Darling, you’re here,” the other woman in red says and gallops across the terrace to take his arm.

I lower my head as my heart feels like it’s shrinking.

Gianfranco holds out his arms as if he’s giving us a huge hug. “Everyone, please come in for dinner.”

I just realized how sexy he sounds when he speaks English.

Salvatore steps up beside me, and I have to stifle a groan. It felt so good to have him away from me. I watch Gianfranco turn into the hallway to lead us to the dining room. The woman in red is still by his side—she’s lucky.

I can’t take my eyes off of Gianfranco’s form as he leads us down the hallway. I glance at Salvatore, and he looks worse than Oscar the Grouch. I’m sure walking behind the Marquis Guardi is killing him. I’m inclined to ask Salvatore if he’s okay, but I don’t really care. When we walked onto the terrace, the first thing he did was lose his mind over Gianfranco’s girlfriend. That shows how disrespectful he is, and I find it odd that a part of me still doesn’t care.

We round the corner and enter the dining area. A long banquet table sits in the middle of the room, elegantly set with crystal glassware, fine porcelain, shimmering linens, centerpieces made of red roses, and the orange light of candles. My eyes gravitate toward the large arched windows, which run from the ceiling to the floor. As I noted in my piece on Castillo di Guardi, Gianfranco has done a great job of blending the old with modern touches.

Among the fantastical stories about a ghost and the lone occupant of the six-hundred-year-old castle, rumors circulated about the upgrades Gianfranco has made in the last fifteen years after the estate was passed down to him. According to the land ledgers, lawsuits were even brought against him for not maintaining the property’s historical integrity, but people say his uncle Lorenzo Lombardi, who’s a judge, made all the legal issues disappear.

None of that is true though. When I first became interested in the castle, I drove down to the municipal building to read the plans. Salvatore did everything by the book, and actually, his uncle made sure of it. Sometimes I think the Italians are more comfortable believing in rumors and make believe than the truth. Maybe that’s why I’m here. Gianfranco is probably grateful that our interview and tour helped dispel some of the gossip.

Regardless, the great arched windows feature a clear view of the village at the base of the mountain and the red, orange, and purple sky that marks the end of sunset. Servers line up along all four sides of the table, each holding two bottles of wine—one red, one white.

“Such formality, Gianfranco,” the black woman who looks like a model says. She’s clearly also American.

“Yes, Juanita, I wanted a change for this dinner. I hope you all are satisfied.”

Gianfranco and I connect eyes. I smile, letting him know that I am beyond satisfied.

“And red roses?” Juanita bats her eyelashes. “When did you fall in love, Gianfranco?” Her coy grin is a clue that she’s joking.

“He’s in love with me,” the woman in red declares.

“In your dreams, Maria. In my dreams, in the dreams of all women except the one he’s made centerpieces of red roses for.” Juanita’s smirk lands on me, but for some reason, I look away bashfully. There’s no way I’m the red-rose woman.

Maria swings her hair as though she’s rejecting everything Juanita said, then she pulls out the chair next to where Gianfranco stands.

“Your seats have been pre-assigned. Look for your name on the table card,” Luther says.

I didn’t even notice the omnipresent butler standing in front of the server at the head of the table. Then I notice that there are no settings at either end of the table. Apparently Gianfranco isn’t going to play king by sitting at the head of the table, and for some reason, I find that refreshing and sexy.

I go from one place setting to the next, looking for my name. Everyone is expressing their excitement about where they’ve ended up, which is across the table from their mate. Where the other woman in red, Maria, once stood, I find my name card. I turn to Gianfranco, who’s right next to me.

He bows graciously. “Thank you for the vase. It was very thoughtful of you.”

I gulp nervously. “I hope it’s a sufficient replacement.”

He gazes into my eyes. “It is.”

I brush my cheek and glance away from him before I pass out. “Then you’re welcome.”

Gianfranco claps. “Now please, sit.”

We take our seats. Salvatore is directly across from me and is seated next to Maria, who’s glaring at me as though she can see herself strangling me a thousand times over.

Gianfranco introduces Salvatore and me as his new guests, then he goes around the table, introducing the others. Sitting beside me is Juanita Smith, who was an international supermodel ten years ago. Penelope Hughes sits across from her. The really young guy, who’s probably in his early twenties, sits next to Juanita. His name is Chris Streeter, and sitting across from him is his wife, Annie Yee. They are American as well. Then there’s Raul Duarte sitting across from his wife, Lara Duarte—both are famous flamenco dancers. The Lorenzo Lombardi sits on the other side of Gianfranco, across from his wife, Gabriella, who doesn’t look so young close up. Last are Angelo Rossini and his boyfriend, Sergio Munoz. Both are racecar drivers.

