by Jayne Castel
But Sabrina refused to give up—not when she had nothing else to go on.
Adriano remained inside the building a while, and it was near noon when he emerged. He unlocked his Vespa, started it, and drove back up the street toward Sabrina.
Hastily, Sabrina turned away as he drove past, just in case he looked in her direction. She started her Piaggio, although the engine took some convincing before it wheezed into life. She heaved a sigh of relief when it started—scooter trouble was the last thing she needed right now. Then she turned and followed Adriano up the street.
She wasn’t sure why, exactly, she had chosen to tail him again. Frustration churned within her at the thought of emailing Helen Bellini with nothing to report. Maybe, just maybe, he’d lead her to some new discovery.
Adriano didn’t return home. Instead, he turned off Via Nazionale and parked half-way down a long, straight street that led to Rome’s centrally located park—Villa Borghese. He went into a pharmacy.
Sabrina parked further up the street and switched off her scooter’s engine.
He’s just running errands, she thought. This is getting ridiculous. What am I going to do? Follow him around Rome for the rest of the day? I’d get more done at my computer.
With that thought, Sabrina turned the key to restart her scooter.
Nothing happened.
She tried again, but still nothing. The Zip’s engine just coughed pathetically and refused to start. Sabrina swore in Italian and checked the petrol gauge. It was still half-full of gas—there was no reason for it not to start.
At that moment, Adriano emerged from the farmacia. He crossed to his bike, started it, and to Sabrina’s horror turned to drive back up the street. She hastily looked down, fumbling with her key, and prayed he didn’t recognize her. After all, she was wearing a helmet.
No such luck.
“Buongiorno, Sabrina.”
She looked up straight into Adriano Bellini’s dark-brown eyes and her stomach leaped into her throat.
“Um … hello, Signor Be … Adriano,” she stuttered.
“This is a coincidence.”
Sabrina flushed. Did she imagine it, or was that suspicion in his voice?
“I’m just exploring Rome on my day off.”
“I didn’t realize you bought a scooter.”
She hesitated before answering. “I don’t like public transport.”
Adriano laughed. The sound was unexpectedly rich and warm, and sent a shiver of pleasure through her. Outside his restaurant, he seemed almost human—although Sabrina was still wary of him.
“Rome’s public transport drives most people crazy,” he admitted. His gaze then slid down to where her hand still fiddled uselessly with the ignition. “Is something wrong with your bike?”
“Not sure … it won’t start.”
“Do you want me to take a look?”
Bristling at the way he was smiling at her with that smug arrogance men have when they’re sure a woman doesn’t know what she’s doing, she climbed off her Zip and gestured toward it. “Be my guest.”
She watched as Adriano climbed on and tinkered about a bit.
“I think the starter motor’s had it,” he announced eventually. “I hope you didn’t pay much for the bike?”
Sabrina shook her head. “It’s just a rental.”
His eyebrows shot up. “That’ll be costing you a fortune.”
“It was just for a few days,” she replied hurriedly, “while I did a bit of exploring.”
She was aware he would be wondering how a waitress afforded to rent a scooter long-term. He probably thought she was getting huge tips at his restaurant.
“Well it’s a heap of crap—just as well you didn’t buy it.”
Sabrina nodded, feeling sorry for the Piaggio Zip. She’d enjoyed riding it around Rome. “I’ll call the agency and tell them to come pick it up.”
Adriano climbed off her scooter and stood before her. Their gazes met and held for a few long moments—too long, too intense. The energy that simmered between them at the restaurant was stronger now they were alone. There were no distractions here: no hungry diners waiting for their meal, no waiters scurrying past, no chefs and kitchen-hands shouting to be heard over the din of a busy restaurant.
Sabrina’s breathing constricted. She wasn’t used to men looking at her like this; it reminded her of how he’d stared at her the night he’d given her a lift on his scooter. His gaze was dominant, blatantly sensual.
“Do you need a lift anywhere?” he asked eventually.
“No, thanks but I’m fine,” Sabrina managed weakly. “We’re in the center—I can walk.”
His gaze continued to hold hers, and she realized he was considering something.
He gave her a slow smile. “It’s nearly 1pm—have lunch with me.”
Like that night in the rain, it wasn’t a request but a demand. Sabrina stiffened.
This man already has a girlfriend, and he’s asking me out?
Clearly, some of the things her mother had told her about the philandering ways of Italian men were true. She almost refused him, something she’d enjoy doing. If she’d been back in New York, she would have. Men like Adriano Bellini deserved to be shot down. Then, the analytical side of her brain kicked in.
You want to know more about this man, don’t you? This is the chance you’ve been waiting for!
Adriano was watching her. She was taking too long to respond, and his expression tightened.
It’s just lunch. She couldn’t waste this chance to discover more about Adriano, even if the thought of giving into him galled her.
“Thank you,” she replied with a smile. “I’d like that.”
Chapter Ten
He took her to a small trattoria, just two streets back from where Sabrina had parked her scooter. The proprietor, an elderly man with a shock of white hair and a ruddy face, welcomed Adriano like a son. He embraced him and kissed him on both cheeks. “Welcome back!”
