Page 39 of On Her Terms
“What about you—still anti-marriage, no kids, no family?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong idea, that I might want just that with him.
“I don’t think it’s been so bad, Brianna? You’ve been sleeping with the same guy night after night, we’ve been having fun together, sharing meals, and I’ve yet to get a fork in my leg,” he says, his voice low, soft.
“None of this is real,” I remind him and ignore the tightening of my throat. “We’re doing it to fool Granddad.” Redirecting, I scan the counter. “Can you pass me a bowl?” I say and inwardly curse myself when my voice hitches. Luca places a big glass bowl on the counter, and I concentrate on cutting the apples into thin slivers as he slices guanciale and drops the pasta into the water. He turns his attention to the sauce.
“Do you need a recipe for the apple pie?”
“Of course I need a recipe,” I say, and he chuckles.
“I have it on my laptop. I called it up earlier when I put the order in for the groceries.” He gestures with a nod to the coffee table, and I cross the room and grab it.
“Password,” I say after opening it. I spin the laptop, and he types something in. I turn the computer back to me, and the website with the recipe pops up. “If I burn this place down...” I say as I read the ingredients off and go in search of them. I put everything on the counter and grab the measuring spoons and cups.
“This is going to be ready in a minute. We’ll make the pie after we eat and maybe we can watch a movie while it’s baking.”
I look at the sauce on the stove and breathe it in. “That smells amazing.”
“Tastes even better. Grab us a couple of plates.” I search the cupboard and pull out two plates.
Luca puts a generous portion on each plate and I carry them to the table. He refills our wine and we both dig in.
“Luca, this is amazing.” He grins at me. “Are you good at everything you do?”
“Pretty much.”
“And modest, too. I like that in a guy.” We laugh, but deep down, the truth is I do like everything about this guy, and that scares the hell out of me. We can’t be together. We set the terms for this ruse, and falling for each other was not part of the plan.
Oh God, I’m falling for this guy.
We settle in to easy conversation as we eat, and Luca talks more about his fishing days with his father and brother. I love hearing his stories, love the enthusiasm in his voice as he recalls those happy days. I, in turn, talk about my days with Granddad and Tate, and all the summers and vacations we had here in St. Moritz. Once we finish eating, we clear the dishes and, working together, we build a big apple pie, although I fear I’m too full to eat any.
We put the pie into the oven, and Luca flicks on the television. I plop down onto the sofa and he settles in beside me. Our legs touch, and he puts his hand on my thigh, giving it a little squeeze as he flicks through the stations.
“Let me guess, romantic comedy?” he asks.
“Of course.”
He goes through a few more stations, and as I settle into the cushions, someone knocks on the door, hard. I sit up straighter, a measure of panic. “Who could that be?”
“I don’t know,” Luca says and stands.
“I hope Granddad is okay.” I should be spending more time with him, but every time I look at him, guilt swamps me. I stand and follow Luca to the door. With my hand on his back—for some reason I need the connection—he opens the door.
“Is that pie I smell?”
I step around him to see Granddad on
the stoop. “Are you okay?” I ask and take his hand to usher him in.
He looks around, sniffs the air and elbows Luca in the gut. “At least she didn’t burn the place down this time.”
“I was prepared,” Luca says and nods toward the fire extinguisher. As the two laugh, I put my hands on my hips.
“I’m right here, and I’m not amused.”
“Are you going to cut me a slice or what?” Granddad asks.