by JC Harroway
“It is fun once you get the hang of it. Next time you’re here with Tate, you can show him up.”
“I’m not sure when we’ll be back again. Tate has Summer now and we have Granddad’s health to think about.”
We begin to swim back in, and Luca says, “How do you want to handle things with James when this week is over?” His brow is furrowed, and oddly enough I get the sense he’s worried about a lot more than breaking off our fake engagement.
“I haven’t thought that far ahead. I don’t want to hurt him, but I’m not about to drag this thing on any longer than needed. I’m sure you’re anxious to end the ruse.”
He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but then turns his attention to Beck as he waits for us on the embankment. “You okay, mate?” he asks me.
“Panicked,” I answer. “Nothing to do with you. You’re an excellent instructor.”
I climb out of the water, and Beck checks my lines and readjusts the harness on my backside. A low, strange noise, like a dog growling, catches my attention, and I angle my head to see Luca glaring at Beck. What the hell? He’s acting like a jealous boyfriend, but that can’t be right.
“Let me get your lines fixed and get you up again,” Beck says.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to help her.” Luca turns to me. “That’s if it’s okay with you?”
“I don’t want to take you away from boarding. I set this up for you.”
He steps toward me, cups my chin. “I can board anytime. Right now I want to help you.”
I swallow, never having seen him so intense before. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” he says and sits on the ground, cross-legged, dragging me down with him. I feel a little breathless as we stare at each other. Luca says, “Beck went over everything with you, but you panicked, and you panicked from fear. It happens.” He takes my hands in his. “What you need to know is I’m right there with you, and I won’t let anything happen to you. When I get you up, I’ll stay by your side and guide you through the motions, letting you know when to pull and push until you’re comfortable trying it on your own, okay?”
Good lord, why is this guy still single?
He said he wasn’t opposed to marriage, if it was with the right person. Could that right person be me?
My God, what am I saying!
He’s doing me a favor, and we’re having some great sex. That’s all. Right?
Beck stands by, offering occasional words of encouragement as Luca goes over a few more things with me; then Luca leans in and presses his lips to mine. “All set?” he asks, his mouth lingering on mine.
“I am.”
“Nervous?”
“Not really. I think I got this.”
“Okay.” He stands, and we take up our positions. I tap my head to let him know I’m ready, and once the wind picks me up, and I’m in the water, I start to lift fast again. I pull down on the bar, and I’m instantly lowered and in more control of my kite. I glance over my shoulder to see Beck helping Luca get into the air. I turn my attention back to my kite, and water zings around me as I let the wind pull me along.
Luca zips by me and I grin at him. “Doing good?” he yells out.
The wind takes me up again, and I let it this time, just a bit. Excitement wells up inside me, and I adjust the bar to lower myself. Now that I’ve gotten the hang of it, it’s kind of fun. A little scary, but exhilarating, just the same. We play on the boards for a good long time and, show-off that Luca is, he does tricks as I keep my board in the water. I laugh at his antics and soon enough my arms grow tired. I catch Luca’s attention and tap my head to let him know I’m tapping out.
I let the breeze carry me to the embankment and adjust the bar so the kite falls into the water. I’m breathless and exhausted by the time I climb out. Luca comes in behind me, and he’s grinning like a child on Christmas morning.
“That was a blast,” I say. “You can go back up if you want.”
“Nope.” He slides one arm around my waist and drags me to him. The cooler mountain air rushes over us and I shiver. His stomach grumbles and I laugh.
“That really builds up an appetite,” I say as my own tummy grumbles.
Luca gives me a smack on the ass. “Let’s get going.”
“Do you want to grab some lunch on the way back?” It’d be more like dinner; we’ve been here for most of the day.
“Nope.”
“But you’re hungry.” He gives me a mischievous grin. “Wait. What are you up to?”
“You’ll see.”
“Luca...” I warn in a playful voice as he helps me from my harness. I’m about to press but Beck runs over to us. He gives me a high five and helps us gather our equipment. We return it to the rental shop and go to the locker rooms to change back into our clothes.
A yawn pulls at me when I step outside and find Luca waiting for me. He captures my hand, brings it to his mouth and gives it a kiss. “Thanks for this, Brianna.”
“My pleasure,” I say.
His gaze narrows and then moves over my face. “Want me to drive?”
I stretch my arms out. “I’m a bit sore actually. I’ve used muscles I haven’t used in ages.” I fish the keys from my bag and hand them to him. We walk back to the car, toss our bags into the trunk and he opens my door for me. Another yawn pulls at me, and after I buckle myself in, I close my eyes. All the sex, fresh mountain air and late nights have been getting to me. By the time I open my eyes again, Luca is shutting off the ignition.
“Where are we?” I ask and blink my eyes open.
“You slept the whole way back.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He shifts in his seat, rests his arm on the back of my seat and gently brushes his thumb over my cheek. “Feel better?”
I stretch out. “I didn’t realize how tired I was.”
“Tonight, I’ll let you sleep.”
