“So,” she said, struggling a bit for a topic. “How was your morning?”
He looked at her and frowned. “Before, during, or after?”
She about choked on that one, never expecting him to vocalize anything to do with what had gone down. Oh God. Thank goodness that hadn’t happened at least. Even though if she were a betting woman, she’d wager he’d be realllllly good at that based on what a skillful kisser he was.
She dipped her chin and threw him a glare. “How about while preparing for the grand opening?”
“Which one?”
She wanted to throttle him. Perhaps an accidental drowning would be a possibility? Luca and Larkin wouldn’t even notice, the way they were so engrossed in one another.
“You’ve got more than one grand opening going on at a time, dude?” Luca—who clearly had mastered his own art of multitasking—piped in.
Sandro sighed. “Let’s just say I had another sort of, uh, soft project I was trying, hard, to get into. The grand opening would have been spectacular, as it was really slick,” he said, glancing at Taylor. “Unfortunately, the whole thing got shut down prematurely.”
Taylor wanted to scream. The insolence of the man!
“I didn’t know you had anything else big going on,” Luca said.
“Oh, this would have been big,” Sandro said. “Big. Oh.” He looked at her and smiled broadly.
You bastard, she mouthed at him. The last thing she wanted was for Luca to know about what had happened. A maid entered the pool area and delivered glasses of white wine to each of them. Taylor took a sip, closing her mind to what was happening and instead savoring the refreshing, citrusy tang of her wine.
“That’s a shame,” Luca said. “I’d love to hear more about it. I wonder if there’s a backdoor way to get back in with it?”
Sandro shook his head, a look of disappointment on his face. “I’m afraid not. The principle was pretty adamant that while my skills were most desirable and I could prove my high degree of success, there was no way for any sharing to occur. Think of it like a one-night stand: come and gone.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis.
Taylor spat out her mouthful of wine before she could swallow.
“Everything okay, Taylor?” Sandro asked. “Anything I can do to, uh, please you?”
Larkin looked at Sandro with confusion in her face. “That’s sort of a weird thing to say when someone chokes. Tay—you all right?”
Taylor fanned her face as if to wave away the uncomfortable choking sensation. “Sorry. Must’ve gone down the wrong pipe.”
“Speaking of going down,” Sandro said.
Oh my God, I am so going to kill him when I get him alone. Even though I can’t ever be alone with him since I don’t trust myself—or him—for one measly minute.
“Look at those beautiful butterflies,” Taylor said, aiming for a diversionary change of subject. “I’ve never seen anything so gorgeous. They’re sort of striped with that royal blue. Spectacular. Don’t you just love nature?”
Sandro sipped his wine, watching her over his glass. “Nature is at its finest when left to unfold as nature would want. Don’t you agree, Taylor?”
“Have you been drinking?” Larkin said to him. “It’s like you’re speaking in some weird code.”
“Right?” Taylor said. “Maybe you should go lie down and clear your head. The stress of the day must be getting to you.”
“To the contrary,” he said. “I suspect it’s the lying down that got to me. I think I’d rather keep it up.”
“Gosh, I’m starving,” Taylor said, looking at her watch for emphasis. “Anybody else ready for lunch?”
She waded to the stone steps in the shallow end of the pool and stepped out. After toweling off, she wrapped a sarong around her tanned waist and threw a pleading look to Larkin to come to her rescue.
“Oh, and a word of advice, ice princess,” Sandro said in a whisper as he toweled off his hair. “Keep the top off. No need messing up your tan on my account.” With a wink, he strode away from her, leaving her to just want to throttle him all the more.
Chapter Thirteen
Alessandro was confident he’d gotten his point across to Taylor. Although to put a finer point on it, he wasn’t quite clear himself on what that point even was. Was he trying to let her know that the “help wanted” sign was still posted in his window, just in case she changed her mind? Or did he just want to feed her a fat slice of guilt pie because she’d done him wrong? If not wrong, then at least not right.
Of course, she was perfectly entitled to shut him down like she did and was under no obligation whatsoever to have continued with their little—what would you call it? Dalliance? Demi-tryst? Fooling around? A massive tease? But still, it was, at the very least, disappointing. Good thing he had bigger things on his mind to worry about. Except that for some reason, this was overriding those vastly more relevant issues. He needed to get back to work and stop this nonsense.
Everyone else had gotten out of the pool and was drying off.
“I’ll leave you all to enjoy pranzo,” he said. “No relaxing lunch for me today. Too much to do.”
“Sandro, you need to eat,” Larkin said, locking arms with him. “I think all the stress of getting ready for the launch has gone to your head. Come relax and enjoy some downtime. Besides, what would we talk about if you weren’t there?”
He could only imagine what might be discussed, though he certainly was under the impression that Taylor was keeping their secret to herself. Nevertheless, his curiosity got the better of him.
“Fine, but only for a short while,” he said. “Let me just check in with my brother to be sure everything is under control. I’ll meet you on the terrace.”
He made a quick call to Matteo, who reassured him he wasn’t needed. By the time he arrived at the table, they were eating antipasti.
