Like she’d been built for him. The way she easily snuggled against him, leaned into him, touched him without hesitation or concern if someone was watching got to him—drove him crazy. It had only been a few days, but he was convinced now that he’d fallen hopelessly in love with her. That should have scared the crap out of him. It didn’t.
On Piazza Castello, Andrew turned to Gwen. “I have a question for you.”
“Okay.” She secured her scarf. “Shoot.”
He took a seat on a bench. “Tell me about your mother.”
“That’s pretty broad.”
“Okay. What do you remember the most about her? What’s your best overall memory of her?”
At first, she delicately touched her lips. He studied the shape of her fingers, the smoothness of her skin. He didn’t like that they were empty. Single women were targets, in his opinion.
He stirred in his seat waiting for a response. “Gwen, if it’s too difficult to talk—”
“No. Not at all. I just realized when I think of my mom, I think of how much she loved my father. I know that’s boring and corny. But she adored him. She wasn’t from the North Fork. They met in Chicago. She was a city girl. Her parents had money, but I’m not sure what happened. I think they
didn’t want her to move away. I don’t recall having a relationship with my grandparents on that side.”
She stopped to take a breath. Her face reddened, and her eyes grew heavy.
He unfolded himself off the bench and stood next to her. “It’s okay.” The story bore some similarity to what had happened to him. How his parents had turned their back on him when he married someone they didn’t like.
Gwen touched his hand. “But my mom loved our town. I guess because it was so different from where she grew up. She was the typical, strong, dedicated cop’s wife. My dad worked all kinds of shifts. I never knew if he was coming or going, but my mom managed our schedules and his flawlessly. Even when I was older and at the age where your parents being all lovey-dovey is kind of gross. What moved me was how her body just came alive when he’d drive by in his patrol car and blow his sirens just for her. She’d take whatever was in her hands and wave to him.”
“That’s amazing, Gwen.” He smoothed the skin on the hand she’d been using to clutch her scarf.
“Are your parents happy?” she asked, returning the touch on his arm. “You’re such a decent, honorable man. Your father must have had a strong influence on you.”
That made him smile. “It wasn’t as sugary as all that. Attorneys are serious and work long hours.
My dad doesn’t have much of a sense of humor. But my mother wasn’t looking for a comedian. He gave her the life she wanted and as far as I know, he’s always been faithful.”
“Everyone has their own definition of happiness, but it sounds like you grew up with two great role models.”
“Now there’s a modeling job I wouldn’t mind having, right now.” His words were amusing, but his serious tone took Gwen back a few steps. She’d been ready to respond, but he touched her face.
“Why don’t we get some lunch.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
ndrew held Gwen by the waist as they walked to a quaint trattoria. Its dark paneled walls, the Amosaic-tiled floor, and red patent-leather booths made him feel as if they’d been propelled back into the fifties. The server talked them into trying the truffles in a white wine reduction.
Gwen smiled diligently through a few bites, but said, “I’m sorry, I can’t get it out of my mind that they use pigs to dig these up.” She forked through a couple and raised one off the plate. “This could have been in a dirty swine’s mouth.”
Andrew pushed his plate away. “Tastes like it.”
He asked for the plates to be taken away and ordered more wine. The serving girl with her short skirt and low-cut shirt gave him the usual lustful looks.
The server walked away from the table, and Gwen leaned forward. “I think she purposely spilled the water on herself to have her own wet tee-shirt contest.”
He chose not to pay attention to women dressed provocatively. Especially in the presence of another woman. He felt it wise to note, “I hope she realizes dressing that way will get her attention she doesn’t want.”
“Or looks of disdain from your date,” she countered.
“Is that what you think you are? My date?”
Gwen responded with fire. “That’s just it. She doesn’t know that. I could be your wife.”
Andrew wished he had a mirror. He could only imagine what expression sat on his face at the moment. The ‘wife’ remark had fallen on his head like a hammer.
Gwen bit her lip as if she regretted her comment.
He reached across the table, and his heart spiked when she tucked her hand in her lap. “Gwen?”
Her other hand clutched the wine glass as she swallowed another long sip. Now he’d have to get that server’s attention sooner rather than later for a refill.
“I have another question,” she said softly.
He took a breath. “Sure.”
A dark expression took over her features, and it alarmed the hell out of him. “Have you considered we may not be able to work this out?”
The weight of the words and the serious look on her face startled him into actually considering it.
“Okay,” he said in a scratchy voice deprived of oxygen.
Gwen’s face contorted, taking in the changes of his own features. “What happens then?”
He swallowed a hard lump. “Happens?”
“The likely scenario is that I’m here. And that occasionally you’ll travel here.” Out of nowhere, Gwen fell apart in front of his eyes.
“Gwen, stop. Just stop this right now.” His stomach twisted watching her.
“No!” She wiped her eyes. “How do I look at you then? I’m not making any promises—”
“I am. ”
“Don’t expect a brave soldier sitting here on the other side of the world. You and Enrico think Marcello is doing a shitty job?” She finished her wine and collected her scarf. “Don’t expect too much from me.” She sprang from the table and rushed out through the door behind her.
Andrew lunged across the table to grab her. His legs tightened ready to go after her, but he paused.
The inappropriately dressed server reappeared. “Are you all right?” she asked in Italian.
Andrew clenched his jaw and took out his credit card. “Bene.”
“Women get...” She fumbled in English detecting his American accent. “Emotional at certain times of the month.”
He wished that was the case. “Grazie. Conto per favore.”
The server smiled back and placed a hand-written check on the table. He noticed the date. If Gwen were regular, based on where she’d said her cycle had been at the L.A. fashion show, she wasn’t approaching her time of the month now.
Either way, as a modern man, he learned not to dismiss a woman’s heated passion based on her menstrual cycle.
He paid the bill and stepped outside. The sun’s sharp angle stung his eyes. Adjusting, he didn’t see the blurry figure in a tan coat materialize.