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“Danita’s son got us dinner.” He puts the basket on the table. “I’ll get the plates.”
I gulp down the wine because I’m buzzing with nervous energy. Something has blossomed in my chest on this trip, but I need to be realistic. Yes, Gio is not who I thought he was, but he dates tall, skinny arm-candy women who belong to his society circles, or at least aspire to fit in with their followers, modeling contracts and inheritance.
The kiss between us was amazing, but it resulted from the adrenaline rush. Did he feel more, like I did? Fuck, this is so frustrating.
By the time Gio returns with plates and cutlery, I’ve riled myself up. This day is like a roller coaster ride. My body immediately recalls the sudden drop of the helicopter earlier.
Wine sloshes over my wrist, the glass slipping from my quivering hand and shattering into pieces on the stone floor.
“Are you okay?” Gio’s eyes scan me with curiosity and worry.
“Sorry, I’m such a mess today.”
“Come around carefully. If there was a day to be a mess, it’s today.”
The glass crunches under my soles as I approach the table. “I should clean it up.”
I shuffle to the kitchen and find a broom. Despite my long nap earlier, every move requires enormous effort. While Gio prepares two plates for us, I sweep up the glass.
The choreography is strangely domestic and comforting, as if we’ve co-existed like this regularly.
Gio gets me another glass of wine and I take a generous gulp, the heat and heaviness spreading through me.
“Eat.” He beckons to my plate, and something snaps in me.
“Don’t fucking tell me to eat.” I stand up and my glass topples, the dark red stain spreading quickly across the table’s wooden surface.
Gio’s chair screeches as he pushes away from the table. “For fuck’s sake, Mila, you haven’t eaten all day. I don’t want you to faint like you almost did at the gala for some vain reason.” He winces at his words.
“I don’t want to eat. Fuck you with your stupid protein bars and your pretense of care. You dragged me here and I almost died, and I’m going to miss a weekend with my family,” I yell. Not necessarily at him. Or maybe at him. I don’t know. All I know is it feels good to release all these stupid emotions.
“And at the gala? You thought I was starving myself on purpose? For some fucked-up reason? Maybe that’s how your tall-legged girlfriends operate, but I didn’t get a chance to eat that day…”
Oxygen is hitting only the top of my lungs. Gio is staring at me wide-eyed, but he’s not stopping me. He isn’t rolling his eyes, or rewarding me with the dose of annoyance and contempt so often written over his face.
“… they screwed up my rental order and I got an ill-fitting dress.” I pant. “And it might be hard for you to understand, but I couldn’t afford to tell London I have no dress, so I suffered through the night. I might be desperate to pay my bills, and fuck up occasionally, but it’s none of your business.”
I turn and storm away, but stop at the door. “And for the record, I enjoyed the kiss. I wish it had happened under different circumstances, but don’t worry—I won’t report it to fucking HR.”
Chapter11
Mila
“Mila.” I hear Gio’s voice, but I don’t stop.
The guest room is only a few feet from the tasting room, but even the short distance is enough for the painful realization to sink in. Today’s events may have sparked my attack, but I unloaded too much, and perhaps some of it was unwarranted.
And I just admitted to my boss I liked him kissing me. Poor man has been mortified by that particular event, and I just made it worse for him.
“Mila.”
I didn’t hear him approach, but he’s close. I lean my forehead against the wooden door. God, I can’t look at him, embarrassed to the core. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s been a long day.”
We remain silent for what feels like an eternity. I crave the closeness, the heat and the safety I discovered in his embrace after the landing. But I understand it was just a figment of my imagination, or rather a natural reaction to the adrenaline surge.
“I’m sorry I kept you away from New York,” he apologizes again.