“This is fantastic prosciutto,” Taylor said with a moan. Did she really have to do that? Last time he’d heard that sound of satisfaction emanating from her throat, it was under far more promising circumstances.
“Cinta Senese,” he said. “A special breed of pig a good friend of mine in Siena raises. It’s like no other.”
“It melts in your mouth,” Larkin said as she shared a piece with Luca. “Here, taste, baby.” And he literally ate it from her mouth, like the mongrels in Lady and the Tramp with the spaghetti. Somehow slightly less romantic with thinly sliced meat however.
That said, to be at a table with people eating practically from each other’s mouths suggested an intimacy that those outside that circle of familiarity just might covet. For instance, on some level Sandro wouldn’t have minded being close enough to a woman that he’d want to do that with her. However, he could never imagine him so doing: he’d just never been with any woman who instilled that sort of carnal need in him. Thank God. Because who had time for that level of dedication? It would certainly put a crimp in your independence, no doubt about that.
He looked over and noticed Taylor watching them with a wistful knit in her brow.
“You two are so darned sweet together,” she said, resting her chin on the palms of her hands as she gazed at her friends. She looked all swoony, like a teenager at the malt shop, in love with being in love. “I’m so glad you found each other.”
Dagger to the heart. Because Sandro had mixed feelings about them finding each other. Sure, he was perfectly glad that his friend was so happy. But of course he was not so thrilled that he got stuck on the outside looking in, his nose pressed to the steamy window while those inside feasted on a Christmas goose.
“Yep,” he said with a grimace. “Downright adorable.”
Taylor glared at him. “You’re just jealous.”
“At least I make an effort.”
Taylor curled her lip in a snarl.
Luca cocked an eyebrow at his friend. “What is up with you, man? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so tense before. Maybe you need to schedule a massage.”
Sa
ndro refilled everyone’s wineglasses. “I just need to get through tomorrow, and I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re sure,” Larkin said with a concerned frown. “We’re just worried about you.”
“I’m so tired of talking about me,” he said. “Let’s discuss something else.”
“Fine idea. Tay, what’s up with your charity?” Luca asked.
Taylor blushed with the attention suddenly turned on her.
“Oh well, I’ve been fundraising to bring in more full-time workers in each of the countries we’re in,” she said. “But the amount of money we need means I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
Sandro looked at her. “Your charity?”
“It’s called Rags to Riches. We help underprivileged kids get stylish, up-to-date clothes to wear so they don’t feel like outcasts all the time.”
He cocked his head. “Really? How interesting.”
“I think so,” she said. “I mean, it’s not stopping starvation or anything, but it’s a largely overlooked aspect of poverty and affects poor children, like it or not. It’s awful to not have a meal, but it’s also humiliating to show up in donated hand-me-downs with food stains and holes in them. Think how hard it is for those kids to integrate into social circles at school. And how important that socialization is for young children.”
Sandro stared at her intently, focusing for once on her words rather than her looks. Wow. Seemed Miss Taylor McFarland had a business and philanthropic head on her beautiful shoulders.
A maid brought out the primi piatto: spaghetti al sugo di pomodoro e basilica, a simple spaghetti with tomato basil sauce.
“So this charity of yours,” Sandro said, nodding his thanks to the maid. “How is it that it came about?”
“Well, I already told you about my childhood,” she said as he nodded. “It left its mark on me, of course. And I vowed that someday when I could, I would try to do something to mitigate the problem for others. I don’t profess to have all the answers to childhood poverty, and I’m no expert on many of the needs of poor children. I just knew this was something I could do. I’m able to tap into my extensive connections in the fashion world for donations, but also I can use the access that I’ve been afforded in my position to raise money as well.”
“Brava,” Sandro said. “I’m very impressed with your work. Remind me, and I’ll be sure to write you a check.”
Taylor tilted her head, trying to make sense of this kinder, gentler version of Sandro. Of course, she’d seen into that window already, though not for long before it fogged up and obscured the view. But it was awfully intriguing, such moments of insight. Clearly, Sandro was a complicated man. Shame she didn’t have time for such complications in her life.
Chapter Fourteen
Luca was sound asleep on the chaise longue after lunch, and Larkin and Taylor were floating on rafts in the pool.
“Um, Tay?” Larkin said. “Exactly when did you tell Sandro about your childhood?”
Taylor froze. “What do you mean?”
“At lunch. You mentioned that you’d already told him about your childhood. That’s kind of odd since we only just got here and the two of you have been sparring the whole time. Then the other thing is that I’ve never known you to discuss your childhood, and certainly not with a virtual stranger. I’m one of few people who knows anything about it, and I don’t know much. Something is kind of fishy here.”
Virtual stranger... Oh God, Taylor thought. I got hot and heavy with a man I didn’t even know!
Taylor rolled off the raft and into the water. She leaned forward, her elbows on the raft, facing Larkin.
“So...,” she said, biting her lip. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned?”
“Sinned?” her friend echoed.
“Um, did I ever mention to you about my nightmares?”
Larkin lowered her sunglasses to have a better look at Taylor’s face. “Nooo...”
