Blue-Blooded Romeo (The Royal Romeos #6)

by Jenny Gardiner

  But then she realized that what she wanted to say was probably exactly what she did say: it might be fun to go there with him. They had a lovely evening together at Prescription and then dancing. And he carried her up four flights of steps, for God’s sake. The man should get bonus points for that. A medal even.

  She kind of shook her shoulders loose a little, thrusting them back, then unclenched her fists, which she’d noticed had been in tight balls. Okay, so she hadn’t bought a plane ticket and they weren’t actually going there. She said it could be fun. And it could be fun. So she wasn’t signing a blood oath. There would be no immediate handing over of first-born children involved. She didn’t even have a first-born child to sacrifice to the cause. She could do this. She could have a perfectly pleasant and civil conversation with this man, who had been nothing but nice to her (well, except for that whole flight thing—she still wasn’t ready to let bygones be bygones with that whole thing although she knew deep down how ridiculous that was).

  “So, who’s ready for some food?” Stella said, removing her tote bag from her shoulder and pulling out a sheet she’d tucked in for the picnic. She grabbed two ends and flapped it in the wind to try to lay it flat and Domenico moved over to hold on to the opposing ends to help. Once the blanket was spread out on the ground, the two couples sat on it—Domenico much too close for comfort—and Stella and Alexa started setting out food from their bags.

  Alexa leaned over. “Way to go, Stel,” she said in a whisper. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Stella took a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk about it. Do you want some cheese?” She half shoved the bag of cheese at her friend.

  She was clearly in change-the-subject mode today and it seemed to be working for her.

  Domenico, meantime, was busy pulling the cork from a bottle of wine and poured and passed glasses to each of them.

  “I know you don’t care for wine,” he said to Stella. “But I thought perhaps you hadn’t had the right wine yet. If you do like it, there’s plenty more where this comes from.”

  Antoine held the bottle up to read it. “What’s this go for, per bottle? Maybe two hundred euro?”

  Stella’s eyes got wide yet again. This day was quite full of surprises.

  “You probably don’t want to know,” Domenico said.

  People paid like hundreds of dollars for something they were going to drink then pee out in a matter of hours? She was definitely not living in that stratosphere. Hell, she was throwing caution to the wind when she ponied up more than about twelve euro for a bottle. Which wasn’t much since she usually paid far more for expensive mixed drinks. Which didn’t make a whole lot of sense, did it?

  “Wow, Domenico, you didn’t have to spend all this for us.” Alexa held her glass up to inspect it in the sunlight. “But I’m glad you did.” She giggled.

  “I’m happy to be able to share the fruits of my family’s labor, quite literally,” he said. “I appreciate your hospitality as I’ve become acquainted with the city. It’s a little strange. I feel as if I’ve run away from home. But you’ve sort of taken me in and helped me to feel welcome.” He held up his glass to theirs. “This could probably breathe a little bit more but under the circumstances, I say let’s drink it. Salute.” He nodded toward Stella first, and then the others.

  They all tapped glasses and proceeded to take their first sip. Domenico watched Stella as she brought the glass to her lips, and she could sense his eyes on her. But it didn’t seem creepy. Well, maybe it put her a teensy bit on-the-spot, but it was kind of okay. Ish.

  He tipped his head forward, lifting his eyebrows, his glance hopeful. “Well?”

  She looked at everyone watching her and waited a minute. “So maybe this wine-tasting class is having an effect on me, because, well, I actually like this stuff.” She took another sip to be sure and nodded.

  Domenico smiled. “I’m so happy you liked it. I’ve never met a soul who hated our wine, so it would have been a first.”

  She shrugged. “I’m grateful you didn’t put that pressure on me before I tried it or I’d have lied to you.”

  “Be honest, Stel. You’d more than likely have dumped it on his head.” Alexa winked at her.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But yeah, you might be right about that.” She was willing to poke a little fun at herself. Under the right circumstances. She looked skyward, wondering if perhaps the moon and stars were in proper alignment because frankly, this was all new to her and she needed some explanation.

