by Amanda Usen
Alessandro greeted her and removed his own cell phone from his pocket. He held it up, smiling. The girl smiled back and handed him a box. Their conversation was fast and Sean wasn’t close enough to hear it. She blushed as she made change, darting quick glances through her thick, black eyelashes.
She did not ask for his documenti, he noticed sourly.
“Ciao! Grazie!” Alessandro blew her a kiss and walked over to Sean.
Alessandro led him away from the stall.
Sean gave him a hundred euro. “Thank you. Is this enough?”
The chef nodded and tucked the bill into his pocket, handing over the bag containing the cell phone. “My car is this way.”
He followed Alessandro to a black Fiat parked on the sidewalk. Sean climbed into the low-slung car, tugged his new phone out of the bag, and swiftly unboxed it. He opened the directions. They were in Italian, of course.
“Let me help.” Alessandro took the phone out of his hand and snapped it together in two easy motions. After checking the number he’d been given, he dialed, listened for a few moments, and pressed several buttons.
“There.” Alessandro handed the phone back to him. “If you run out of minutes, it’s easy to buy more.”
“Thanks. I feel like an idiot.”
Alessandro shrugged. “It’s just technology. They make it difficult on purpose.”
Sean fiddled with his phone until he found his new number. Had he misjudged the chef? Alessandro was being awfully helpful. He began to compose a text to his mother and brother, almost dropping the phone as Alessandro pulled out into the street. Brakes screeched. The chef ignored the noise and accelerated until the Fiat hovered three inches from the bumper of the car in front of them. Funny, Sean hadn’t noticed the roads were this narrow when Mr. Marconi was driving.
He checked his seat belt as Alessandro zipped around the car in front of them and began gaining on his next target. At least they’d get back to the villa faster. Alessandro swerved around the next car, then took a hairpin turn at eighty kilometers an hour.
Sean swallowed a sigh of relief as the road straightened in front of them.
“Was that your family back in the piazza?” Sean asked.
For a long minute he thought the chef wasn’t going to answer him. “No,” Alessandro finally said.
Sean watched him. “My mistake—I thought you said you had a family emergency.”
“My business is none of yours.” The chef’s voice was cold, his expression imperious.
“I guess it just seems strange that you would take time off when guests are due to arrive, especially when Olivia has to cover for you.” Was Alessandro part of the staffing problems Gia had mentioned?
Sean felt the car accelerate. It was probably stupid to pick a fight with a guy driving a hundred and thirty kilometers per hour but he really didn’t care. Olivia’s parents may not have given him a warm welcome, but Villa Farfalla was charming and he wanted it to succeed for Olivia’s sake. “I wonder what Mr. and Mrs. Marconi would think about their chef sneaking off for a long lunch in Padua?”
Alessandro gave him a brief glare. “I’d prefer you not tell them.”
The chef wanted his silence? Well, he wanted something too. “Well I’d prefer you stay away from Olivia,” he warned.
Alessandro shrugged, glancing over at him. “I can’t keep her out of the kitchen. Can you?”
A sharp thump sounded beneath the car and Sean heard the unmistakable bang of a tire exploding. The car jerked to the right. Alessandro spun the wheel and they skidded to a halt on the side of the road, inches from a ditch.
“I hope you have a spare,” Sean said grimly.
“That was the spare.”
Chapter 11
Olivia pulled her velvety smooth pumpkin custards from the oven. She set the water bath on a table and carefully removed each ramekin, wiping them gently before she placed them on a sheet tray to cool. She was glad that the Culinary Arts College had insisted that every good chef needed to perfect crème brûlée just in case the pastry chef ever got sick.
She looked at the clock—an hour to spare. Technically, the crème brûlées should come to room temperature before she chilled them, but she didn’t have that much time. She’d have to put them in the walk-in.
