Chapter Nine
Carly couldn’t believe her eyes. The same man she’d seen romancing Alaina right after hitting on her had run across the square for Bertha’s purse like a bona fide hero.
Boy, he must have wanted to impress Ms. Maxhammer, or Alaina, or herself—or all three of us. There was no other possible motivation. She couldn’t believe someone that self-centered would ever put himself out like that. Not only did he look as though he’d crawled through the dump, but the right side of his face was red and bruised. That would hurt in the morning.
Still, she needed him. Carly checked her watch. Eleven thirty. She should start walking to the café now so no one saw them walk off in the same direction. Ducking out behind the orchestra’s cheers, she made her way across the square.
She walked until she found a painted sign swinging on a lamp post with warped letters that read Caffè Picasso. Yellow and green striped awnings spread over window boxes of bluebells and violets. Cast-iron chairs and small round tables covered with bright umbrellas sprawled into the street. A woman sipped a latte with a little fluffy white dog that barked as Carly entered.
A tiny bell tinkled as she closed the door behind her. Carly stared at the chalkboard full of Italian writing in all colors of the rainbow. The attendant behind the register glanced up with a smile. ‘Posso aiutarla?’
‘Um…’ Carly thought back to her studies last night. ‘Lei parla inglese?’
‘Si. What can I get for you?’ The cashier smiled and Carly breathed with relief. Thank goodness Michelangelo had agreed to help. She couldn’t even figure out how to order with the translation apps on her phone.
After ordering a pastrami panini and a chai latte, Carly settled into a seat inside the café at a booth. Even though she’d love to enjoy the nice summer weather and watch the passersby, she didn’t want Alaina, or anyone else from the orchestra, spotting her alone with Michelangelo.
Even though her logical mind warned her she was playing with fire, struggling to understand that chalkboard had confirmed her need for his help.
A server came by with her food and drink.
‘Grazie.’ She took a sip, savoring the spicy taste on her tongue.
The bell tinkled, and Carly’s heart sped. She peered around the booth.
Michelangelo met her gaze and gave her a heart-melting smile. He walked to the cashier, who gave him a long, wistful look up and down. Michelangelo placed his order in smooth, flowing Italian.
After paying with a credit card, he filed into the booth across from Carly. ‘Enjoying your lunch?’
Her turkey sandwich had sat uneaten. When her nerves acted up, she was never hungry. ‘The latte is delicious.’
‘Too bad.’ He pouted his gorgeous, kissable lips. ‘I ordered a tea.’
‘I’m sure that’s good, too.’
The server came by with Michelangelo’s food and drink. Giving him one last, longing look, she walked away.
‘So, you’ve had an exciting day.’ Carly addressed one of the elephants in the room. Even if he had done it to impress all the ladies, not mentioning his single act of heroism would make her look like the self-centered one.
‘You could say that.’ Michelangelo took a bite of his sandwich.
She resisted the urge to stroke his sore cheek. ‘I hope you didn’t hurt yourself too badly.’
‘Naw. It was more careless than anything.’ He sipped his tea.
‘Too bad you didn’t catch the lowlife responsible.’ Carly tried a bite of her sandwich.
‘I let him go.’
She almost choked on the wheat bread. ‘You what?’
Michelangelo shrugged. ‘He was just a boy, and he reminded me so much of someone from my childhood.’ He shook his head, his eyes, which were amber-blue depths of compassion. ‘I couldn’t do it.’
Carly knew she had to get started on learning Italian, but he’d piqued her curiosity. ‘Who did he remind you of?’
‘Ricco Pinasco.’ His eyes turned dark, like the ocean in a storm. ‘My father found him hiding in one of the unused wine barrels on a cold, rainy night when I was a small boy. We were about the same age, although he was shorter than me.’ He laughed. ‘And tougher. My family took him in and he became a brother to me. We grew up together, playing in the grapevines, attending the local school. He was smarter than some of the teachers, but he couldn’t seem to shake his past.’
Carly just stared, wondering why Michelangelo was telling her so much. She didn’t interrupt him because she wanted to know more.
