Page 22 of Chasing Caine
“Antonio, we’re going back tomorrow, right? To talk to the people at the lab?” I couldn’t just let this go. This was my opportunity to have both of the things I wanted: Antonio plus working an art crime. If I could accomplish something with this missing fresco, maybe I could turn it into a counter-offer for Elliot Skinner, my former boss at the FBI.
Antonio grimaced briefly as he pushed open the gate to the small stone courtyard with its seating area and decorative plants. “Mario will have to take care of that. We are—”
The front door flew open.
“Antonio!” A young woman came barreling toward us, early twenties with the same olive skin and dark hair as the two men. Antonio dropped my hand and reached out to catch her when she jumped into a hug. Who the—
“Chiara! It’s so good to see you!” He hugged her tight and put her down a moment later, gesturing to me. “This is my Samantha. And Samantha, this is my little cousin, Chiara.”
She squealed and grabbed me in a hug. She was shorter than me by at least six inches, but there was enough enthusiasm in the embrace to make up for it. “I can’t wait to see what you think!”
Unlike her two male cousins, Chiara’s accent wasn’t Italian. It was Bostonian.
“Think about what?” I asked.
“I may have gone overboard.” Chiara slipped a credit card out of her pocket and handed it to Antonio. He winked at me and grabbed my hand, towing me inside. The other two followed us, whispering.
I peeked at them over my shoulder as we hurried through the foyer. “What’s going on?”
Antonio tore up the two flights of tiled steps that wound around the elevator to the third floor landing and continued to his bedroom. Pausing with a hand on the door, he pulled me to him and kissed my temple. “I have a surprise.”
I liked surprises about as much as I liked shopping.
Mario and Chiara arrived as Antonio opened the door for me, ushering me in with a broad smile.
The bed was covered in shopping bags. Stand-up boutique-style shopping bags. Which hadn’t been there when we left.
Antonio stood behind me, hands on my shoulders, and kissed my neck. “What do you think?”
“About what?” I stared at the bags, a knot twisting in my stomach. Luxury brands, Italian brands I wasn’t familiar with, small bags, large bags. Covering the entire bed. My breath grew more rapid, feet stuck to the floor halfway between the door and the bed. I wasn’t as stupid as I must have sounded. It was obvious what this was.
He released my shoulders and walked around me, lifting a lightweight summer dress out of one bag. Holding it in front of himself, he swept it back and forth to show the elegant drape of the fabric. Deep blue with pink and yellow abstract flowers.
His smile faltered when I didn’t respond. “You said you hated shopping, bella.”
I cast a glance behind me. Mario and Chiara stood in the doorway, eyebrows raised and excited smiles plastered on their faces. Expectant. He’d told Mario in the morning he was going to leave him something, and Chiara had given him a credit card when we arrived. Surely it wasn’t all for me.
Stepping tentatively toward the bed, I peeked into a few bags, not daring to touch anything. Flowers and lace and silk. Leather. He hadn’t done this. He couldn’t have. “What’s all this?”
His normally confident, buoyant voice was strained. It was slight, but it cracked. “You needed clothes. I thought I could save you some time. Chiara spent the day—”
“I’m only here a week and a half. Two pairs of shorts and a handful of T-shirts. Not...” Moving the bags in front, my breath caught. “Versace? Prada? I don’t need this stuff.”
How much was I going to owe him? The last-minute tickets to Naples had cost an arm and a leg. I didn’t need to spend a small fortune on clothing, too.
He looked past me, and the door closed. He spoke slowly. Quietly. “They’re gifts. From me to you.”
I stared at the bags. “Gifts?”
“Sì. I booked a night at a hotel in Capri tomorrow, instead of shopping.” He stepped closer to me, placing the dress on top of the bags. “You… you said you hated shopping.”
I met his eyes, his brows turning down. “You don’t have to buy my affections, Antonio.”
“That’s not what I—You don’t like this?”
“It makes me really uncomfortable.”
He took my hand, nodding several times and flexing his jaw. “We can… allora…we can take it all back. Is that what you want?”