by Jo Leigh
“Take your time. I’m fine. Oh, God, I’m still wearing my heels.”
“They’re very nice heels. They go with your delicates.”
“My delicates?”
He shrugged. “‘Underwear’ didn’t have quite the zing I was looking for.”
Her stomach gurgled, and her eyes got wide. “Sorry about that.”
“No, you must be starving. Look, the bathroom is through that door.” He pointed as he got out of bed and wrestled with the comforter. “You get yourself comfortable, and I’m going to bring food. And drink.”
“Okay.”
He snatched his robe off the back of his bedroom door, and then stopped by the other bathroom before he made his way to the kitchen, the pastry box too tempting to ignore.
Inside, four amazing-looking slices of cake were packed with great care. The hell with his earlier plans. He grabbed the bottle of wine, their glasses, two forks, and headed back, careful with the box.
She was under the covers, leaning on a pillow against the headboard. The minute she saw what he’d brought she burst out laughing. “Dessert first?”
“Why not? We’re grown-ups. We can do what we want.”
“As long as you brought two forks, I’m in.”
“I couldn’t stand it,” he said. “I had to look, and then there was no going back. I mean, we can eat dinner later, right?”
“Absolutely.”
He put the box next to her on the bed, then handed her the almost empty glass she’d used before. “It must have been fate that I chose this Syrah. It goes really well with dessert.”
“I believe you,” she said, holding her glass higher.
He poured, then filled his own glass, handed her the forks and, realizing what he’d forgotten, went into the en suite and got a fresh box of tissues. “I know the kitchen isn’t that far, and I could have brought napkins—”
“But this seems much more daring.”
“Exactly.”
Once his robe dropped, he climbed into the bed next to her. The first thing he did was point to the green cake. “Green?”
“Green tea mille crêpes. Not too sweet. But rich.”
Pretty sure he knew what to expect, he cut off a bite. It was really good. Unusual. Classy. Just like Catherine. Once he swallowed, he waited for her to take her bite. She took a sizable chunk, yet still managed to look elegant. “I know some things about your taste,” he said, “and now I have a pretty good idea about your work, but there’s a lot of territory between birth and working at the UN that we still haven’t covered.”
She stopped chewing and stared. “You want me to tell you everything that’s happened to me since birth?”
He laughed. “No. Just the highlights. In fact, just whatever you want to tell me. But before we do...” He leaned over and kissed her, finding the taste of sweet cream on her lips. “I don’t think I told you how often I’ve thought about tonight.”
“Me, too. Made a mistake at work today, wondering where you called home. I was way off the mark.”
“Good different or bad different?”
She laughed, the sound hitting him low down in his chest. “Good. Very good.”
“Now, tell me more about yourself.”
“Okay,” she said, but she took a bite from the chocolate cake before she started. The way she studied him made him wonder if she’d begin at the beginning or keep her past to herself.
“I was born in Lichtenstein,” she said. “Although I’m an American citizen. My father was the ambassador when my parents had me. We traveled a great deal, all over Europe.”
“Siblings?”
“None. I had tutors, though. Nannies. Housekeepers. Didn’t spend a lot of time with my parents. They both went to a lot of meetings, attended a lot of parties. My mother was born in France, my father in California. They met while studying at the Harvard University Kennedy School of Government. Mother became an American citizen, and before having me, she worked for the French embassy in DC, while my father was a personal assistant to the secretary of state.”
“So a lot like my family.”
She grinned. “I think you probably had a much happier childhood than I did. Not complaining, exactly, but it was a very formal way to live.” Her gaze moved away from him. Not far. Just to the cake, although she didn’t take another bite. “I always felt as though my family was born in the wrong century. I had to learn early how to use every possible utensil, I started studying up on wines when I was ten, and my parents were very pleased that I picked up languages so easily. They wanted me to follow in their footsteps.”
“They must be thrilled about your work at the UN.”
Her wince told another story. “They think I’m wasting my talents.”
“Well, parents. They’re...”
“A long way away, which is how I like it.”
Tony loved his folks, but he could understand that. “Which was your favorite country?”
“Right now? America. But I loved Italy. Switzerland was cold. France...well, who doesn’t love France. And the British Isles were pretty fantastic.”
“I envy your travels.”
“Don’t you ever go on vacation?”
“Yeah. But not overseas. Someday I’ll go.” He waited, smiling, as she took a pretty big bite of the strawberry cake. “Has anyone ever called you anything but Catherine?”
“Like...?”
“Cat? Cathy? Cate? My liege?”
“That last one. All the time. It’s a burden I’m forced to bear.”
“I’ll bet.”
After another bite, she put down her fork. “I’ve only been called Catherine. Except for one person. Belaflore Calabrese.”
“Who told you stories about Little Italy?”
“That’s right. She was very, very dear to me. The best part of my life, really. I was always well behaved when she was our housekeeper, afraid she’d be fired like so many others. But luckily, she became my nanny and stayed with us through all our travels. She used to come here for her vacations, to see her family who lived in the house that’s now mine. It’s awful to admit, but I was always jealous. I wanted to be her only family.”