“But I thought you had a surprise,” I say. I might be tired, but I want to enjoy every possible moment with this man. I’ll sleep when I return home. But the thoughts of returning to New York bring a knot to my gut. How the hell am I going to deal with Granddad and get out of this situation without hurting him?
“I do,” he says and opens his door. He comes around my side of the car and holds his hand out to me. I graciously accept it and let him pull me from my seat. We snatch our bags from the trunk and make our way inside the chalet. I go still when I see a counter full of food and grocery bags.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Special delivery.”
“What are you up to?”
“I’m making us dinner, and then if you’re up to it, I thought you might want to try your hand at baking an apple pie.” He points to the fire extinguisher in the hall. “I’m prepared for the worst.”
I laugh and hit him in the gut. “Not funny.”
“A little funny?”
“Okay, maybe a little.”
He pulls a chair out from the island. “Sit.”
“Bossy,” I say, but sit down anyway. He reaches into the fridge, grabs a bottle of wine, and pours us each a glass. I take a sip.
“Mmm,” I murmur and twirl the liquid in my stemware. “Although if I drink any more on an empty stomach, I can’t be held accountable for my actions,” I say, tossing his words back at him as the wine warms me all over.
He pours another splash into my cup and wags his brow at me. “Drink up?”
“Why, do you plan to take advantage of me?”
He goes perfectly still, the smile falling from his face. “Tonight, I’m letting you sleep, remember?”
“I remember,” I say. Here I thought his surprise had something to do with sex, yet he’s cooking a meal for me. I wish I wasn’t so touched by the gesture.
He pulls food from a br
own paper bag. “What are you making?” I ask as I look over the ingredients.
“My mother’s famous carbonara.”
“Mmm. Yum. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I’ve got this. But if you want to peel apples for the pie, you can.” He gestures to the bag on the counter. I ordered pie crust from Hauser’s. All we have to do is roll it out. It’s too much work to make it from scratch here.”
He pulls a box of pasta from the bag. “What, you’re not making the noodles from scratch?” I ask, feigning shock as I relax in my chair, contentment falling over me.
“Hey, be nice to the people who cook for you. You don’t know what they can do to your food.” I laugh at him. “My mother always used to say that.”
“She sounds like a great woman.”
He nods and smiles, then turns his attention to the fridge. He pulls out a couple of different kinds of cheese and reaches for the grater.
“You must miss her,” I say as I slide off my chair and grab a knife from the table. I tear off some paper towel, spread it on the island and then reach for the bag of apples.
“I do.”
“Do you get home to visit her much?”
“Not as much as I’d like,” he says and puts a pot of water on the stove.
I don’t want to pry but I kind of want to know more about him. “I’m really sorry about your father and your brother, Luca. It must have been so hard on you and your mother.”
He nods and turns on the burner. “I was away when it happened. By the time I got home, Mom was a mess.”
“When did it happen?”
“When I was at Oxford, my final year of law school.”
I pause for a second. I remember. He’d disappeared for a while and I made up all kinds of things about his absence. My final conclusion—or maybe at the time it was just wishful thinking—was that he was out being treated for a bad case of herpes. I’m such a jerk.
He exhales a slow breath, and a small smile touches his mouth. “I miss fishing with him.” Remaining silent, I take a sip of wine and go back to peeling apples as his mind trips down memory lane. “He taught my brother and I to fly-fish. We were all pretty competitive.” He laughs. “This one time, I caught a huge bass. Record-breaking,” he says and eyes me like I’m going to call him out on that. “I was only around ten, and it was almost as big as me. I yelled to Dad, and when I turned I lost my footing, and the rapids took me down the river.”
“Oh my God, were you hurt?”
“Only my pride.”
We both laugh and he says, “Never let go of the fish, though. I can prove it was big if you don’t believe me. Mom took a picture.”
“Hey, I never said I didn’t believe you.” I reach for another apple. “What else did your dad do? Besides fish with you.”
“He actually ran many big conglomerates. My brother was being groomed to take over.” His frown returns and he reaches back into the fridge, like he doesn’t want me to see his sadness.
“Who runs it now?”
“My uncle,” he says quickly, and I get the sense he doesn’t want to continue with the conversation. “You like cured meats, right?” He pulls a package from the fridge.
“I do. Although I don’t really eat it.”
“Why not?”
“Fattening.”
“You’re perfect,” he says and unwraps the meat. “You can’t have carbonara without authentic Italian guanciale. My mother would disown me if I used anything else. In fact she’d probably beat my ass with her wooden spoon.”
I laugh at that. “I really like this woman. I kind of missed...” I let my words fall off and his dark lashes lift over even darker eyes.
“Missed what?”
I cut a slice off the apple, take a bite and hand it to Luca. He tosses it into his mouth and we both chew for a second. “My mother gave up on everything after my dad left, and I never really had a female role model. I guess I miss that. I’m a little envious of what you have with your mom.”
“You want your ass beaten with a wooden spoon? I can do it for you,” he says, and I get that he’s trying to lighten my mood. I chuckle, but then he goes serious. “Mom would really like you, Brianna. She’d mother the hell out of you if she had a chance. I think she secretly wanted a daughter.”