“I have nightmares a lot,” she said. “It’s always the same one.”
“I’m sorry, Tay,” Larkin said. “That’s awful. What is it that plagues you so badly in your sleep?”
“Well, you know I wasn’t always a fabulous supermodel,” she said with an exaggerated wink as she fake-primped her wet hair.
“Really?” Larkin said. “I thought you came out of the womb that way.”
“Au contraire,” she said, wagging her finger. “It was nothing of the sort.”
“Well, I hate to even mention what I was like in my pathetic youth.”
“I bet I could top it.”
“Nerd band girl. Polyester uniform with flood pants and big black glasses. You?”
Taylor shook her head. “Sorry, can’t picture you in the marching band. Please don’t tell me you played the tuba.”
Larkin rolled her eyes. “Hell no. Flute. I went for the delicate instrument.”
“The one where you really learn to pucker.”
“Please,” Larkin said, pointing at her lips. “There was no puckering happening with these things for basically ever.”
“You’re not alone there,” Taylor said. “I was almost six feet tall by the time I was in seventh grade, so you can imagine how that worked out for me.”
“Yeah, all the vertically challenged boys looking skyward at you would not have been so desirable,” she said. “For that matter, their faces would’ve been right in your boobs.”
“More like just about crotch-level. You’d have thought they’d be all over me.”
They laughed.
“But what does this have to do with your nightmares?” Larkin asked.
“We were dirt poor,” she said. “Had absolutely nothing. I remember eating canned beans for weeks in a row. That was it.”
“Wow,” Larkin said. “That’s awful.”
“My mother would get them at the dollar store. I think she thought the beans had some nutritional value, but honestly they could have been put to better use as mortar for bricklayers,” she said. “But she already couldn’t afford to put a roof over our head. So if she had to choose between shelter and food, of course food won. Even if it barely qualified as fit for human consumption.”
“But you must have lived somewhere.”
Taylor frowned. She really hated talking about this, and all of a sudden it seemed to be the topic du jour. “We lived in my mother’s beat-up old car.”
Larkin gasped quietly and placed her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Taylor. I’m so sorry. That’s tragic.”
Taylor nodded. “It wasn’t exactly the best of times. But we had each other, so at least there was that.”
“So this is what your nightmares are about?”
“It’s that, but it’s like really bad people are trying to attack us in the car,” she said. “I think it’s like the combination of some creepy horror film I must’ve seen at some point and just little flickers of memories from that time.”
“Do you remember it well?”
“Yes and no,” she said. “I try not to recall it really. There’s nothing about that time that evokes good feelings in me. Though it’s so imprinted in me it’s hard to completely forget. But it’s why I started my charity.”
“Ah,” Larkin said, understanding dawning on her face as her eyes opened wide. “I get it now. I thought you just did that because you love clothes.”
“It’s because I knew how much I would have loved something like that when I was little.”
“You’re a good woman to do such a thing,” Larkin said. “But what does this all have to do with Sandro?”
Taylor pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head and squeezed her eyes tight. “Will you think less of me if I tell you something that might make you think less of me?”
Larkin cocked an eyebrow. “Of course not, but man, you’d better tell me now or I’ll kill you.”
Taylor sighed. “I had that nightmare last night. Which isn’t totally surprising. But what I didn’t realize is apparently I scream out in my sleep! Who knew?”
&nb
sp; “I’ve never heard you do that, and we’ve slept together plenty.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have the nightmare every night. Maybe it’s more common when I’m in a strange place?”
“That would make sense,” Larkin said. “So you screamed and then somehow I lost respect for you?”
“I was kind of shaken when I woke up,” Taylor said. “I got up and was looking out the window, which is kind of weird for me because I always keep the curtains closed at night. Sort of fallout from my childhood. I like to feel secure.”
“Poor girl.”
Taylor shrugged. Poor girl? Not really. In the entirety of her whole life, she knew she was a pretty lucky girl. Just not so much in her sleep apparently. “As I was staring out the window at the stars in the sky, Sandro came rushing in to see what was the matter. Apparently he’d heard me scream.”
“Awww,” Larkin said. “That’s the Sandro we know and love. He was so grumpy last night, but that’s so unusual for him! Okay, we’ve got Sandro to the rescue. Now get to the part where I don’t respect you anymore.”
Taylor playfully swatted at her head. “Well first of all, he came racing into my room in like, nothing.”
Larkin’s eyes were wide. “As in no clothes? You mean you got to see him naked?”
“No! No! Gosh, no!”
“But you said he was in nothing.”
“Okay, so it was pretty much next to nothing, but it wasn’t altogether nothing,” Taylor said. “Like the skimpiest little bikini briefs you can imagine. The kind that leaves pretty much nothing to your imagination.”
“I’m actually surprised he doesn’t sleep naked.”
“Maybe he does,” Taylor said. “Maybe he threw something on really quickly to be decent.”
“But wouldn’t you try to actually be decent if you were going to do that? Like if that were me, I’d put on some pants, a robe, something.”
Red Hot Romeo (The Royal Romeos, #1) Page 6