“You were just a kid.”
“I know.” Catherine sighed. “That’s not why I bought the house. There’s nothing Freudian to worry about.”
Tony smiled. “What did she call you?”
“La mia patatina,” she said, her voice at least half an octave higher. “It means—”
“My little potato? Is that right?” He frowned when she nodded. “That’s not one I’ve heard a lot around here. But I’m guessing it’s nice.”
“Very nice. But she also called me tesorina and topolina. Always a whisper just between the two of us. If I have any sentimentality, it’s because of Mia Nonnina. She nurtured my heart for many years.”
He swallowed his latest bite, sipped his wine and then asked, “So you knew the Calabrese family before you bought the house?”
“That’s right. They knew I wanted it, and offered it to me before they put it on the market. I paid what they asked. It was a no-brainer for me. I’d already gotten the job in New York, though I hadn’t started there yet. They also warned me about the condition of the place, but as you well know, I don’t mind. Even if I never did another thing with that house, I’d love it. Every time I’m there, I walk with the memory of Belaflore. Told you. Sentimental.”
“I understand.” His words were soft as he leaned in. “I come from the most sentimental people in the world. Can’t even talk without using my hands.” To demonstrate, he cupped her cheek and brought her in for a long, sweet kiss. When he let her go, he put his fork down, too. “You know, I’ve got one of my mom’s lasagnas warming in the oven. Any interest?”
“A lot of interest.
I like this whole eating dessert first, though. I’ll have to do it more often.”
He got out of bed and opened the closet door. It was a ridiculously large walk-in, pure cedar, with enough room for a family of four. But he had a second robe in there that shouldn’t be too big for Catherine.
By the time he got back to the bed, she’d put the cake box next to the wine bottle and was holding her bra and dress.
“Maybe this instead of getting dressed? I’d hate to get any sauce on your beautiful clothes.”
She tossed them both on the bed. “Thanks. Great idea. And maybe you’ll show me the rest of the house on our way to the kitchen?”
“One tour, coming up.”
As they put on their respective robes, he said, “You’ll appreciate the closet.”
Catherine walked around the bed and gasped as soon as she looked inside. “It’s as big as most New York apartments.”
“When I have time, I’m going to make most of it into an office.”
“And here I am, keeping you busy helping me with my house when you want to work on your own.”
“It’s not a problem,” he said, waving it away. “You’ve seen the bathroom?”
“Yes. It’s quite impressive. And the marble is stunning.”
“My ex’s—Angie’s—favorite. I got to choose the shower, though.”
Catherine stared at him. “Your ex-wife?”
Tony had to give her credit; she’d never asked after meeting Mrs. Collette. “I’m divorced. Is that a problem?”
“No. I mean...” Catherine shook her head. “Not for me, it isn’t. I expected so.” She smiled. “It’s fine.”
He started to let it go, but knew damn well the remark would bother him. “Expected it?”
“Come on...a great guy like you? Good-looking. Smart. Successful. Someone was bound to—”
“Okay.” He laughed at his own embarrassment. “Before you ask, the split was amicable. No kids involved. It’s all good. You want to see more of the place?”
“Of course I do.” Smiling, Catherine stretched up and brushed her lips across his mouth. But when the kiss got heated she backed off. “Show me.”
Deciding to let her get away with the dodge for now, he led her down the long hall, stopping at the guest bedroom with its en suite, and another smaller bedroom. Then they walked back into the large open space that was a living room, dining room and kitchen all in one.
“This space is out of this world. I love the art, by the way. Gaudí is a favorite of mine.”
“There was an exhibit of his stuff at the Met. I liked it a lot.”
They walked past the big dining table, one he’d built when he was twenty, then into the kitchen, with its wide island and stainless appliances.
“This is a total chef’s kitchen,” she said. “I recognize the brands of the stove and the fridge. Do you cook often?”
“Not really. I can make a decent omelet, a steak and pasta. Everything else I bring in. Including tonight’s dinner. I didn’t even make the salad.”
“No harm in that. I think I want to steal your entire kitchen for my place, though. It’s stunning.”
“This was all my ex-wife’s doing. She’s the one who chose everything even though she was a terrible cook. I’ve been able to figure out how to get around in here for two years, though, with no problems. So if you want this configuration, we can certainly accommodate that.”
He got the lasagna out of the oven, pulled down a couple plates and cut them each a big piece.
“I’ll never be able to eat all that.”
“I don’t know. You’re living in Little Italy now. It’s not a meal until you’ve eaten twice your weight in pasta.”
“Damn. I guess I’ll have to join a gym.”
“It’s inevitable,” he said, getting them both forks. They didn’t even move to the table. Just leaned over the island and dug in.
She took a bite and her eyes widened almost comically, then she took two more bites in quick succession. “Tony,” she said, as if she was about to impart some huge news. “This is the best lasagna I’ve ever had. Your mother is an amazing cook.”
“She learned from my grandmother, who lives with them. When my brothers and I were growing up, every day was like a cook-off. It was actually pretty insane.”