Lorenzo leans forward to look around Gianfranco. “You are the host from the show—what is it?”

“Postcard Italy,” Gianfranco says before I can.

“That is correct,” I say.

Gianfranco and I beam at each other. Is time standing still? Have all the other guests faded into oblivion?

“You make your living painting?” Salvatore says loudly enough to command everyone’s attention.

I rip my gaze off Gianfranco and scowl at my rude date. “Yes. He is a very famous artist.”

Gianfranco pats my shoulder, and electricity shoots through my body. “It is okay. Yes, I make my living as an artist.”

“Look at the two of you, defending each other,” Juanita says and laughs.

Maria shakes her head. I’m starting to realize that Juanita and Maria don’t like each other very much.

“Then tonight, I will be your knight in shining armor,” Salvatore says to Maria.

I roll my eyes. Good luck with that, you arrogant, self-satisfying prick.

Maria smiles halfheartedly at Gianfranco—her expression begs him to notice her. “I would like that.”

“And he looks rich, which is just your type,” Juanita says.

Everyone except Maria and me chuckles.

“Um, Liza, is it?” Gabriella asks.

I clear my throat. “Yes.”

“Lorenzo and I watched your program on Castello di Guardi. It was so special. How did you know so much about this place?”

“Actually, I’ve been trying to land an interview and tour for at least a year.”

“Gianfranco, what made you finally say yes?”

Before he can answer, the first course arrives.

The chef stands at the end of the table. “We have Lagane pasta tossed with olive oil, garlic, and chickpeas sautéed in Marsala wine.”

“Grazie,” Gianfranco says.

The chef bows and backs away from the table. He leaves through a doorway that leads to one of the four kitchens in the castle.

A delicious scent rises from my plate. My mouth waters, and one of the racecar drivers, who has already taken his first bite, compliments the flavors.

“So, Gianfranco,” Gabriella says with a forkful of pasta in front of her mouth. “You must answer the question.”

He shifts in his seat. “I remembered she asked for a tour on the night of the accident.”

I frown. “What accident?”

“It was minor. Remember, you drove off the road?”

I part my lips to speak, but then I remember Saturday night when I was on my way to meet Salvatore for dinner. “Yes, right after…” I stop, realizing I’m on the verge of spilling the most personal and embarrassing details of my life to strangers. Instead I glare at Salvatore, who’s whispering to Maria—both are clearly choosing not to participate in the conversation. “I mean, right before meeting someone for dinner.”

Salvatore still doesn’t acknowledge me.

I must’ve been in shock after my car spiraled out of control and into oncoming traffic, then came to a stop. That night, I rolled down my window to speak to my potential victim, and I barely remember the man’s face.

I turn to face Gianfranco. “Was that you?”

His smile is slow to form. “Yes.”

“It’s like that movie Crash,” Juanita says.

“Nah, not Crash,” Chris, the tech millionaire, says. “That movie was way more cynical than what they’re talking about.”

Juanita grunts thoughtfully. “I guess so.”

“Plus there was no crash,” Annie says.

Everyone chuckles as Gianfranco and I keep our softened expressions on each other.

“Oh, Gianfranco, how is Fixation coming?” Lara, the flamenco dancer, asks.

Other than Salvatore asking if Maria has ever modeled in New York, the group turns dead quiet. Anticipation hangs in the air.

Gianfranco opens and closes his mouth. He looks at me in a very odd manner, then looks down to put food on his fork. “It is…” He flops a hand back and forth. “Moving the way it wants to.”

Guests are waiting to hear more, but he puts the food in his mouth, and it becomes apparent that he won’t say more. Penelope asks Raul and Lara if they’ll dance tonight, and they both agree in a dramatic fashion.

After that, everyone breaks off into smaller conversations. Juanita is in talks with the tech billionaire and Penelope about a charity fashion show and concert in Milan. Maria is across the table, running down a list of all the countries she’s lived in and all the places she’s visited. It’s as if Salvatore is trying to find the one place she’s never been and offer it to her. I shake my head. He’s found a new woman to pursue, and the “I love you,” “I need you,” and “I can’t live without you” have gone down the toilet with the rest of his BS.