Adriano smiled in response. “It’s been too long, Luigi.”
Luigi showed them to their seats, one of the booths that lined the long, narrow restaurant. Sabrina noted that Luigi gave her a curious look as she sat down. He was clearly intrigued to know who she was. He rattled off the day’s specials and took their orders, before hurrying away to get a carafe of house white and a bottle of sparkling water.
Sabrina leaned back against the upholstered leather seat, grateful for the fan that was circulating above their heads. The day had heated up considerably in the last couple of hours and was turning into a scorcher.
Now that she was alone with Adriano, she suddenly felt self-conscious. His intense gaze unnerved her and she started to regret agreeing to have lunch with him. She struggled to come up with something to say that didn’t make her sound like an idiot.
Luckily, Adriano saved her the embarrassment by speaking first. “Settling into Rome okay?”
Sabrina nodded. “It feels like home already.”
Luigi returned bearing their drinks. Adriano thanked him and poured them both a glass of wine. “Are you enjoying the city?”
Sabrina gave him a wary look. She didn’t trust his smooth manner; it sounded as if he was leading up to something. She took a sip of wine before answering. “Yes—very much.”
“And what about your new job … ?”
Here we go …
“It’s good—I’m enjoying it.” That wasn’t a lie—despite that she was on a case, she liked working in a restaurant again.
He raised his eyebrows in response.
Sabrina gave him a rueful look. “Don’t look so surprised.”
He grinned. “So, I’m not a complete bastard to work for?”
Sabrina pulled a face. “I didn’t say that.”
He laughed before leaning back in his seat and observing her a moment. “So, what brought you to Rome?”
“A change of scene, I guess.”
“What were you doing before?”
Sabrina cons
idered her words carefully before she responded. “A few things. My uncle owns a trattoria in Brooklyn so I worked there in my late teens. Then, I joined the police . . . but that didn’t work out so I went back to waitressing.”
Adriano’s eyebrows shot up. “You were a cop?”
Sabrina smiled. “Hard to imagine, isn’t it?”
He gave her a shrewd look. “Not really.”
Her smile faded. “What does that mean?”
“That you’re tough.”
Sabrina bristled slightly. She imagined that was just his way of telling her she was aggressive, something men had accused her of before.
As if sensing her annoyance, he shook his head. “Did I offend you? I meant it as a compliment.”
Sabrina shrugged, feigning indifference. “No offense taken.” She took another sip of wine and tried to gather her thoughts. This man was disarming. She almost preferred the cool, sharp-edged mask he wore at work; at least she knew how to deal with that. Since they’d entered the restaurant, he’d shown different sides to his character—one moment rude, then charming. She wanted to dislike him, but instead, she was fascinated.
Their food arrived. Sabrina’s mouth watered as she looked down at the steaming plate of spaghetti. “This looks good.”
“No one does la cucina romana like Luigi Gerrardo,” Adriano replied. “I worked here for three years, after I left school. He was my mentor.”
Sabrina glanced around their humble surroundings with fresh eyes. So this was where Adriano had started out. She couldn’t imagine him working for anyone else, or taking orders from another chef—but she knew he would have started somewhere.
The food was delicious, and the two of them focused on it for a little while before Adriano resumed his interrogation.
“Why didn’t being a police officer work out?” he asked.
Sabrina inwardly groaned. Please, not this question. She considered lying to him, but decided to take the approach she’d taken so far—keep as close to the truth as possible without revealing her hand.
“My dad was a cop,” she began, aware that he had put down his fork and was giving her his undivided attention. “I guess I had a romantic idea of it. Once I got out onto the streets, I realized the job wasn’t what I thought.”
He nodded, taking in her words, before responding. “You’re an idealist—that always makes reality hard to take.”
Sabrina tensed. She kept her breathing steady and forced herself not to frown. She didn’t want to talk about herself.
At that moment, his cell phone started ringing. He frowned at the interruption and picked up his phone to see who it was. His gaze narrowed further, and he slid out of the booth. “Sorry, I need to take this.”
Sabrina nodded and flashed him a smile. She watched him get up and stalk away, before she heaved a sigh of relief and sank back in her seat. The phone call couldn’t have come at a better time. The conversation had been getting a little too intense for her liking.
Adriano strode out of earshot and answered the phone. Judging from the look on his face, it was not a call he’d wanted to take. She watched his expression harden before he turned his back on her.
Intriguing. Sabrina dug her fork into her pasta and twirled it around the prongs. Maybe he has secrets, after all.
The phone call lasted all of two minutes, although when Adriano returned to the table, he was scowling.
“Is everything alright?” she asked sweetly.
He nodded brusquely. “Just business.”
The resumed their meal although this time, Sabrina was determined to keep the focus on him.
“So …” she began finally, “what made you decide to become a chef?”
“It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do,” he replied. “I left school and came to work here. My family was poor. I grew up in Centocelle, in the south of Rome.”
“So you don’t come from a family of chefs?”
