Page 61 of She Belongs to Me

“Please. He hates me, but I can assure you he’s not gay if you were wondering. What you noticed was his fury and lingering jealousy.” I shot back the rest of my drink, which shocked both of us. She immediately raised her arm for a waiter.

“Now you have me more than curious. My brother is many things, but jealousy isn’t an emotion I’ve ever seen before.”

I’d opened my mouth and inserted both feet. I might not know the girl, but I realized she wasn’t going to let this go. Not at all. “He took me on a tour and Romeo was with the horses. He must have thought the man was flirting with me or vice versa and flew off the handle. He was trying to forbid me from seeing the guy again, but I laughed in his face. It got worse after that.”

“Do tell.” Isabella leaned over the table. Her eyes could sparkle in a way mine never could.

“He said I could see the grounds, so I took a walk when he was conducting business.”

“And you ended up at the stables.”

The woman was a beast. She was egging this on. “Yes. I’ve always wanted to ride. Romeo was kind enough to allow me to sit on a horse and take me around the corral and nothing more.”

Thank God the waiter appeared as if on speed call. She had everyone here at her beck and call. Just once I’d like to feel that way. Just once.

“And my darling brother caught you.”

“Yes, and he went ballistic. I refused to take his crap, trying to get the hell as far away from him as possible. He followed me like some spiteful kid. So see? I can’t stand him.”

She simply grinned and finished off her glass, immediately pushing the empty away and grabbing the fresh one that had been brought to her as well. “Whatever you say, my American family. But I know my brother. He never acts that way. I think perhaps you’ve brought him back from the dead. So let’s toast to men with a libido and a pulse.”

She was a naughty woman and our light banter returned, but I had no doubt she’d stored up our conversation. When would it come back to bite me?

Breakfast or brunch had been fantastic. I’d eaten every morsel. While she’d ordered, the food had been as close to an American stylized and beautifully created brunch plate as I’d ever seen. My mouth had watered when it was brought to the table, my hunger pains more than I’d realized were possible.

She’d given me more of an insight to the family business and the incredible city, also sharing with me how happy she was being in charge of the winery division. We’d laughed and ignored everything else. I might pay for my behavior later, but I needed this more than I’d thought possible.

Her phone rang and she sighed. “Onemomento.” After pulling it from her purse, she frowned. “I hate to do this, but I need to take it. I have clients coming in and I have a bad feeling someone is trying to put a… monkey wrench into the sale.”

All I could do was laugh. She really did appreciate American sayings and colloquialisms, adoring New York as much as I could see myself enjoying Palermo. I sat back, finally allowing myself to take in the view from the window nestled next to our table. It was on the side of the building and I hadn’t noticed there was a water canal. There were small rowboats and what had to be considered gondoliers floating on both sides.

The buildings were similar to the photographs of what I’d seen of Rome, stunning yet not as colorful. Although there seemed to be baskets of flowers hanging from every iron balcony. The look was fabulous and I could see living here.

But not in this lifetime.

I corrected myself, rolling my eyes after doing so. I was going to pass my exams with flying colors and try to stay out of Nico’s way.

Not that I wanted to. I adored the man too much, craving his body like I needed air to breathe. I might have awakened him to some degree, but he’d brought out a side of me I hadn’t known existed. Oh, that wasn’t good.

I placed my glass on the table and buried my face in my hands.

“Come può una bella donna essere così triste?”

The voice was a deep baritone, smooth and alluring. I was thrown by the tingles drifting through me. I certainly couldn’t have this kind of reaction to every man I met in Italy. Nico might kill them all. “I’m sorry. No Italian.” Oh, God. I was like one of those terrible tourists who thought by faking an Italian accent it would help.

I was ready to beat myself in the side of the head.

What surprised me wasn’t so much that I’d been approached or that the mystery man was as good looking as his voice suggested. It was that he took Isabella’s seat, pulling it closer to me. Talk about being forward.

“I asked how such a beautiful woman could be so sad.” His English was pretty damn good for an Italian. I sensed he’d been educated in the United States at some point.

“I’m not sad. Exhausted maybe, but not sad at all. How could anyone be so sad being in a beautiful city as this?”

There was something odd about the way he was looking at me. Yes, I wasn’t used to admirers so there was that aspect, but he was studying me as I would a dead specimen on a glass plate under a microscope. I was very uncomfortable.

“Ah, you are American.”

Gee. How could the dude tell? He was dressed well, wearing an expensive-looking polo and a pair of trousers that I knew cost money. I also had made it a mission to study watches people wore, other than those created for fitness and health. I hated those. They might be functional, but they weren’t sexy. His was.