Her frown warned that this was a subject of much debate between mother and daughter, and that no final decisions had been made. If it was a matter of finances, Cameron knew that he could alleviate their concerns, but that was hardly a discussion he intended to initiate now.
“And my grandmother’s great,” she continued. “But, come on, she shouldn’t live with her mother forever, either.”
He couldn’t help but smile at that.
“And she doesn’t have a lot of experience with men,” Sierra confided. “I mean, I don’t even remember her dating anyone, aside from Rafe. And you’ve dated a ton of women.”
His brows rose. “Have you been reading the tabloids?”
“I did some internet research,” she said, unapologetically. “And though I’m sure some of the stories are exaggerated, it’s obvious that you’ve been around a lot more than she has.”
“You’re right,” he acknowledged. “And there’s probably nothing I can do or say to alleviate your concerns, but I can promise that my only intention tonight is to enjoy a quiet dinner with your mother.”
“Okay.” Then, almost reluctantly, she added, “She likes to dance. So you could maybe take her dancing, too, if you wanted.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he promised.
“Okay,” she said again.
The doorbell sounded, and her head turned automatically, her eyes lighting up.
“I need to get that,” she said, just as her mother stepped into the room.
Cameron’s attention shifted automatically, and his breath caught. Gabriella had put her hair up in some kind of twist and fastened simple gold hoops at her ears. Her make-up was mostly subtle—some shadow to highlight her eyes, a touch of blusher on her cheeks—aside from the mouth-watering red that slicked her lips. It matched the color of her dress, a sleeveless wrap-style of scarlet silk that dipped low between her breasts and clung to every delicious curve. And her feet were encased in shoes of that exact same shade that added almost three inches to her height and drew attention to her long, shapely legs.
Mi Dios, the woman knew how to tempt a man.
And he was more than tempted.
Thankfully, after a quick smile to acknowledge his presence, Gabriella had focused her attention on Sierra, giving him a moment to complete his perusal and recover his composure.
“Twelve o’clock,” she reminded her daughter.
Sierra rolled her eyes. “As if I could ever forget.”
Gabriella touched her lips gently to her cheek. “Have a good time.”
“Yeah, uh, you, too.” Sierra glanced past her mother to him, whether in acknowledgement or warning he couldn’t be sure, but he knew that she was right to be worried. Because his promise to Sierra aside, one look at Gabriella, and suddenly he was wanting a lot more than dinner.
“You look…exquisite.”
Gabriella felt her fingers tremble as the prince kissed her hand, and she hoped Cameron wouldn’t notice. She was more nervous than she wanted to admit—like a seventeen-year-old girl on her first date.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He looked wonderful, too. But then again, he always did. The day they’d spent on his yacht, he’d been casually attired in shorts and a T-shirt. Tonight, he was wearing a suit—dark navy in color and conservative in cut. He moved easily, with a fluid grace and inherent dignity, whatever he was wearing and wherever he went.
It hadn’t always been like that, she remembered. He’d once chafed at the restrictions that came with being a royal—except when he was outright ignoring them. He’d been the rebel prince, unconcerned with politics and protocol, determined to make his own mark in the world. And often, it had seemed to her as she’d followed his escapades through headlines over the years, desperately unhappy.
He had changed. She didn’t doubt that any more. He was more comfortable in his own skin now, happier in his career and with his life. And she was happy for him—and hopeful that he could now be the kind of father her daughter deserved. But she was still unwilling to hope that he could be a part of her life.
He kept her hand in his as he led the way to the door. “Did you need to check in with your mother before we head out?”
She smiled, a little, in response to his gentle teasing. “Usually I would,” she agreed. “But she’s at her water aerobics class until nine.”
“Water aerobics?”
“She loves to bake—and to eat what she bakes—so she does yoga or water aerobics almost every day, sometimes both, to balance it out.”
“She sounds very…energetic,” he decided.
“She only retired a couple of years ago,” Gabriella told him, pausing to lock the door. “Until then, she’d worked two jobs. Having time on her hands was a huge adjustment for her.”
“What kind of work did she used to do?”
Gabriella looked at him, surprised by the question. “I thought you knew—she worked early mornings at the bakery and then cleaned houses the rest of the day.”
He helped her into the limo, then settled himself beside her on the wide leather seat. “Why would I know that?”
“Because—” she broke off, shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“My mother,” he guessed flatly.
“I really don’t want to talk about this tonight.”
“Dammit, Gabriella. I need to know what she did.”
“It won’t change anything.”
“No,” he agreed. “But I’m tired of the lies and deceptions. I want the truth.”
“When she first came to me, wanting to buy my silence with payment of Sierra’s medical expenses, I refused. I believed, naively, that my mother and I would somehow find a way to pay the bills. The very next day, my mother lost her cleaning job at the Gianninis’.”
“Elena and Roberta Giannini have been friends—or at least acquaintances—for years,” he acknowledged.
She nodded. “And Roberta Giannini was good friends with Arianna Bertuzzi, so if my mother wanted to keep that job, I was told I’d better rethink my decision regarding Sierra.”