Adriano broke eye contact with her and picked up his half-empty glass of wine, swirling it gently. “My father made pizzas for a living,” he began quietly. “He gambled away all his money before deserting the family when I was seven.”
Sabrina stared at him, shocked by the admission. “What happened to him?”
Adriano shrugged. “No idea. My mother tried to track him down; she even hired a private investigator, but my father never wished to be found.”
His comment about the private investigator unnerved Sabrina for some reason. It reminded her of why she was here and of the risks she was taking. “You’ve never looked for him yourself?”
Adriano glanced up, his gaze steely. “No, I haven’t.”
Sabrina returned his gaze. The short reply spoke volumes about his character—Adriano Bellini was not a man to forgive and forget.
“What about the rest of your family?” she asked, shifting the conversation away from his father. “They must be proud of you.”
“I imagine so. My mother, sister, and nephew are all I’ve got—and my son.”
“I didn’t realize you had kids,” she lied.
He nodded, his expression softening. “Luca will be six next month.”
“So where’s his mother?” Sabrina knew she was probing but now that she had steered the conversation in the right direction, she didn’t want to waste this opportunity.
Adriano glanced away from her for a moment. When he replied, his voice was cool, controlled. “We’re in the middle of an ugly dispute. She’s trying to take Luca away from me—and I’m going to make sure that never happens.”
Silence stretched between them. Sabrina glanced down at the remnants of her lunch, her appetite disappearing. She wondered what he’d do if he knew he was sitting opposite a woman who was part of his ex-wife’s campaign to take his son to the United States.
Just for a moment, Sabrina felt like a low-life.
Stop it, she told herself firmly. He’s the one at fault—remember that.
“It sounds like a really hard thing to go through,” she said finally, although the words sounded inadequate.
Adriano gave a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It is—but I’ll deal with it.”
Chapter Eleven
The dark silhouettes of umbrella pines stood out against a wide sky—a canvas of feathery pink and gold reminiscent of an Impressionist painting. The sun was dipping low in the western sky, bringing the first hot day of summer to a close.
Sabrina and Adriano walked through Villa Borghese, the park that sat above the historic center, deep in conversation. When they reached the Pincio—a wide terrace that looked over Piazza del Popolo, at the northern end of the historic center—Sabrina halted. Her gaze drank in the view.
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” she whispered.
In the piazza below, a woman was singing. It was a haunting song in Italian, a Neapolitan classic about lost love and longing. The singer’s husky voice lifted high above the rooftops, and its beauty made Sabrina catch her breath.
“Rome can be like that sometimes,” Adriano replied softly. He stood next to her, leaning against the balustrade as he too took in the view. “The city is like the best and worst lover you’ll ever have. Seductive and passionate, but temperamental and cruel.”
Sabrina gave a soft laugh. “Really? Life here seems idyllic to me.”
“That’s because you’ve only been here a few weeks. Come back to me in a few years, and tell me if you still believe that.”
Sabrina pulled a face at him. “Cynic.”
“No, just a realist. I love this city, but she’s not for the faint-hearted.”
“I’m a New Yorker remember? You think I wouldn’t be able to handle Rome long-term?” Sabrina challenged him. She’d become infatuated with this city. She’d only been in Rome a short time but already the thought of leaving it made her feel sad. She’d barely thought about New York—besides a weekly call to her mother—and certainly hadn’t missed her old life since she’d been here. In fact, she wasn’t looking forw
ard to returning to it.
“Not at all.” He grinned at her.
She gave him an arch look. “You wouldn’t live elsewhere then?”
He shook his head. “I’ve spent time in Milan and New York, where I own restaurants, but this city will always be my home. Italians are very loyal to the city where they grow up. I don’t want to live anywhere else.”
Sabrina gave him a speculative look. Adriano was a man of surprises. After lunch, he’d suggested they take a walk through Villa Borghese together. She’d agreed, if only for a chance to learn more about him. As they’d walked, he’d relaxed a little. Their conversation had revealed that he had a dry sense of humor. He was ten years older than she was, and seemed a man of the world compared to the guys she knew back home. Sabrina had ended up enjoying his company.
They watched the sunset for a while longer, before making their way back to their scooters. Sabrina called the agency and arranged for them to pick up her bike. Adriano stayed with her, while they waited for someone to turn up, so she could hand over the keys.
Eventually, a young man in tight jeans and a tank top swaggered up and relieved Sabrina of her broken down Piaggio Zip and keys. He handed Sabrina back her passport, which she’d left as security during the rental. After he’d left, Adriano turned to her.
“Do you want a lift home?”
This time, she didn’t try to refuse. Her feet were tired after an afternoon walking around the park, and she now felt comfortable in Adriano’s company. Plus, he’d actually asked nicely this time.
She put on the spare helmet he kept under his seat and climbed on the back. He drove her slowly home, at a far more sedate pace than when she had been following him. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was deliberately prolonging their time together. The streets were busy, thronged with people out for a passeggiata—the evening stroll. The shops wouldn’t close for an hour or two yet, and there was still time for some shopping. Whole families were out, eating gelati as they wandered aimlessly through the center.