Tate nodded. “Maybe it was my dream, but not anymore. I’m going to start my own practice.”
Wariness slid through her, replacing some of her pleasure. “Competing with your father?”
“Not deliberately.” He slipped his hands into the pockets of his khaki shorts, and she realized she was so used to him wearing suits to the office, that this was the most casually dressed she’d seen him in a very long time. He tilted his head. “I don’t think I’ll stay in Palo Alto, and I’m limiting my client list.”
“Where will you go?”
“That remains to be seen.” His smile was enigmatic and his eyes sparkled like he had a secret. “So…how’s your head?”
She replaced her sunglasses and set her floppy hat on her head. “I’m trying not to think about it.”
“Me too. Have you eaten yet?”
Another little rumble quaked her stomach. “No.”
“The concierge recommended a café down the block for good food and very strong espresso.” He gestured toward the door. “Want to join me? Caffeine and food will fortify you before you deal with Valentina and her million female relations.”
“She has an impressive number, doesn’t she?” Karen stayed where she was for a moment, weighing her options. She was hungry, and he had a close place to go. She shouldn’t be anywhere near him, but she’d already slept with him, so what would a meal hurt? It wasn’t as if she wouldn’t be sharing a table with him every time they went to Gio and Valentina’s. In the end, practicality and hunger won out.
She gestured for him to lead the way, and other than a tiny glint of triumph in his gaze, he didn’t acknowledge any sort of victory in getting her to willingly spend time with him while sober.
He slid on his own sunglasses, walked across the lobby and held the door open for her, then continued their previous conversation. “Valentina has too much of a good thing, I think. I’m suddenly glad it was just Laurel and me growing up and that our parents were only children. No cousins to speak of.”
Karen flinched as they hit the bright afternoon sunshine and tugged down her hat brim a bit. “How is your sister?”
“Really good.” Affection shone in his voice. “She’s got a gallery showing for her paintings at Stanford in a few weeks. I’m sure she invited you.”
“She did.” She cleared her throat. “I wasn’t sure if…”
“Yes, you should go,” he said firmly. “Laurel adores you and I know you feel the same. You and I are mature enough to handle being in the same room at the same time. As this week will no doubt prove.”
He strode beside her on the sidewalk, and while she was grateful he didn’t try to touch her, she could still feel the body heat radiating off him, enveloping her. It reminded her too much of what they’d done together. An unwelcome shiver passed through her. “So…did you kill Gio yet?”
“We had words,” he stated dryly. “He was ready to kill me when I threatened to leave.”
She made a humming noise. “Yep, you leaving would upset Gio, which would upset Valentina. Upsetting her means those million female relatives would hunt you down and finish you off. Sometimes cousins come in handy. I think Italians have a lock on that. Hello, Mafia.”
“My sense of self-preservation has spared Giovanni’s life. For now.”
“They say revenge is a dish best served cold,” she agreed.
“While espresso is best served hot.” He waved her into a café, and they found a quiet table in a shadowed corner.
Slipping off her sunglasses and hat, she sat back in her seat and looked around. It wasn’t a fancy place, but some of the best food she’d tasted in Italy was found in street-side markets and little holes in the wall just like this one. The waiter came and took their order, and they were left alone. She did like that about European restaurants. No one hovered. They wanted you to relax and take your time to enjoy the meal.
When she glanced back at Tate, she found he was studying her instead of their surroundings. She arched an eyebrow. “What?”
“Enjoying the view.”
“Don’t do that.”
“I can’t help it. You’re a lovely woman. My opinion on that isn’t something you’ve ever doubted, is it?”
“No.” Chemistry had never been one of their problems. The great sex had probably helped float their relationship along much longer than it should have survived.
His shoulders rolled in a loose shrug. “Well, then.”
Since there was no response she could give to that, she took a sip of her water. “I think I might wander through the Capitoline tomorrow. I always liked the sculptures and paintings there.”