  The four friends broke bread and shared the cheeses and the selection of cured meats the guys had purchased at the street market. Then they divvied up the desserts so each of them had a chance to taste both treats.

  “I feel like I ate a giraffe,” Alexa said, rubbing her stomach.

  “Seriously I can’t eat again for a week. I’m like one of those pythons that ingested a gazelle whole.” Stella pointed at her ribs. “Look, you can see the antlers sticking out right here.” She started laughing.

  “Omigod. I saw a video like that one time on YouTube. I lost my appetite for a good hour after that.”

  “An hour?” Antoine cocked his head and grinned.

  “What can I say? I’m a foodie. I mean it was disgusting but then again, sometimes what chefs do in a kitchen can be somewhat disgusting.”

  “What we do in our kitchen is far from disgusting,” Domenico said.

  “You work in a kitchen?” Stella said. It probably would have behooved her to have a slight inkling about what the man did professionally. Well, she knew about the whole family vineyard, but this kitchen gig was an intriguing turn of events.

  “I run the events at Cantine dei Marchesi Romeo, and as part of that, I oversee the food prep for events. And more often than not, I roll up my sleeves and help out. I grew up cooking by my mamma’s side, and I learned all the family recipes. It’s that food that is served at events we host.”

  “Wow, so you actually are sort of one of us,” Stella said.

  “I don’t know if I’d go that far, but I love food and fine wine and I love to make people happy with both. And I do so professionally. So I guess there are some similarities. I’m only lacking legitimate training.”

  “Does that bother you?” Stella said. She noticed that Alexa was totally engrossed in whatever loverboy was saying and in fact was practically sitting in his lap. You could get away with egregious public displays of affection a lot more easily in France it seemed.

  Domenico shrugged. “I guess a little bit. I mean I don’t know if it bothers me or if I’d enjoy having the foundation I’ve never had. Probably much of what I do has intuitively been what you do as a professional chef, but you know what I mean. Plus the idea of getting away, trying to expand my horizons a little became attractive to me. I needed to mix it up, get away for a while.”

  “Sans déc,” Stella said. “I have an instructor who says that all the time. It means ‘no kidding.’ So does this mean you’re staying in Paris?”

  He shrugged. “For a while but not forever. I can only run away from home for so long. Once the weather cools we are going to have a lot more events at the vineyard and they’ll need me for them. In the summer, we locals all leave and go to the sea, so there’s no great demand for me. But soon, things will get crazy. For now I can manage my duties while here, but not for long.”

  Alexa interrupted their conversation and looked at the clock on her phone. “Um, if I’m not mistaken, Domenico, don’t you have somewhere to go? With Stella?”

  Stella knit her brows. “Uh, no.”

  Lexie wagged her finger at her. “Mais non. But no. You do in fact have someplace to go with none other than Domenico Romeo. And I think you’re going to love it. Now, off you go, Stella. Ça roule ma poule. Okay, chick, it’s on.” She gave her friend a pronounced wink as she stood up and dusted herself off and offered Antoine a hand up. “A bientôt, darlin’.” See you soon.

  Stella made a mental note never to trust Alexa again. Beca
use she had no damned idea what her friend had gotten her into, but she was pretty sure it was something that she’d end up regretting. Ça roule ma poule, my ass.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Domenico could sense Stella tensing up the minute she knew she was going to be left on her own with him. Which did little for his self-esteem. Nothing like a woman bristling at being stuck with you to sort of kill the mood. But he remembered what he had planned and was confident she’d come around despite how prickly as she was.

  He stood and offered his hand to her. They collected up her belongings and walked a short block to where a man in a white dinner jacket was waiting with a Lincoln Town car. He held the door for Stella and closed it once Domenico got in.

  “Am I to presume I’m being kidnapped?” Stella said. “And if so, please tell me it doesn’t involve handcuffs and blindfolds.”

