Page 49 of ‘I Do’ for Revenge

She looked a little sheepish. ‘I used to hate it when my uncle asked me to host parties with him if my aunt was away. I never knew what to do or say. I felt awkward. But going to events with you...dressing up, that was more fun. I didn’t feel that awkward.’

Vito shook his head. ‘You’re not awkward, Flora, far from it.’ She wasn’t. She was genuine and warm and probably the nicest person Vito had ever met.

She pointed her knife at him and said, ‘I hope you’re not coming to dinner like that.’

He looked down at the sweatpants he’d put on to work out in the gym. And the faded T-shirt. He looked back up. ‘What is the dress code?’

She cocked her head to one side and then said, ‘I don’t think we need to go full black tie but a suit will suffice. You don’t have to wear a tie.’

Vito felt something flip over in his chest. This whole scene...was so seductive. When his parents had died, any such memories of domestic harmony and happiness had died too. He’d clamped down on ever wanting to experience it again. But here, now, he felt a very dangerous sense of...yearning. A sliver of a window was opening up the dark spaces inside him—He shut it down ruthlessly because that way led to loss and pain and grief. He didn’t want this. He wasn’t in the market for it.

He wondered if he needed to say something to Flora... Was she in danger of forgetting the basis of this relationship?

He opened his mouth but she said, ‘Go on, shoo, dinner will be ready in an hour. I don’t want to see you until then.’

Vito closed his mouth. Flora wasn’t looking at him. She was engrossed in the task. He assured himself he was being ridiculous. Soon enough, she would be getting on with her life, going in a direction that would take her far away from Vito, because he knew their worlds were unlikely to collide again. He waited for a sense of relief that didn’t come. Irritation prickled.

Maybehewas the one who needed reminding of what this was—a brief mutually beneficial interlude before they both got on with their lives.

Flora adjusted herself in the mirror. She’d showered and left her hair down. Minimal make-up. On a whim she’d picked out a daring bronze silk dress, figure-hugging and with a cut-out over one hip, the ruched silk leaving one shoulder totally bare. It fell to the knee and when Flora put it on she felt sexy and young.

She left her feet bare—what was the point of wearing shoes? But then, she recalled telling Vito he had to wear a suit and at the last moment she paired the dress with gold strappy sandals.

Her heart was skipping beats as she went back to the kitchen to prepare the meal for serving. Ridiculous that this should feel like a date even though they weren’t going anywhere. And when Flora knew that even if Vito had lost interest in her, he probably wouldn’t admit it until after he’d done the deal with Massimo Black.

But, if how he touched her and looked at her still were any indication, their chemistry was as potent as ever. She couldn’t imagine ever wanting a man as much as—

‘Well? Will I do?’

Flora looked up from where she was arranging arancini balls onto two plates. Her heart stopped beating. Vito stood in the doorway, practically taking up the entire space. He wore a white shirt and dark trousers that moulded so faithfully to his body that she could practically see his musculature.

His hair was still damp, swept back. Jaw clean-shaven. She caught a whiff of his scent—earth and leather and so sexy that she wanted to close her eyes and navigate her way to him by smell alone.

It was almost as if she’d never seen him before, his impact on her was so acute. Somehow she found her breath and got some oxygen to her brain. ‘You’ll do.’

He came into the kitchen and that dark gaze swept her up and down. Her skin tingled all over when she saw the appreciative flare in his eyes, turning them molten.For her.

He said, ‘You look...edible.’

Now her legs wobbled at the thought of him actually—Quickly, before her thoughts could turn into an X-rated movie in her head, she thrust the plates at him. ‘Take these through. I’ll follow.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Flora gathered herself and ran some cold water over the hectic pulse at her wrists before joining Vito in the dining room. He saluted her with his glass of white wine. ‘To you, Flora. This looks amazing.’ He gestured to the table she’d set. She’d picked flowers from the terrace and created a little posy in the centre of the table. She felt embarrassed now for going to such lengths. She blushed. ‘It’s nothing. Please eat while the arancini is still warm.’

The traditional Sicilian dish of risotto balls mixed with cheese and then covered in breadcrumbs and deep-fried was one of the first things Flora had learned how to cook.

Vito took a bite of one and closed his eyes. He said, ‘The best arancini I’ve ever tasted.’

Flora beamed and blushed even more. ‘You’re just saying that, but thank you.’

‘I’m not. I won’t lie and say I have the most sophisticated palate on the planet, but I know good food when I taste it.’

Flora took a bite and when she could speak, she said, ‘Your mother wasn’t a good cook?’

Vito made a face. ‘Not the best, no. And my father had no interest. We lived on a lot of processed food, which I know is sacrilege to most Italians.’

‘Sounds like your mother had more interesting things to be doing. Did she work?’