“Me too.” He didn’t mention that they’d explored the museum buildings together, admired the artwork several times during their yearlong courtship.
She glanced away so he couldn’t see any memories that might reflect in her expression. “It opens at nine in the morning, so I thought I’d get an early start and push through some of the jetlag.”
“Probably a good idea.” He shifted in his seat. “I think we’re only really expected for dinner every evening, so there’s no reason for either of us to miss out on other sightseeing opportunities. We haven’t been back since our year abroad.”
Because he’d never been willing to take the time. It quivered on the tip of her tongue to point that out, but when she met his eyes, she saw that understanding reflected back at her. As he’d said that morning, he had a lot of regrets.
“I should have brought you back here. We both loved Italy. I should have made the time.” The corners of his mouth tipped down. “I’m sorry, Karen.”
“It’s water under the bridge, Tate.” And she needed to release the bitterness. It would only poison her in the end, and she wanted to move into a better future, not let the past drag her down. “I don’t want to rub your nose in old mistakes.”
“But can you forgive me for them?” His gaze was intent, sudden tension tightening the lines of his shoulders.
“I—” She blinked, the question catching her off-guard, and pain wrenched in her belly. “I don’t know. I don’t hate you for them. I don’t even hate your father for being a domineering dick who turned my husband into Mini-Robert. But total forgiveness? With time, maybe I could. Last night, not using protection, could tie us all together genetically forever. I don’t want to make a child some pawn in a little war between us.”
“I would never do that.” He leaned forward, tapping a finger against the table for emphasis.
“Robert would.”
“I’m not him. No matter how close I came, I will never be him.” His throat worked. “I don’t work for him anymore. I won’t be living near him anymore. The influence he has over my life just dropped down to nil. Don’t forget that. I know I fucked up, Karen. My life, your life, our marriage. I wish I could go back and change things, but I can’t.”
Sincerity radiated off him in waves, and for a moment, she saw the young man she’d fallen in love with in the first place. The one who looked her in the eye, listened to her, cared enough to put her needs first. Unsettled, she clenched shaking fingers under the table.
“So, where does that leave us? Future divorcees and possible future parents.” She shook her head. “What a mess we’ve both made.”
“Truer words, sweetheart, have never been spoken.” He sat back as the waiter arrived with their food. “So, what do we do with this mess?”
“Muddle through as best we can, I guess. We won’t know anything about consequences of last night until after the wedding, so I suggest we enjoy the time off work, enjoy Rome, enjoy our friends.” She forked a bite of her pasta up and saluted him. “Right now, I’m just planning to enjoy lunch.”
Freedom had never felt so sweet. His phone hadn’t rung once in over twenty-four hours. He’d gotten confirmation that his resignation was delivered, sent emails on what to do with his caseload, and asked his assistant to pack up his office. Then he’d unplugged entirely. No email, no phones, no nothing. He was ju
st sipping coffee outside the Capitoline Museum waiting for Karen to show up. It was bliss.
Of course, she didn’t know he’d be waiting here for her, so his welcome was a bit suspect, but he’d figure out what to do when she arrived.
She’d said she might forgive him. Some day. He could work with that. He didn’t expect a Get Out of Jail Free card for eight years of marital stupidity. He couldn’t imagine that she’d suddenly believe he wouldn’t take her for granted in the future. He had to start from scratch. No, worse than that. She’d be more willing to trust someone she’d just met. Him, she knew she couldn’t put her faith in. He’d already failed her. Over and over again. He had a lot of ground to make up.
A bright flash of blonde hair caught his eye and he grinned. Karen, headed for the lengthy line to buy tickets at the museum entrance. He intercepted her before she got there. “You don’t need to get in line.”
Startling, she whirled to face him, a palm slapping over her chest. “Jesus, don’t sneak up on people like that.”
“Sorry.” He rocked back on his heels. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Her green eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”
“The same thing you are, I imagine.” He gave her his most charming smile, holding out a sheet of paper for her to look at. “And I was hoping you wouldn’t mind company, so I decided to buy tickets online in a blatant attempt to bribe you.”
