment of fruit for him. His doctor had made him promise to eat better. He had wanted Giorgio to stay for more tests and not leave Vinciguerra at all, but once he learned Giorgio was taking a vacation, he stopped protesting.
He tipped the delivery boy and checked on Renata again. She’d rolled onto her back, a round arm slung above her head in sleeping abandon. He couldn’t get enough of her, but she’d had enough of him—at least until she woke again.
Some grapes, melon and a small pastry were enough to tide him over and he realized he hadn’t checked his phone. Although he almost never turned it off, his time with Renata was an exception. The palazzo had Paolo’s number and would notify him if there were a serious problem.
A text from Stefania, inviting him to Germany to have a meet-the-parents dinner with Dieter’s family. Lovely, beer and brats for everyone—oh, and maybe sauerkraut and some of those lead ingots that masqueraded as German dumplings. He’d have to check his schedule with Alessandro for the week after his vacation, since hell would freeze over before he cut short his time with Renata.
Mmm, a text from Frank, asking him how New York was and if the German footballer was a suitable match for Stefania. Too complicated to text back.
Frank answered on the second ring. “Hey, George! How’s New York?”
“I’m actually back in
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