‘He got into drugs and started stealing wine to sell on the streets. I pleaded with my father to give him another chance, but he threw Ricco out. I never saw him again.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Carly shook her head. She had a sister who’d become a teacher back in Massachusetts. Even though they didn’t always see each other because of their busy schedules, she couldn’t imagine losing her to some addiction.
‘It’s okay. It happened a long time ago.’ Michelangelo glanced up at the ceiling. ‘If he’s not dead, then he’s in a prison somewhere.’
‘Have you tried to look for him?’
‘Of course I have. Part of me is afraid of what I’ll find, if he’ll remember me, or if he does, if he’ll hate me.’
‘Sounds like you did all you could.’
Michelangelo leaned back. ‘I wonder if I’d done something different, maybe he’d still be around. You know, visiting at the holidays, or working on the vineyard.’
‘You can’t change the past. All you can do is try to make a better future.’
Michelangelo pointed a finger at her as if she had the answer he wanted. ‘That’s what I intend to do. When I saw the boy with Bertha’s purse, I wanted to end the cycle. I wanted to try to save him. So I gave him my card and some money and offered him a job at my vineyard.’
‘You did?’ Was this the same man who’d kissed Alaina? Was there such a thing as a compassionate, kind-hearted playboy? Something didn’t add up, and Carly intended to get to the bottom of it.
Michelangelo sipped his tea, totally unaware of her microscopic observations of his character. ‘Who knows if he’ll ever show. But at least I tried my best.’
‘And what if he does?’ Carly leaned across the table. Would he really go through with it and hire him as a worker?
He winked, unconcerned. ‘I’ll have my secretary keep her eye on him. She’s got a little boy of her own, so she knows how to keep them in line.’
Carly sipped her latte. So, he’s got a secretary. Must be quite some winery his family owns.
Michelangelo finished his panini. ‘So! Cominciamo.’
‘What?’ Carly didn’t know if it was a question, a statement, or an offer. If the latter, she was not going to accept.
Michelangelo spread his hands out and smiled. ‘Let’s begin.’
‘Okay.’ Carly had no idea what he had in store for her, but she had to admit she was intrigued. ‘What are you going to teach me first?’
His lips curled and she couldn’t tell if it was a smile or a smirk. ‘É un piacere conoscerla.’
She shifted uncomfortably. ‘What does it mean?’
‘Say it.’ He teased her with his eyes.
She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘Not if you don’t tell me what it means. I could be swearing profanities for all I know, or…professing my love.’ Carly blushed. She wasn’t about to admit to something she didn’t—or did—feel. ‘What kind of a teacher doesn’t teach what the words mean?’
The kind who wants to flirt.
Michelangelo raised his hand. ‘I’m only trying to start with the pronunciation first, and then the syntax. Do you want to learn or should I assign the luggage boy to watch your room?’
Okay, maybe he didn’t want to flirt. She sighed, stifling a rebellious current of disappointment. ‘What was it again?’
He repeated the phrase, the consonants and vowels slipping by her ear in a jumble.
‘Eh unnn piachay conosarla.’ Carly felt like her tongue was a brick in her mouth.
Michelangelo chuckled and covered his mouth with his hand.
Embarrassment crawled up her spine. It’s not like language was her specialty. She wasn’t a trained, bilingual tour guide. ‘Hey, that’s not fair. Let’s put an oboe in your hands and see how you do.’
‘Very badly, I would assume.’ Michelangelo reached across the table and touched her hand. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll speak slower. Watch my lips.’ He repeated the phrase.
Carly could watch his lips all day, but she wasn’t there to flirt, she was there to learn Italian for her gig. She paid closer attention and repeated the phrase.
Michelangelo’s eyes brightened. ‘Eccellente!’ He took both her hands in his and squeezed.
Her heart raced as blood pumped into her cheeks. How could one man have such a mind-numbing effect on her? She pulled away, wondering if this was such a good idea. Could she really trust him to teach her what she needed to learn for this gig or was she wasting her time? ‘What did I just say?’
