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The statement made her laugh. “What?”
He walked forward and, before she could steel herself, grabbed a hand and twirled her in a circle. The skirt flared out in a billowing cloud. As she spun around, she caught sight of Antonio’s infectious grin, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, glowing golden brown in the sunlight streaming in from the balcony. A moment that was exceptionally dangerous, chipping away at her defenses and letting wispy tendrils of emotions long buried through.
But, she told herself as she stopped spinning and the skirt settled against her legs with a delicious silky softness, a moment she would always remember. One of those that, on bad days, she would summon and relive over and over.
“It’s an incredible dress.”
“Thank you. It’s one of my favorites,” she added shyly.
The smile disappeared from his face as quickly as it had appeared, leaving her unsteady on her feet, as if she’d just been hit by a rogue wave on the beach. She’d thought he was sweeping last night’s disaster under the rug. But apparently not. Regret flickered through her. She stood behind everything she’d said, except for comparing him to her uncle. As irritating as his protectiveness had been, she’d overreacted. There was a big difference between her uncle installing a tracking app on her phone and Antonio not wanting her to fall off a balcony.
“Let’s go.”
He walked to the door and opened it for her. A gentlemanly gesture, but he barely looked at her as she walked into the hallway. On their ride down in the elevator, he stood on the opposite side, eyes fixed on the numbers as they descended.
Well, this is going great.How were they supposed to sell a fake relationship when he could barely handle being in the same elevator?
The number dinged to floor two. She readied herself to walk out into the lobby alone.
Until warm fingers threaded through her own. Her gasp bounced off the mirrored walls, her cheeks growing hot. A glance at the mirror showed no reaction from Antonio, just that same intense gaze on the numbers. Maybe he’d been so lost in his own thoughts he hadn’t heard her. Although, how he wasn’t affected by their palms pressed together was beyond her.
Because you’re Anna. Little Anna Vega and he’s never wanted you.
Harsh talk from her rational brain, but it threw a much needed dose of cold water on her out-of-control hormones. The elevator stopped, the doors swooshed open, and she walked into the lobby with a poise she didn’t feel.
Antonio called out a greeting to a group of workers standing off to the side clustered around blueprints, hailing several by name. At least he hadn’t lost his appreciation for his employees. He’d always treated the staff at the mansion like they were people versus minions there to do his bidding.
She smiled at the men and they smiled back, one even giving her a playful wink. Antonio’s hand tightened around hers and he tugged her forward toward the double doors. The limo sat in all its gleaming luxurious glory right outside.
“Do you always take the limo?” she asked as a chauffeur walked around to open the door.
“Yes.”
She frowned as he sat across from her. “Why?”
“I don’t drive.”
He bit out the words so tersely that she refrained from asking any more questions and instead focused on the passing scenery outside her window.
Ten minutes later, Antonio escorted her down a lane filled with boutiques and storefronts, each one overflowing with flowers, jewelry and other handmade goods. As they walked past a clothing stall, a flash of color caught her eye.
“Oh!”
Her feet moved of their own accord, drawn as if the material called her name in a language only she could hear. A bolt of deep, seductive, red silk partially unraveled over a table. The threads sparkled, the specks of silver set into the scarlet fabric glinting like far-off stars. She reached out and the material flowed over her hand like water.
“Buongiorno.”
Anna looked up to see a tall man with a kind smile set into a weathered, craggy face. He nodded at the silk.
“Beautiful, no?”
“It’s stunning,” she breathed.
“Handwoven by myself and my wife.” He pointed to the barely visible threading along the edge. “Handwoven silk blends in with the color compared to machine-woven.” He took up the other end of the material and rubbed it between his wrinkled fingers. The soft crunch made Anna smile.
“Like snow underfoot.”
“Exactly,signorina.” His smile widened in pride. “One of the marks of true silk.”