  Domenico smiled. “You do expect the worst of me, don’t you? Although I suppose handcuffs and blindfolds aren’t always a bad thing.” He grinned, knowing that would totally make her crazy. “Trust me, no bondage is on the menu.”

  The car drove for about ten minutes until it arrived at the ornately decorated Pont Alexander III, where they were led to a stunning mahogany Venetian water taxi.

  “Now we’re talking. You can’t go wrong in an Italian boat in Paris.” Domenico eyed the gleaming boat as he ushered Stella on board and the captain handed them each a glass of champagne.

  “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t going to be quite like the inexpensive champagne we had in our wine class?” Stella said.

  Domenico nodded. “Well, I’ve taken it on as a personal challenge to persuade you that wines and champagnes can be exceptional. This is Krug Grand Cuvée. It’s a step or two above what you’ve had before.”

  He tipped his glass to hers and she remembered what they’d been taught in class, so she held the glass up to the waning sunlight and carefully inspected the color. Next she swirled it gently and inhaled. Finally she pulled a sip into her mouth, allowing it to roll from front to back, exciting her taste buds, educating her mouth to the many layers of flavor in the wine.

  She smiled. “You sure do know how to treat a woman. I don’t know if I can ever go back to the cheap stuff.”

  “So you like?”

  “I love,” she said, sipping more as the captain began to explain the evening’s plans.

  They tucked into the private salon and sat down on the white leather banquette seats. The roof was opened up to the city as the lights went on. The boat pulled away from the slip and motored along the River Seine, first in the direction of the Eiffel Tower, illuminated so beautifully against the darkening sky.

  “I’ve never seen la tour Eiffel from the water,” Stella said as she stared at it. “It’s magical, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve never actually been inside the Eiffel Tower.”

  Stella’s eyes widened. “That’s criminal! We’ll need to do something about that. No self-respecting tourist can leave Paris without going to the top of the Eiffel Tower and drinking champagne.”

  Domenico was encouraged that she made it sound as if she would perhaps partake in such an adventure. With him. At the same time. “Ahhh... so you drank champagne there, did you?”

  She shrugged. “I mean you sort of have to. And it was decent champagne. After all, this is France.”

  “I think I just might take you up on your offer if you’re sure you can stand my company all the way up the elevators.” A smile curved up one side of his face.

  Stella seemed to ponder her answer for a moment. “How about we do things one step at a time.” They stood and moved to the back of the boat onto a small well with two seats, but they both chose to sit on the top edge, admiring the Parisian skyline.

  He nodded. “Fair enough. So talk to me about yourself some more. You, why you love to make cakes. What it’s been like for you to live an ocean away from your previous life.”

  Stella sighed. “Let’s see... Me and cooking...Where to begin?” she looked skyward as if that would provide the answer. “I once worked in a cupcake shop and it was there I realized everyone who came into the store left happy. To me, that was so telling, a testimonial to the transformative power of food. Even if you’ve had a lousy day, the simplest thing—a tiny cake—could make all the difference. I loved that.

  “I decided to make that my goal—to make people happy with my food. Which I did to a certain degree with all the baking I did growing up, but then I truly focused on it. I’d bake dozens of cookies and drop them by a shelter in my town for battered women. I whipped up all sorts of confections for a rehab center for children with disabilities. I helped get a baking program started at a homeless haven, so that maybe some of those people could experience the small joys that came with creating something with your own hands.”

  Domenico remained silent and let her talk. The more he could reel her in, the better. Perhaps by sharing her stories, she might be comfortable enough to let her guard down. “So culinary school was the next step?”

  “It took me awhile to save the money to come here. It’s not cheap! But once I became immersed in pastry school, I fell in love with the cake end of things. After all, a beautiful wedding cake is sort of the pièce de résistance of the pastry world—at least to some. It makes me feel good to do my part although I’m super cynical about the ultimate outcome of those unions that were forged in lust and naïve optimism only to be forever marinated in a powerful dose of reality. Making wedding cakes is perfect for me because that’s as close as I’ll ever get to a wedding. I have no interest in staggering down that disastrous path.”