‘Nice to meet you.’ He placed his hands in his lap as if trying to restrain them. ‘You’re going to need to say something when you meet the other musicians, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I am.’ That was the perfect thing to learn. She said it again, committing it to memory. Thank goodness she had a knack for remembering sounds. ‘Tell me more about common sayings.’
Michelangelo smiled and spouted another phrase. They went back and forth repeating sayings until the waitress came back with an annoyed look.
‘Will there be anything else?’ She’d cleared their plates a long time ago, so she just wiped off the countertop with a rag.
Michelangelo checked his watch. ‘Mio dio! We’ve been sitting here for almost two hours.’
Had it been that long? Time seemed to fly. Carly didn’t want their conversation to end. She still had a lot to learn.
Michelangelo leaned over and whispered. ‘Now’s the chance to try your Italian.’
Carly shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
He gave her a covert wink. ‘Order one dessert. Tell her we’ll share it.’
Sharing a dessert? Wasn’t that a little too familiar? Carly balked. ‘I don’t know.’
He leaned back. ‘Go on. I’ll have anything you want.’
The waitress tapped her pen on her pad. ‘Yes?’
Carly had better come up with something. They had already overstayed their welcome, and they really should order an additional item and leave a tip. If she didn’t order anything else, they’d be expected to leave, and she had more Italian to learn.
‘Okay.’ She thought back to everything he’d gone over so far and gave it her best shot.
The waitress jotted something down on her pad and left. Carly turned to Michelangelo. ‘Well?’
Michelangelo smiled and slipped into the booth beside her, picking up his fork. ‘Looks like we’ll be having some chocolate cake.’
*****
Michelangelo exited the café, wondering why he’d spoken so candidly to Carly. He’d given her way too much information about his vineyard, practically telling her he was the one in charge. Not only that, but he’d brought up his father. If she’d asked about him, then she’d know Michelangelo had inherited the vineyard only a few years ago and he wasn’t in the tour business at all.
Mio Dio. What was I thinking?
After seeing how quickly Carly picked up Italian, he knew he was dealing with a clever mind, someone who could break down his façade with only a few more facts.
But for some reason, on top of all that, he’d volunteered to drive her to the gig.
Might as well demolish my vineyard right now.
Her sheer determination and vulnerability touched him, making him believe he could tell her anything. He’d have to watch his mouth around her, because who knew what she’d report back to Ms. Maxhammer if she learned the truth.
From his own personal experience, Americans were not to be trusted. They were all in it for their own good, and had no respect for things like vineyards, or ancient cathedrals, or tour guides.
But was Carly one of them?
Michelangelo turned back toward the café, where Carly still sat inside, looking over the notes he’d given her.
‘Mr. Ricci! We meet again.’
He whirled around like someone caught looking in the windows of a women’s underwear store. ‘Alaina.’
The opera diva snaked her arm through his. ‘I’ve been looking all around for you.’ She glanced to the café. ‘Just ate lunch?’
Oh no. This could be disastrous. If Carly decided to come out at that particular moment, Alaina would know they’d eaten together. She’d have a fit—she might even complain to Ms. Maxhammer he’d been philandering with the women in the orchestra.
‘Yes. But I wouldn’t recommend their food. Too stale.’
A woman sipping a latte overheard him and stared down at her drink.
Alaina raised both eyebrows. ‘Is that so? I was just about to go in and get a coffee.’
‘No, no, no.’ He pulled her away from the door. ‘You don’t want to do that.’
She creased her painted eyebrows in confusion. ‘What do you mean?’
‘For you, may I present only the best of the best of Italy.’ He clamped down on her grip of his arm. ‘Let me show you the best place for coffee.’
‘Well, then.’ She smiled. ‘Only you would know.’
Hoping Carly didn’t see them leaving together, he directed Alaina as far out of sight as possible toward another café down the street. Ironically, the coffee at that one had a lighter brew. But, looking at the way Alaina stared into his eyes, he didn’t think she’d notice.