He took both of her hands now. “Dios, Gabriella, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”
“I hated her for a long time,” she admitted. “And I was scared for even longer, afraid that the day might come when she wanted more than my silence.”
“You were worried that she would try to take Sierra,” he guessed.
“She’d already proven that she had the money and power and influence—all I had was my daughter, but she was everything to me.”
He squeezed her hands gently as the limo rolled to a stop. “You were right. Let’s try to put this aside for tonight and enjoy our dinner.”
“Gladly,” Gabriella said, and meant it.
The driver opened the door, and Cameron slid out first, offering his hand to her again.
She hadn’t asked where they were going and, looking at the elegantly scripted letters on the huge plate glass window beneath the green-and-white-striped awning, realized now that had been a mistake.
But she never would have guessed—couldn’t have guessed. Marconi’s wasn’t even in business anymore. After a falling-out with his son, Franco, who had moved to San Pedro to open his own restaurant six months earlier, Alonzo Marconi had closed down the business and put the building up for sale.
Cameron gestured for her to precede him up the walk, but Gabriella stood frozen in her tracks. “What are we doing here?”
“We’re having dinner,” he reminded her.
“But—” she faltered, as she caught a whiff of the tantalizing and familiar scent that drifted on the air.
“I promised to take you someplace where no one would guess we were going and where there would be no paparazzi hiding in the shadows.”
“And you thought an abandoned restaurant would fit the bill.”
“Not entirely abandoned,” he assured her. “Alonzo Marconi himself is behind the stove tonight.”
Still, she hesitated. It was obvio
us that Cameron had gone to quite a bit of trouble to set this up, but she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about this turn of events. She’d told him that the past was over and done, except that a lot of their shared past was now only a few steps away.
Already, just looking at the door, she could hear the familiar jangle of the bell that would sound when it was opened. And she knew that the sound of that bell would tear the lid off of the box of memories she’d worked hard to keep tightly closed.
Memories of the day she’d first met Cameron, the first time he’d kissed her. Memories of hanging out with him after the restaurant closed, talking for long hours or dancing to the music that blared out of the jukebox. Memories of hiding out in the bathroom, fighting against tears, after he’d dumped her, when she’d realized her period was late, and finally—when she’d been fired from her job after confiding to Mrs. Marconi that she was pregnant.
The memories were both plentiful and painful, and she knew that she could avoid them no longer.
Chapter Twelve
As Cameron followed Gabriella through the door, he began to wonder if he’d made a serious miscalculation. He’d thought she would be pleased with the arrangements he’d made, instead, she seemed apprehensive.
On the other hand, she’d seemed apprehensive since she’d agreed to have dinner with him, as if she’d been having second thoughts from the very beginning. But he was hopeful that he could get her to relax. They’d share a good meal together, an excellent bottle of wine, some pleasant conversation, and maybe, when the night was finally over, a good-night kiss.
He turned the key that had been left in the lock, so that no one could wander in off the street and disturb them.
She moved automatically toward the round table in the middle of the room, the only one that was set. The candle, stuffed into a squat wine bottle, had been lit, and the gentle flame illuminated the shine of flatware and the gleam of crystal.
“Something smells good,” she said.
He agreed, although what he could smell was her scent, something light and citrusy, decidedly feminine and undeniably sexy.
“My sincere apologies, Your Highness.” Alonzo Marconi rushed into the dining room, stopping in front of Cameron to execute a deep bow. “I did not realize you had arrived.”
“It’s not a problem,” Cameron assured him. “And thank you again for your indulgence tonight.”
“How could I refuse a personal request from a prince?”
A personal request—and the offer of a significant sum for the retired chef’s time and trouble. But it was worth it to Cameron, to guarantee that he and Gabriella would have privacy tonight. He’d made her a promise, and he intended to prove to her that she could trust in his promises.
“You remember Gabriella?” he prompted.
“Of course.” Alonzo took both of her hands before kissing her lavishly on each cheek in turn. “Bella, you are even more beautiful than I remembered.”
“And you are just as charming as I remember,” she told him.
“You are well? And your mother and your little girl?” he prompted, as he held out her chair for her.
“We are all very well, thanks. Although Sierra is not a little girl anymore. She had her sixteenth birthday last week.”
“Mi Dios—where did the years go?”
As Cameron glanced around, he wondered the same thing. The restaurant hadn’t changed at all in the six months that it had been closed. In fact, it looked to Cameron that not much had changed in the past sixteen years. Even the layout of the tables was the same, as familiar as the cane-back chairs set around them, the red-and-white-checked tablecloths draped over them and the candles in wine bottles that served as center pieces for each one. The jukebox was still in the corner, silent now.
It had never been a high-end eating place but was undoubtedly an extremely popular one, having long ago established a reputation for serving quality food at reasonable prices. Primarily marketed as a family restaurant, it had also become a favorite of the college crowd, as it was located within walking distance of the dorms.
“I have the wine you requested,” Alonzo told him, hustling over to the bar to retrieve it.