Her mouth pursed in a way that said she was struggling not to smile. “Bribery is beneath you, Patton.”
“Maybe, but I seem to have this extra ticket, and if you wanted to accept it as a small donation, you could bypass the massive line.” He winked. “Think about it.”
She wrinkled her nose, but stepped away from the snaking queue of people. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that, right?”
“Yes, but I have tickets.” He set his hand on the small of her back and steered her toward the entrance. The heat of her supple flesh seeped through her cotton blouse, and he relished the opportunity to touch her. He’d missed having her in his bed last night, but a drunken sexcapade wasn’t the way to win back a woman as prudent as Karen.
Her brow puckered. “I don’t remember it being this crowded.”
“We were here during the off-season.” He tossed his coffee cup in the trash, showed the printed receipt for tickets to the attendant at the turnstiles, and then they were in. “The tourists have been unleashed.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Including us.”
“Yep.” He shortened his stride to match hers automatically.
They wandered through the many rooms in companionable silence, making the occasional quip or comment, but they were together and it wasn’t strained or awkward. Tate called that a win.
The Capitoline Venus made him waggle his eyebrows, leaning down to whisper in Karen’s ear. “I love that her left hand pretends to be all modest and yet we still get a full-frontal on her rack.”
She coughed into her fist, clearly smothering a guffaw. “I love that you’re retaining your inner middle-schooler. Do you still giggle when anyone says the word penis?”
“Certainly not.” He brushed a palm down his shirtfront, pretending outrage, which made her grin, just as he’d hoped. “Let’s see what’s in the next room. Maybe one of the gruesome hunting paintings or that dying Gaul statue. More manly, less boobs.”
He slipped his hands into his pockets and moved along, but not before he heard her snort of laughter.
Eventually, they came to the marble sculpture of Cupid and Psyche embracing in a kiss. Longing burned in his chest. Somehow it had escaped his mind that they’d be seeing this piece again. At twenty-one, he’d teased her into their first kiss in front of this statue. At thirty-three, he felt more uncertain and gauche than he ever had in his life, standing next to the only woman he’d ever wanted to spend his life with. Oh, to be carefree, cock-sure, and barely old enough to drink again. A bittersweet smile curled his lips.
“I can tell what you’re thinking about.”
He kept his gaze fixed on the white marble, framed by a window with blue sky beyond. “We went to a lot of museums that year. Somehow, I forgot about this piece being here.”
“I didn’t,” she replied softly.
He glanced down at her. A little smile curved her mouth, and he was glad this at least was a good memory for her. The sunlight caught in her hair when she turned her head to meet his gaze. The moment spun into something intimate—this place had a shared history, a day that had redefined life as they’d known it. He reached up to tug on one of her shortened locks, the strands as lovely and golden as they’d ever been. God, he loved her. Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips, and he had to kiss her.
“Something else for old time’s sake.” He tilted her chin up, gave her plenty of time to pull back, and then leaned forward to brush his mouth over hers. Once, twice. Their lips clung for long, sweet seconds. Brief, but perfect. His heart tripped against his ribs, and a fist of pure want gripped his insides. Her perfume teased his nose, and the fleeting slide of her breasts over his chest teased other parts of his anatomy.
He pulled back and found her eyes were closed, her mouth still pursed and he kissed her again, lingering for an instant longer than was strictly kosher in public, but he couldn’t help himself. The lonely months without her made him starved for the taste of her, the feel of her curves against him. Breaking away, he dragged in a calming breath, wishing they were back in their hotel where he could get his hands on her in a much more satisfying way. He sucked his lower lip between his teeth, capturing the lingering essence of her taste.
She cleared her throat and turned to the next sculpture, leaving him no choice but to follow. She looked at the piece, but he doubted she really saw it. Her eyes seemed glazed and her fingers were white-knuckled on her purse strap. “Gio suspects something, you know. About us.”