  Domenico stared at her, surprised at the vehemence of her feelings. “Wow. You don’t hold the state of marriage in high esteem.”

  She shook her head. “No one’s ever given me good reason for that. I had a deadbeat dad who took off with another woman, which was in itself a match made in hell. Had an alcoholic mother who lost herself in the bottle after my father deserted us and left me to fend for myself. And a wicked stepmother who would give Cinderella’s a run for her money.” She frowned, lost in thought momentarily. “Nope. No great reason ever presented to me for why I should think anything but that about marriage. Why? Do you think it’s some brilliant invention?”

  “Maybe I’ve got a smattering of hopeless romantic in me, but I do have great faith in marriage. My parents adored one another and were happily married for twenty-some years until my father died suddenly.”

  Stella thrust her lip in a pout. “Oh, Domenico. I’m so sorry.”

  He held his hands up “It’s okay. It was awhile ago. But it was hard when it happened.”

  “How old were you?”

  “I was a teenager. Not a good time to lose a father, to lose your role model. Our family took quite a hit when he passed. It shook us to our core, and everyone struggled to deal with the fallout from it.” He looked away for a minute. He tried to not think about those days because they were so hard. No one needed to be reminded of pain in their lives.

  “That’s so tragic. I’m truly sorry for you.”

  “No worries. I wasn’t looking for pity. We all have our crosses to bear in life. In many other ways, I’ve been nothing but terribly fortunate. I have a warm and loving family, a loving mother, a comfortable life.”

  “Lucky you. My comfortable life has started here, in this magical city.”

  “You’ve fallen in love with this city, haven’t you?” he said, leaning over and kissing the tip of her nose.

  “It’s kind of hard not to.”

  He could relate to that. It was kind of hard not to fall for Stella Whitaker as well.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Stella tried hard not to freeze. Here she was on a glamorous boat in the middle of the River Seine with this handsome, sexy, too-kind-for-words man she had developed feelings for, despite herself. She was so mad that she hadn’t kept her guard up adequately to stop this from happening.

  Yet while she lamented that, she w
as doing some serious soul-searching too. Here she was talking about how much she loved to bake because desserts and sweets made people happy. Yet she seemed incapable of putting out the least bit of effort to make Domenico happy, to return the favor. Because she could no longer deny that he was doing his damnedest to please her in every way, shape, and form.

  Why could she not simply climb out of that skin she had insisted on wearing, like those protective stinger suits they wear to surf in Australia so they don’t get stung by deadly jellyfish? She didn’t have to safeguard herself like she did. She’d become so habituated to doing so. But she was starting to think she’d outgrown that skin—it was tight and uncomfortable and confining. Maybe it was time for her to live a little and stop being afraid.

  Domenico was playing with her hair, twirling it in his fingers as if running fine sand between them. But he said nothing, leaving this pregnant silence looming over them. She didn’t know where to begin to say what she wanted to say. She wasn’t sure if she could say it.

  “You know, Domenico.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for writing that mean stuff about you on the airplane. For that matter, I’m sorry I was such a bitch to you at the airport. Well, both airports. Well, sort of it’s been an ongoing theme, hasn’t it?”

  He brought his finger to her lips to stop her. “Shhh,” he said. “No need to apologize.”

  “But there is,” she said. “I’ve been quite rude, and I feel bad about it.”

  He started to laugh. “When I read that message you wrote on the plane, I thought it was hilarious. And ballsy. I loved that about it. You didn’t hold back. Which is what I think made me fall for you. You clearly had a lot of passion.”

  “Yeah, but it was angry passion.”

  “It’s okay, often passion can take many forms. But it showed that you have strong feelings, that you can care. Although I must admit I was pretty surprised how quickly it switched from one side to another with you. By morning you wanted to kill me, and by the light of the moon you were ready to make love with me.” He reached for her hands and twined his fingers with hers.