“That must be tough on—”
She stopped talking when the elevator dinged.
Tony groaned. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry about this,” he said, walking across the room. He knew who it was. The only other person to have a key. His brother Dom. Because he was still in school, he lived with their folks, but he liked to crash in the guest room from time to time. He usually called before he came, though.
“Yo, Tony,” he said, walking in like he owned the place, his gym bag in hand. “It smells like Ma’s lasagna. Thank God, I’m starving.”
“Why didn’t you call?”
“I left two messages.”
“And my not returning them didn’t give you a clue?”
Dominic looked him over, finally noticing that Tony was in his bathrobe, barefoot. Then he obviously caught sight of Catherine. “Oh. Shit. Sorry, bro. Seriously. Hey, how you doing?” he said, over Tony’s shoulder. “Sorry to barge in.”
“It’s fine,” Catherine said, but Tony could hear that it wasn’t.
“So?”
Dom winced. “You think maybe you could cut me a couple slices before I leave? Ma’s pissed at me, so I’m gonna have to stay at Mikey’s, and he never has anything to eat.”
“Go. Away.”
“You know what?” Catherine said. “I was just about to leave myself. You don’t have to go. It’s getting late. I’ll just be a few more minutes.”
Tony turned to see her hurrying toward his bedroom. “Goddamn it, Dom. Get your food and get the hell out.”
Dom’s free hand went up in surrender. “Hey. I’m really sorry. I had no idea you wouldn’t be alone.” He leaned in closer. “And with the Fox, no less. Whoa.”
Tony held himself back from punching his little brother into next week. “It isn’t what you think and you will never bring it up again. Are we clear?”
“Like she spilled something on all her clothes? After she came over to talk about restoring fireplaces?”
“Dom. I swear to God...”
Dom got down one of the big dinner plates, took almost half the damn lasagna in one messy scoop and then covered it with aluminum foil. He spotted the open bottle of wine and raised his eyebrows at his brother.
All Tony could do was point to the door. “Last chance, or I push you out the window.”
“Fine, fine. Don’t get all bent. I’m leaving.” Dom hurried to the elevator, but as the doors were closing, he said, “Sure I shouldn’t go say good-night to your—”
Thankfully, the door shut on his big mouth.
Now, damage control. Tony hurried down the hall, not surprised to see Catherine’s clothes and shoes missing, and the bathroom door shut. He tapped on it. “You okay?”
“Of course,” she said, as she opened the door. She looked elegant as always. Too bad he couldn’t help imagining her without the dress. He’d wanted to do so much more.
“Sure you can’t stay? You barely had any dinner.”
“No, I’m going to go. I’m sorry. It’s probably worse for you that we were caught.”
“Dom won’t say anything. I swear. He knows I’d kill him if he even suggested that you were here.”
She walked closer, touched the bare skin above his collarbones. “I had a wonderful time. Truly I did. But I think I need to think this thing through. Okay? How about we give it a day or two—”
“I planned on coming by tomorrow night.”
“Maybe...call first, okay?”
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am. This is the best night I’ve had in I don’t know how long. I’d very much like to try again.”
She kissed his cheek. “We’ll see.”
“I’ll pack up some lasagna and cake to go,” he said, attempting to keep his voice light.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, walking out of his bedroom. “Enjoy the cakes. I don’t think you tried all of them yet.”
He followed her, and after she put on her jacket and got her purse, he pressed for the elevator. Gently pushing a stray hair off her temple, he leaned closer. “I’ll do whatever you like,” he said. “I never wanted to make you feel uncomfortable. But for what it’s worth, I feel like tonight was just a tiny taste of what could be a great time for both of us.”
She smiled. But when the door slid open, she stepped inside without another word.
8
FINALLY, CATHERINE WAS EXCUSED. She’d just finished interpreting a speech for members of the UN Security Council, which wasn’t technically her job any longer. The real reason she’d been asked to translate was to pick up any signals from the body language of the speaker. She’d spent over a week steeped in research, watching tapes over and over again, until she had a solid sense of his style, his use of colloquialisms, his nervous tics.
She walked from the Security Council Chamber to her office. She’d have just enough time to log in and check her email before she had to meet Victor for lunch. She knew he was going to ask her out again, and while she didn’t want to date him, she also didn’t want there to be tension between them.
Pity she wasn’t attracted to him. He was her mother’s dream for her, but Catherine just didn’t feel a spark. Victor was too much about presentation and not enough about the things that really mattered to her: wit, kindness, keeping an open mind and being comfortable with all manner of people. At times he could be witty, but otherwise, he was, frankly, a snob.
Tony had all the qualities she admired, but while he wasn’t a rube, he was dramatically different from the type of man she usually dated. That fact held a lot of allure.
She’d decided to give the two of them another shot. After two days of talking on the phone—teasing each other and laughing lots—she’d caved, anxious to see him again. Tonight there would be some work on the downstairs fireplace that would hopefully transition to some one-on-one time in the bedroom. This time with no brothers dropping by.