He blinked a few times, trying to get his brain to catch up with the conversational jump. “Ah…yeah, I noticed.”
At dinner the night before, Karen had refused any wine, pleading a headache from overindulgence. She and Tate had shared a speaking glance. Of course, if she might be pregnant, she didn’t want to continue drinking. Tate had stuck with water too, claiming the same reason as Karen. When he’d looked up, he’d found Giovanni studying them. Tate feared the Italian saw far more than he was comfortable with, but he’d given his friend a glare that would scorch paint and Gio had kept his mouth shut.
Yes, Gio suspected something. How much, Tate didn’t really care to know.
Karen’s mouth flattened. “Do you think he’ll say anything to Valentina?”
“I don’t know. I do know I’m holding him to his promise not to play matchmaker anymore.” He took her hand, squeezing her fingers reassuringly. “Try not to worry about it. Like you said, we won’t have any real news for a while. I can take care of Gio. Don’t let him stress you out.”
She stared down at their joined hands, then shook her head. “Tate, what are we doing?”
As if he was giving an honest answer to that question. The kiss had clearly freaked her out—something she couldn’t blame on alcohol—and if he told her he wanted to shred the divorce papers and live happily ever after, she might actually run screaming. So he tugged her toward the next exhibit. “What are we doing? Enjoying Rome. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
She slipped her hand free to scuttle ahead of him. He let her go and made no comment. After a few more rooms, a few quips about the art pieces, she cracked a smile and began to relax again.
This process would be two steps forward and one step back. He understood that and it was no more than he deserved. No doubt Karen had been far more frustrated by watching their marriage wither than he was by trying to resurrect it. But he had proximity to his advantage. And he had Rome, where all the memories they’d made were good. He’d be taking shameless advantage of that, reminding her that it wasn’t all bad between them.
The foundation th
ey’d laid for their relationship was solid—they could rebuild if they wanted.
Chapter Five
“Darling, this one would look fabulous on you! You must buy it.” Valentina held up a skimpy lace teddy that was more see-through than not. It was in a rich shade of green that Karen had to admit would look great with her eyes and skin tone. Not that she was admitting that aloud.
She arched an eyebrow. “Focus, please. We’re shopping for the naughty nights of your honeymoon, Ms. De Rossi, not my nonexistent sex life.”
Lightning was going to strike her dead for that lie, and scenes from her first night in Rome flashed luridly through her mind. It had been three days since then, and except for that tiny, innocent little kiss at the museum, she’d kept her hands to herself. It was sad that she had to be proud of herself for her restraint at not jumping her almost-ex’s bones. As Anne had pointed out, chemistry was a fickle little bitch.
“You’re not dead. You’ll need something like this again someday.” With a great show of reluctance, Valentina hung the garment back on its rack.
The exclusive lingerie boutique catered to those with both expensive and prurient tastes. Which meant it was perfect for Valentina. So far, she had a leather bustier that made her breasts defy gravity and logic, a pink riding crop, and something made out of silk that Karen wasn’t sure she wanted any details about. She wasn’t staid or prudish—Tate had never lacked for inventiveness nor she a willingness to give almost anything a try—but there were a few things that didn’t rev her engine. Everyone was entitled to her own preferences in the bedroom.
Valentina tapped a manicured finger against her cheek. “What do you think? The red corset and matching thong, the translucent cream negligee, or the French maid costume?”
Tipping her head to the side to consider her friend’s options, Karen replied, “Get all three, but go for the cream negligee on your wedding night. Keep it classic.”
“An excellent point.” Turning to the saleswoman, Valentina flashed a charming smile, spoke in rapid Italian and within ten minutes they were on their way again. Valentina looped her arm through Karen’s as they walked along the cobblestone pedestrian zone that held many of the other woman’s favorite shops. “Thank you for coming with me today. My mother would surely have enjoyed that shop far more than I want to know about. If she’d bought a whip for my father, I might have died.”
Roman Reunion (Destination: Desire) Page 5