Speaking of time, where was Alessandro? He had said he’d be back in time to finish dinner. She didn’t mind covering for him. In fact, she’d enjoyed herself, but shouldn’t someone try to call him? It was almost six o’clock, and Sean wasn’t back yet either. Damn it, she’d wanted to win that bet with her father and prove Sean could take care of himself.
She put the lasagna in the oven and pulled three trays of antipasto out of the reach-in. Her julienned carrots added a splash of color to the platters and they tasted even better than they looked tossed with fresh tarragon vinaigrette.
She carried the antipasto platters upstairs and poked her head into the dining room to catch Elena’s eye. The server followed her back into the kitchen.
“Ready for these?” Olivia asked.
Elena nodded. “Grazie. Where is Alessandro?” Her brown eyes were wide.
Olivia held up her hands. “I have no idea, but don’t tell my mother.”
The girl laughed and picked up the platters. Olivia went back downstairs for the other tray. It would be much easier to serve dinner if the guests were seated in the upper kitchen area at the trestle table. She selfishly hoped they only used the formal dining room on the first night of their stay.
Elena met her on the stairs and traded the last platter for a glass of wine. “Grazie,” Olivia said, touched by her thoughtfulness.
Elena smiled and headed back into the dining room. Olivia checked her soup. It smelled good enough to make her stomach rumble. Quickly, she chopped some bright green chard and threw it into the pot. Tomorrow, the greens would darken and she could add tomatoes and beans and serve it as minestrone. Of course, tomorrow, Alessandro might not let her back in his kitchen after the liberties she had taken today.
She heard a car drive around the side of the villa. Two doors slammed.
The chef swept into the kitchen first followed by Sean.
Alessandro made a beeline for the oven and the stove.
“What on earth took you so long?” she asked.
“Flat tire,” Sean said. “We had to wait for the tow truck to bring a new one.”
“You two were together?”
“I ran into him in the Piazza Dante, and begged a ride back to the villa,” Sean explained.
She shook her head. “I’m so sorry my father abandoned you, but I’m glad you made it back in time for dinner.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I bet Papà you would, so now he has to be nice to you for the rest of the week.”
Sean burst out laughing. “Nice work.”
Alessandro looked up from the pot he was stirring. “Thank you for making il primo piatto. Your soup smells magnificent.”
“The soup is only as good as the stock, and yours was fantastic.”
Color rose in Alessandro’s cheeks.
Sean took Olivia’s hand. The memory of their dinner last night swept through her, raising her awareness of him. She imagined she felt the air press against her as he edged closer. She cleared her throat. “Go change for dinner. We’ve got guests in the house.”
Alessandro adjusted his chef coat. “I’ll get to work.”
“No way. This is my meal now. Too many chefs spoil the broth. You can take a seat in the dining room.”
He frowned. “I don’t eat with your family.”
“You do tonight. We’ve got a double date, remember? The opera? Go make yourself presentable. I hope you brought other clothes to work today.”
He nodded, looking reluctant.
“Ten minutes,” she wa
rned. “Soup’s on.”
***
A half hour later everyone was seated at the dining room table, chatting and getting to know each other. She took a seat beside Sean. “Where’s Papà?” she asked her mother.
“Checking the vines,” her mother said, smiling at Alessandro. She was clearly delighted to have him at the table and Olivia could understand why as the newly arrived guests clamored for his attention.
“This is fantastic.” The woman on her other side exclaimed.
“Thank you.” Olivia returned her grin, glad she had taken the time to introduce herself to the guests while Sean and Alessandro were changing. Mrs. Schmidt and her husband were from Germany. They had spent the summer studying wine-making in the Valpolicella region, and Villa Farfalla was the last stop on their tour. Olivia spooned up a bite of the rich broth. It was rather fantastic.