“What are you thinking?” Gianfranco says in my ear.

I jump. He was talking to his uncle about painting a portrait for a politician whose politics he doesn’t agree with, and I didn’t expect him to start talking to me.

I narrow my eyes one more time at Salvatore, shake my head, and say, “Nothing. And thank you so much for the wonderful dinner.” I pick up my glass. “And wine.”

“Then you like the food?”

“It’s some of the best I’ve ever tasted.”

“Is that so?”

“And I’ve tasted a lot of good food.”

“Gianfranco, my love, you are so far away and I miss you terribly,” Maria says with a pout.

Gianfranco frowns at her, then smiles before turning back to me. Of course his reaction is strange.

“Is she your girlfriend?” I ask.

“No. I am not involved with any woman.”

My heart flutters. “Oh.”

The chef walks in and takes his place at the head. He announces the second course, a seafood stew.

As soon as the chef leaves, Gianfranco asks me where I’m from. Pretty soon we’re eating while I tell him all about growing up with my brother and my dad.

“And your mother?” he asks.

I shrug. “She’s around. We’re not close.”

He studies my expression and grunts curiously.

“What is it?” I ask.

“You are sad in the eyes.”

Caught up in his gaze, I spread a hand on the side of my face as words from deep inside knock on my lips, clamoring to get out. But can I confess this? Is he safe? I look around the table. The only person who’s paying attention to us is Maria, though she’s pretending to be thoroughly charmed by Salvatore as he continues to put the moves on her.

I turn to face his beautiful, deep eyes again. “That’s because I am sad,” I whisper so only he can hear me.

He opens his mouth to speak but stops. What’s happening between us? I want him to kiss me. For some reason, I feel his lips on mine will help make my pain go away. I want to confess all about how I was married to the man who killed my father, how embarrassed I am about it.

“I can—” Gianfranco starts to say, but the chef is back, introducing the third course of the night.

After the food is served, Gianfranco’s uncle takes his attention and Juanita pulls me into her conversation. No matter what I’m saying, who I’m talking to, I feel deep energy emanating from Gianfranco. I’m so confused by it. Perhaps Alessandro was right after all. There’s something between us. As the night continues, Gianfranco and I pass each other slight smiles.

After dessert, Raul and Lara sing and dance. Raul’s song is of lost loves, lost lives, and the curse of death. I work very hard to keep my composure as Lara jerks and claps, twists and stomps to his lamentations.

After the third song, we all get up and dance. Gianfranco immediately wraps his arm around my waist, walks me to the open floor, and pulls me against him. He leads me in a dance of turns and twists. Where I’m from, swing dancing is popular, so I know enough to keep up with him. He draws me against him, and I hike up a leg as he drags me across the floor. His breath touches my lips. My head is spinning. Should we kiss? I want to kiss him.

His erection presses against me. He wants to make love. Should we make love? I want to. I wait for him to let me go, but he doesn’t. We stare into each other’s eyes. The song comes to an end, and suddenly I’m free.

Gianfranco steps backward. I’m breathing heavily because I must’ve forgotten to do it when he held me so close. He turns his back, walks out, and never comes back.

Somehow everyone knows that it’s time to leave after he disappears. Juanita tells me that he’s gone to work.

“You’ve inspired him, Liza Patrick.” She winks.

I don’t believe it. The more I get to know Gianfranco, the weirder he gets.

During the ride home, Salvatore and I are as silent as church mice. Frankly, I can’t get away from him fast enough. I don’t ever want to see him again. I wonder if Juanita was telling the truth, or was she being as cynical. Did I really inspire the great artist with my dancing?

No way.

But if I did, then wow.

When we make it to my house, Salvatore drives around the turnabout and parks in front of my door.

“Good night,” I say without looking at him.

He hops out of the car too.

I turn to look at him. “Where are you going?”

“It’s late. I will sleep with you tonight.”

I flinch, taken aback. “No, you will not.” I turn my back on him. “Go home. Stay far away from me.”

Salvatore stops. “What are you angry about? You are the one who made a fool of yourself.”

I make it to the door and lift a hand. “Have a nice life.”

I open, shut, and lock the door. I stand there for a moment and wait to hear the car start up again. He honks like a madman before skidding away.

Jerk.

I don’t even wish him the best.

I go kiss Aiden before heading to bed. I can’t wait to dream of my last dance with Gianfranco.