CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Luca
THE RETURN RIDE to the hotel was silent. I’d lost all the ground I’d gained, and I was kicking myself for playing my hand too soon.
I could practically feel Katherine vibrating with anger and hurt, too many memories from the past standing between us.
If I tried to explain, it would come off as justifications, and that was the last thing she wanted to hear right now.
I wasn’t going to grovel over an incident that was so fucking stupid it was practically a nonissue. I hadn’t cheated on Katherine—I’d never even kissed that woman—but appearances were everything, and she’d been on my lap, topless.
What Katherine didn’t know was that immediately after the paparazzi took the picture, I removed the drunken starlet from my lap and went to unload the tequila I’d downed as I’d puked my guts out.
I’d tried to tell Katherine, but when she hadn’t believed me, I hadn’t tried very hard to fix the misunderstanding. Like I said, I’d been shamefully relieved.
Maybe I’d wanted to be free for a time before getting married.
Maybe subconsciously I’d wanted Katherine to experience more of life before tying herself to me for the rest of her life.
Hell, I could spend hours coming up with a dozen different scenarios that might justify why I hadn’t just tried a little bit harder to clear the air and heal the hurt.
But at the end of the day, my silence had been the loudest.
I half expected her to take a stand and demand that I take the pullout sofa in the living room of the suite rather than the sumptuous luxury king, but she didn’t, even if her glance did flick to the sofa before she trudged to the bedroom.
I supposed that was a good sign, right? Better not count your blessings just yet.
“Are we going to talk about this?” I ventured, removing my shirt and tossing it, peeling myself from the leather pants with equal disregard for where they ended up.
“Nope,” she answered, disappearing behind the bathroom door with her nightclothes. I much preferred her naked, but the chances of that happening were slim to none.
I sighed and removed my watch, setting it on the nightstand, and climbed into the bed. Katherine reappeared a few moments later, her face scrubbed, her hair tied up in a bun. If she thought she was going to deter me by going with the schoolmarm look, she was sadly mistaken.
What my future bride didn’t realize was that she could be wearing a paper sack and I’d still find her the sexiest creature alive. Even if she wasn’t the friendliest at the moment.
“Kath—”
“I’m tired.”
I shut my mouth. Nothing was going to happen tonight. Tomorrow would be about damage control.
I had a plan. All I had to do was follow through and see it done. My eyes drifted shut, and I found sleep relatively quickly.
So quickly, in fact, that morning came within a blink.
I awoke to an empty bed, alarm chasing the sleep from my brain. Bounding from the bed, I called out for Katherine, only to find her at the table, sipping her tea and reading the delivered newspaper, fully dressed as if she’d risen hours before me.
The little vixen hadn’t wanted to leave anything to chance. She’d known if given a shot I would find a way to make love to her again, and this was her way of thwarting me.
Well, I wasn’t so easily deterred. “I never took you for an early bird. What happened to the girl who said she was a night owl?”
“She grew up.”
A short and sweet answer delivered with a perfunctory and bland smile.
“Good,” I said, surprising her when I didn’t engage as she’d hoped. “I have big plans for today.”
“As do I, seeing as it’s my turn to pick our activities,” she said with another smile, only this time there was an edge to the corners. “Today, we are going to volunteer at a local soup kitchen.”
No, today we were going to Sonoma County. “Yes, technically, it is your day,” I conceded, rubbing my chin at the dilemma. “I guess I overestimated how much you would enjoy spending the day at Coppola’s winery... We had so much fun last night at Cafe Zoetrope that I got ahead of myself and booked a private tour. But I can cancel. Volunteering at a soup kitchen sounds equally fun.”
I knew her weaknesses.
“It’s impossible to get a private tour on such short notice,” she said, calling my bluff.
“For a Donato, nothing is impossible,” I reminded her with a shrug. “Our tour is scheduled for this afternoon, which means we need to get moving if we want to make it to Geyersville on time.”
“I know what you’re doing,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “And it’s not going to work.”
I was a bastard and probably going to hell, but it would be worth it. I tried to make the decision easier for her. “How about a compromise?”
“What do you mean?”
“Helping others is the main goal when you volunteer, but there are other ways to help... Would it ease your conscience if I wrote a fat check to the shelter of your choice so that we could go enjoy our day without the guilt?”
“You can’t just toss out money everywhere you go to solve your problems,” she said with a scowl, my plan backfiring. “Coppola will just have to wait. We are going to the soup kitchen.”
The firm set of her jaw told me she would rather cut off her nose to spite her face than admit she’d much rather spend the day in Geyersville. I silently swore at her damn stubborn nature, but a deal was a deal.
I sighed. “I’ll make some calls. Coppola will be disappointed. There aren’t many filmmakers who are willing to personally give the tour, but I’m sure he’ll understand.”
Katherine’s jaw dropped a little, but she didn’t take it back, even though it was killing her. “Francis Ford Coppola was going to give the tour?” she asked, wincing. “Are you kidding me?”
“No, but it was a onetime deal. He’s a busy guy, as you can imagine. Anyway, I’m going to shower and then we can be off.”
I smothered the chuckle bubbling to the surface and left her to think about what she’d just sacrificed for her stubborn pride.
Soup kitchen, here we come.