The clink of spoons replaced the chatter as the other guests dipped into their soup. One couple had come all the way from Australia on their honeymoon, and Olivia could sympathize with their jet-lagged stasis. The husband’s eyes were glazed as his hand mechanically moved his spoon from bowl to mouth. His wife sagged slightly in her chair. The four middle-aged American couples sitting at the far end of the table were traveling together and ate in comfortable silence.
Olivia concentrated on finishing her soup so she could serve the main course. Every so often, Sean would brush against her and she would have to remind herself to keep eating. Her physical awareness of him was reaching ridiculous levels. Her skin felt tingly. She was conscious of every breath she took, and she could actually feel each hard beat of her heart.
Across the table, Alessandro charmed the guests like he had been doing it every night. Even the exhausted wife perked up a bit when he told her about the classes planned for tomorrow. He urged them to get plenty of rest, absolving them of any responsibility for social interaction that evening. The Germans fired questions at him, picking his brain about the grape varietals used to make the villa’s Amarone and Valpolicella and whether he thought they had a chance of reproducing the villa’s famous La Farfalla. Just as Olivia was about to rescue him by suggesting they wait for her father to arrive, Alessandro began answering their questions. Her mother didn’t interrupt, so she assumed he must be correct.
She left the table to return to the kitchen, glad she had pulled the lasagna out of the oven before serving the soup. It was now at the perfect temperature. She carried it up to the trestle table where Rosa and Elena were waiting to carry plates out to the dining room. As she portioned fat slices of lasagna, the smell of basil, garlic, eggplant, and rich cheese made her mouth water. The servers loaded their trays and headed for the dining room.
A sound in the lower kitchen caught her attention. Her father entered from the patio and joined her at the table, looking pleased.
“Happy grapes out there?” Olivia asked.
“Extremely. Sorry I’m late. I’ll wash up and meet you at the table. Make me a plate?”
“Of course.”
Her father headed for the hand sink and Olivia carried the last three plates out herself. Alessandro was still holding court, regaling the table with stories from his misspent youth. Olivia wondered why her parents didn’t insist he dine with the guests every night. His easy charm encapsulated exactly what her mother was trying to achieve at Villa Farfalla.
The guests continued to talk and eat as she made her excuses and returned to the kitchen to torch the crème brûlées.
The deep orange custard looked gorgeous covered with amber sugar. She placed each ramekin on a plate with two amaretti cookies, wondering if she needed another garnish. Berries? Almonds? No, the perfect sheen of caramel was divine, no need to detract from the complexity of her flavors.
Sean came down the stairs just as she finished the last plate. “Can I help?”
“Nope, all done. The servers will get them. I was just headed back upstairs.”
He walked around the table to stand behind her. His hands touched her hips and she felt him lower his face into the curve of her neck. He breathed deeply, making her shiver. “You smell delicious. Like citrus and spice.”
Her knees gave out and she sagged against him. He cradled her against his chest. “Tired?”
“Not at all. I don’t know why, but working in the kitchen today felt amazing. I felt…liberated. Not as hopeless as I’ve been feeling in Norton.” Her sudden burst of inspiration could have something to do with the beauty of Villa Farfalla, but she had a feeling it had more to do with the man standing behind her.
She turned to face him. “Are you ready for Romeo and Juliet tonight?” She asked and then made a gagging noise.
He cocked his head to the side. “Don’t you like the play?”
“I hate it,” she said cheerfully.
“Then why are we going?” He looked confused.
“Duh—because it’s in the Arena.”
He laughed and bent his head to kiss her. She sank into him, reaching up to caress his broad shoulders. She dared to slip one hand beneath the collar of his shirt. His warm skin sparked a craving to feel more, to be closer. She opened her mouth. His tongue flirted with hers, teasing her. Did he want more too? Oh God, she hoped he did.
She raised herself on tiptoe to fit herself more perfectly into his tall frame, and he groaned, twisting to lean against the edge of the table, taking her body with him, pulling her forward, thrilling her with his strength. Heat flared inside her as he lifted one of her thighs to his waist. She pressed eagerly against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and brushing her hips against him in a tentative caress, captivated by the blooming pleasure that had taken over her body. The tip of one shoe connected her to the earth. The rest of her felt sky bound.
