Gio
The tinkling sound of her laughter travels between our tables on the breeze. A twinge of jealousy pinches in my chest as my cousin and the beautiful woman speak together like old friends. With her eyes still sparkling with humor, she looks my way, our gazes connecting for the first time and locking like magnets—her chocolate browns, warm and welcoming, to my blue-gray stare. The pale shade is a family trait that my three siblings and I inherited from my father.
She smiles with a slight tilt of her lips, then says something in a low voice to Emilio. He responds in typical Italian style, with his hand movements doing as much talking as his words. I strain to catch the animated conversation, but it’s become impossible to hear above the squawk of gulls trying to snatch a few tidbits from the fishermen’s catch.
A few more minutes of soft conversation, and I’m sure I’ll be dining alone. The blow to my ego is an unfamiliar emotion,which is mostly due to the bloggers on social media regularly noting my perceived bank balance and single status.
A beautiful Australian woman is not going to know who I am and doesn’t even seem to care. It’s disappointing that she’ll remain a mystery to me. But then she glances my way one more time, and when our eyes connect this time, a spark of interest lights up her face, her smile stretching wider. She gathers her notebook and pen and stands, then makes her way between the three tables that separate us until she’s standing beside me.
I spring to my feet. She reaches my shoulder, taller than average for a woman, given she’s wearing trainers and not heels.
“Thank you for the invitation to join you,” she says, her fingers curling around the top of the chair, and I wait for thebut, given the way her voice rises at the end. It doesn’t come.
Instead, those long, graceful fingers with short, neat, unpainted nails—as understated as the woman—draw the seat back with a teeth-clenching scratch of metal on concrete.
She’s even more gorgeous up close. Naturally long dark lashes rest against flawless sun-kissed cheeks, with a sprinkle of cute freckles trailing across her nose.
Molto bella!
I hold out my hand to her. “Giovanni Barbieri. It is my pleasure to have you join me.”
And with a tilt of her shoulder, her cool hand slips into mine. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Victoria Jones.”
“Victoria, please sit?” I offer. “It’s a beautiful evening that should be shared, not spent alone.”
She brushes her hand against the side of her worn denim jeans, and her smile fades slightly.
What did I do wrong?
She sits, turning her head away from me, and I don’t miss the sigh that escapes from those kissable full lips. I return to my own chair beside her, the narrow gap between us seeming to growwider as we sit silently, watching the empty boats bobbing on the darkening sea.
This feels incredibly awkward, and as someone who is never at a loss for words in English or Italian, I have no idea what to say.
“What brings …” I begin.
“Maybe this …” she says at the same time.
“Sorry, you speak,” I suggest.
She angles her body in my direction. “I’m sorry, but maybe this was a mistake. I should just return to my table over there and leave you at yours here.” She waves her hand through the air, gesturing behind her.
I reach out to capture her hand. “Please, Victoria, stay.” She doesn’t flick my hand off, and I take it as a good sign. “We can enjoy some food, a drink, and maybe some conversation. That’s all.” I lean my head closer. “Besides, my cousin will give me hell if I scare away one of his customers.”
She smiles at me. “You’re not scaring me away, Giovanni.”
I love the way she says my name. Her faint Australian drawl putting emphasis on theiat the end. I want to hear her repeat it again and again.
“Good. Would you like another drink? Do you drink wine?”
She looks down at where our hands are still clasped, resting on the table. At some point in our exchange, her fingers became entwined with mine. I don’t think Victoria had even noticed until now.
We release the hold at the same time, and I immediately feel the loss of her touch. A ridiculous thought when we’ve only just met. I’ve never believed in soulmates or thatlove at first sightkind of romantic rubbish. That’s my brother Antonio’s thing, not mine. I’m much more practical. Sure, an instant attraction is possible, even lust. Especially in the presence of a beautiful woman. But that’s all that I’m feeling with Victoria—a simple physical attraction.
“Yes. What do you recommend?”
Without opening the drinks menu, I suggest my family’s award-winning Chianti from our Tuscan vineyards.
She tilts her head to the side. “Not a local red?”
