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The blare of a horn from a passing motorist had Lizzie jumping out of his arms. Color filled her face. “I don’t think we should put on a show for everyone.”
“Why not?” He didn’t feel like being proper at the moment. He had more important things on his mind, like getting her back in his arms. “Who doesn’t enjoy a couple—” he’d almost said “in love” but he’d caught himself in time “—a couple enjoying themselves on a summer evening.”
“Is that what we were doing?”
Not comfortable exploring the eruption of emotions that plagued him when they’d kissed, he didn’t answer her question. Instead he slipped his arm over her shoulders and pulled her close. “How about you and I head back to the villa?”
“I don’t know. Couldn’t we just go back to the city?”
“But your things are still there.”
She didn’t move. Then he noticed her gaze searching out his car that was a ways back the road. In that moment he knew how to get her back to the vineyard.
He jangled the car keys in front of her. “I’ll let you drive Red.”
Her surprised gaze searched his face. “Are you serious?”
“I’d never joke about driving Red.”
She snatched the keys from his hand and started for the car.
“That’s it?” He started after her. “You just take the keys and don’t say a word. You know I never let anyone drive Red, right?”
“I know. But you owe me.”
“And how do you get that?”
“I put up with your moodiness lately.” She smiled up at him, letting him know that her sense of humor had returned. “And I didn’t complain.”
He stopped in his tracks and planted his hands on his sides. “I wasn’t moody!”
“Oh, yes, you were,” she called over her shoulder. “Worse than an old bear awakened during a snowstorm. You better hurry or you’ll miss your ride.”
“You wouldn’t...”
Then again, she just might, depending on her mood. He smiled and shook his head. Then, realizing that she hadn’t slowed down for him, he took long, quick strides to catch up with her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LIZZIE CHECKED HER tattered pride at the door. With her shoulders pulled back, she entered the DeFiore home once again. She didn’t know what she expected but it certainly wasn’t everyone relaxing. Massimo was reading the newspaper. Stefano was in another room watching a soccer game on a large-screen television. She’d been corrected numerous times that on this side of the pond, it was referred to as football. Not that it mattered one way or the other to her. She’d never been a sports fan.
“See. Nothing to worry about.” The whisper of Dante’s voice in her ear sent a wave of goose bumps down her arms.
She moved to the kitchen. Everything had been cleaned and put away. “I still haven’t seen your father anywhere.”
Dante shrugged. “He isn’t one for sitting around. He’s always complaining that there aren’t enough hours in the day.”
“I’d really like a chance to talk to him—to apologize.”
Dante moved in front of her. “You have nothing to apologize about.”
“Yes, I do. I made him unhappy and that’s the last thing I meant to do.”
“He should be the one apologizing to you. That man always has to have things his way—even if it makes the rest of us miserable.”
She studied Dante’s furrowed brow and darkened eyes. He wasn’t talking about her or the disastrous dinner. There was something else eating at the relationship he had with his father.
Maybe she could do something to help. “Have you tried talking to him? Telling him how you feel?”