“She’ll get one when you marry,” I say, then curse myself when he turns from me, fast. Good God, does he think I’m hinting at marriage? As I take in his back, the tightening of his shoulders, my stomach knots. The two of us are playing house. I’m never going to meet his mother. Never going to have a loving family of my own.
Do I want that?
Oh God, I think I might.
“What about you—still anti-marriage, no kids, no family?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say quickly, not wanting him to get the wrong idea, that I might want just that with him.
“I don’t think it’s been so bad, Brianna? You’ve been sleeping with the same guy night after night, we’ve been having fun together, sharing meals, and I’ve yet to get a fork in my leg,” he says, his voice low, soft.
“None of this is real,” I remind him and ignore the tightening of my throat. “We’re doing it to fool Granddad.” Redirecting, I scan the counter. “Can you pass me a bowl?” I say and inwardly curse myself when my voice hitches. Luca places a big glass bowl on the counter, and I concentrate on cutting the apples into thin slivers as he slices guanciale and drops the pasta into the water. He turns his attention to the sauce.
“Do you need a recipe for the apple pie?”
“Of course I need a recipe,” I say, and he chuckles.
“I have it on my laptop. I called it up earlier when I put the order in for the groceries.” He gestures with a nod to the coffee table, and I cross the room and grab it.
“Password,” I say after opening it. I spin the laptop, and he types something in. I turn the computer back to me, and the website with the recipe pops up. “If I burn this place down...” I say as I read the ingredients off and go in search of them. I put everything on the counter and grab the measuring spoons and cups.
“This is going to be ready in a minute. We’ll make the pie after we eat and maybe we can watch a movie while it’s baking.”
I look at the sauce on the stove and breathe it in. “That smells amazing.”
“Tastes even better. Grab us a couple of plates.” I search the cupboard and pull out two plates.
Luca puts a generous portion on each plate and I carry them to the table. He refills our wine and we both dig in.
“Luca, this is amazing.” He grins at me. “Are you good at everything you do?”
“Pretty much.”
“And modest, too. I like that in a guy.” We laugh, but deep down, the truth is I do like everything about this guy, and that scares the hell out of me. We can’t be together. We set the terms for this ruse, and falling for each other was not part of the plan.
Oh God, I’m falling for this guy.
We settle in to easy conversation as we eat, and Luca talks more about his fishing days with his father and brother. I love hearing his stories, love the enthusiasm in his voice as he recalls those happy days. I, in turn, talk about my days with Granddad and Tate, and all the summers and vacations we had here in St. Moritz. Once we finish eating, we clear the dishes and, working together, we build a big apple pie, although I fear I’m too full to eat any.
We put the pie into the oven, and Luca flicks on the television. I plop down onto the sofa and he settles in beside me. Our legs touch, and he puts his hand on my thigh, giving it a little squeeze as he flicks through the stations.
“Let me guess, romantic comedy?” he asks.
“Of course.”
He goes through a few more stations, and as I settle into the cushions, someone knocks on the door, hard. I sit up straighter, a measu
re of panic. “Who could that be?”
“I don’t know,” Luca says and stands.
“I hope Granddad is okay.” I should be spending more time with him, but every time I look at him, guilt swamps me. I stand and follow Luca to the door. With my hand on his back—for some reason I need the connection—he opens the door.
“Is that pie I smell?”
I step around him to see Granddad on the stoop. “Are you okay?” I ask and take his hand to usher him in.
He looks around, sniffs the air and elbows Luca in the gut. “At least she didn’t burn the place down this time.”
“I was prepared,” Luca says and nods toward the fire extinguisher. As the two laugh, I put my hands on my hips.
“I’m right here, and I’m not amused.”
“Are you going to cut me a slice or what?” Granddad asks.
“What are you doing out? How did you get here?” I ask and look outside before Luca shuts the door.
Gnarled fingers close around his cane as he lifts it. “I walked.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“How else am I going to see my granddaughter and her fiancé,” he says, the deep lines around his mouth curling upward as he smiles. “And hear all about their wedding plans.”
I cast a quick glance at Luca, a wave of guilt hitting hard. “Come on in. The pie won’t be ready for a bit. Have you eaten? Luca made carbonara and there’s some leftover.”
He gives Luca a wink, then coughs into his elbow. “Had dinner with Deloris.”
“Granddad, you need to be taking it easy.”
“Just needed to see if my granddaughter is okay. You’ve been scarce, girly.”
“I’m okay.”
“Good, then let’s sit and we can talk about this wedding of yours.”
“No,” I say firmly. “This week is about Tate and Summer.” Just then my phone rings. “Hang on.” I rush to my beach bag, pull my phone out and check the caller ID. “It’s Tate,” I say and slide my finger across the phone.
“Hey,” I say. “What’s up?”
“Hey, Bri. Have you seen Granddad? I went to his room, but there’s no answer.”
“He’s here,” I say and hear the relief when Tate exhales. “Apparently he smelled pie.”