The sound of a throat clearing brought her crashing back down to the ground. She looked over Sean’s shoulder to see her cousin smirking at them from the door, with Rosa and Elena standing behind her.
Gia raised one eyebrow. “I thought you two might need a hand,” she said. “But I think maybe you need a room instead.”
Her cousin gestured to the servers and they hurried forward with their trays. Gia picked up the two dessert plates that didn’t fit on their large trays. She balanced the plates in one hand, the other she put on her hip. “Hurry up you two—it’s almost eight and we need to get to the Arena.”
“Let’s skip it,” Sean whispered, eyes gleaming. “You don’t like the play anyway.”
“I heard that. Don’t even think about it,” Gia warned from the stairs. “I’m not going without you, and your mother just told the Germans we would take them with us. You two are going to have to control yourselves for another couple hours.” She headed back to the dining room.
Olivia hid her face in his chest and giggled. “Well, that was awkward.”
She felt Sean’s shrug. “Better Gia than your father. He offered to pay for my trip back to the States this morning.”
“He did not!”
Sean laughed. “Daddy’s little girl, huh?”
She sighed. “I’m sorry. Good thing I won that bet.”
“No kidding. Otherwise he might try to run me off with a shotgun.”
“A tractor is more his style these days. You’re lucky his is broken.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the stairs. “C’mon, dessert awaits.”
***
Sean picked up his spoon and cracked the sugar shell on top of his dessert. Mmm, pumpkin, as spicy and comforting as Thanksgiving memories. He sighed as other flavors teased his palate. Almond? Yes, and something more elusive and unexpected, like the lavender last night. He looked up to see Olivia watching him.
“Luscious,” he said, taking another bite. She smiled around her spoon and he couldn’t take his eyes off her mouth. He had completely lost interest in the opera tonight. Their kiss in the kit
chen had made him want to toss her over his shoulder and carry her upstairs for a private performance instead.
“There’s a flavor I don’t recognize,” Alessandro said from across the table.
“Star anise,” Olivia supplied.
“A masterful touch.” Alessandro’s smile was a little too close to flirting for Sean’s liking, and he gave the chef a long look. Alessandro shrugged and popped a cookie in his mouth.
Gia glanced at her cell phone. “Eat up, folks,” she said. “I don’t want to miss a single note.”
Seeing her cell reminded Sean that he hadn’t gotten in touch with Mr. Russo yet. He polished off his custard in a few bites and pushed away from the table. “I know we’re in a hurry, but can I run upstairs for a minute? I need to get in touch with a client.”
Olivia stood too. “I’m going to change my clothes. Meet you all out front?”
“Ten minutes,” Gia warned.
Olivia paused at the head of the table to kiss her father’s cheek. “Remember your promise,” she whispered, loud enough for Sean to hear.
Mr. Marconi raised one dark eyebrow. He pinned Sean with a direct gaze, so much like the expression on his daughter’s face that Sean looked back and forth between them with amusement.
Mr. Marconi nodded sharply. “Come to the winery tomorrow for the tour.”
Olivia winked at him. Her grin was smug.
“Thank you, sir. I would love that.” His chest tightened. When had this man’s approval begun to mean something to him? Olivia grabbed his hand and tugged him out of the room.
Chapter 12
“Wow.” Olivia stopped, stunned by the majesty of the huge structure. The Arena walls curved across the darkening sky and hundreds of archways watched over the surrounding piazza like ancient, vigilant eyes. Most of the arched doorways were shut by simple wrought-iron grates but a few were open so that theatergoers could stream through the entrances. The last remnant of the original outer wall jutted proudly toward the sky as if declaring itself the victor.
The gate attendant took their tickets and handed each person a libretto and a small candle.