He hurried back, showed Cameron the label. He checked the date, nodded, and Alonzo quickly and efficiently uncorked the bottle. He poured a small amount in the prince’s glass, allowing him to test and approve the burgundy before he filled Gabriella’s glass. After topping up Cameron’s, he set the bottle on the table.
“There is a set menu for this evening,” Alonzo announced. “Crostini with basil pesto and tomatoes, followed by linguine with freshly made pomodoro sauce, then a main course of chicken piccata, finishing off with a simple green salad with an olive oil and red wine vinaigrette. And finally, for dessert, warm poached pears sprinkled with goat cheese.”
“It sounds perfect,” Cameron assured him.
Gradually, as they sipped their wine and nibbled their way through Alonzo’s impressive menu, Gabriella began to relax. It helped, Cameron thought, that they talked mostly about Sierra. Although garnering more information about his daughter wasn’t the primary purpose for the evening, he looked at the opportunity as a bonus. And Sierra was the one topic of conversation that seemed to break through Gabriella’s reserve.
She happily recounted stories of Sierra’s childhood, reported on every illness and injury, and detailed all of the important milestones of her first sixteen years until he finally formed a picture, not of the young woman she was now but of the little girl she’d been.
While he smiled at Gabriella’s charming retelling of her antics, he was again painfully aware of how very much he’d missed. But he wasn’t angry at Gabriella anymore. There was no reason to be. He knew now that he’d missed out on sixteen years of his daughter’s life because he’d been too damned selfish and self-absorbed to worry about an ex-girlfriend’s concern that she might be pregnant. Okay, so maybe he’d sweated over the possibility for a while. Maybe he’d waited to hear back from her, regarding the results of the pregnancy test. But when she’d failed to contact him again, he’d assumed that she’d been wrong—or that she’d taken care of it. And he’d been selfish and self-absorbed enough to be relieved by that thought.
Gabriella pushed away her salad bowl, the action drawing him away from the uncomfortable memories of his past and back to the much more enjoyable present.
“The whole meal was spectacular,” she said. “But I can’t possibly eat another bite.”
“You have to have room for dessert.”
She groaned. “I wish I did. Really. But—”
Her protest trailed off when Alonzo came out with the poached pears. Her eyes shifted to the square plate of neatly arranged pear halves drizzled with a Reisling reduction and sprinkled with goat cheese, and he could tell that she was tempted, at least a little.
“A few bites,” he cajoled, after the chef had slipped away again. “So as not to hurt Alonzo’s feelings.”
“I’ll have to start going to water aerobics with my mother,” she muttered, but picked up her dessert fork.
He didn’t think she needed to worry about indulging in a few desserts, but he refrained from saying so. He knew that kind of comment would catapult them out of neutral conversational territory into the decidedly personal zone and result in all of Gabriella’s barriers locking firmly back into place.
She broke off a piece of pear, popped it into her mouth. Her lips closed around the tines of the fork, her eyelids lowered, and she hummed in blissful pleasure. “Mmm.”
“That sounds like a positive endorsement,” Cameron mused.
She nodded as she chewed, swallowed. “Oh. Wow. It’s…fabulous. It’s sweet and tart, and the cheese adds a little bit of creamy texture, and the flavors just explode on your tongue.”
She sliced off another piece of fruit, held it out to Cameron. It was a spontaneous gesture, certainly not one that was intended to be deliberately seductive. But when his lips parted and she slid the fork betwe
en them, they were both suddenly aware of the intimacy of the moment.
She pulled the utensil away, her cheeks flushing. Cameron’s eyes remained on hers as he chewed slowly, savoring the bite she’d shared with him. The air nearly crackled with the attraction between them, proving that the illusion of neutrality had been exactly that.
Alonzo bustled in again, offering coffee or tea.
Gabriella tore her gaze from his, and turned to smile at the chef. “Not for me, thanks.”
“Nor me,” Cameron agreed. “But I think we’ll linger for a while, to finish up our dessert and the wine.”
“Of course,” Alonzo said. “If it’s acceptable to you, I will come back tomorrow to finish cleaning up so that you will have some privacy.”
Cameron nodded. “We’ll lock up when we go. And thank you again.”
“My pleasure, Your Highness.” He bowed deeply to Cameron, then turned his attention—and a warm smile—to Gabriella. “And it’s always a pleasure to see you, bella.”
“Grazie, Signor Marconi.” She touched his hand. “Grazie per tutto.”
He captured her fingers and raised her hand to his lips. “Buona notte.”
With a last bow, Alonzo slipped away, leaving them alone.
“Do you want to tell me what that was about?” Cameron asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Alonzo flirting with you—right in front of me.”
“He wasn’t flirting with me,” Gabriella denied.
“It sure looked like that from where I’m sitting—and that you were flirting back.”
She shook her head. “I’ve known Signor Marconi for a long time,” she reminded him. “In a lot of ways, he was like a father to me. He gave me more than a job—he gave me advice and guidance and support.”
Her gaze shifted away from his, her fingers slid down the stem of her wineglass, traced a slow circle around the perimeter of the base.
“Obviously there’s more to the story,” he guessed.
“Let’s just say that Signora Marconi was a little less supportive.”
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