CATERINA
Now I understand why Tatiana was dead set on getting dressed up tonight. We’re both wearing cocktail dresses and sky-high heels when we enter the upscale restaurant Gianni owns.
I have to remind myself to not look like too much of a rube as I try to take everything in, the sleek, dark interior, the shining bar spanning one wall, and the open kitchen further back. The crew works like a well-oiled machine, moving quickly but smoothly through the process of creating food that smells good enough to make my stomach clench with hunger.
“Right this way,” the perky hostess beckons with a smile. “It’s been a long time since we last saw you, Mr. Rossetti. But we know you’re a busy man.”
“And let’s be honest,” he replies with a charming grin. “Nobody wants to work with the owner looking over their shoulder.”
She blushes and giggles, which makes me want to scream. Where did that come from? That sudden, blinding rush of rage? I never thought of myself as a jealous person, but maybe I was wrong.
I want to wind an arm around his waist and silently tell her he’s mine, but I will not sink to that level.
Besides, I’m waiting for his move. He might think I’ll let our earlier conversation go, but he has another thing coming. He can’t expect me to show up on his arm without being willing to make a public commitment, so right now, I’m merely his guest.
The whole situation leaves me conflicted as Gianni pulls my chair away from the table so I can take a seat at his right hand. His fingertips skim the nape of my neck before he pulls out Tatiana’s chair across from mine. Even though it’s still humid and threatening to storm, we’re both wearing shawls to cover our respective bruises.
I guess all it took was her coming clean with me to pick up her spirits because her eyes sparkle with genuine warmth even when Roger sits beside her. He leaves plenty of space, as usual, but she doesn’t sneer at him the way she normally would. “You got roped into eating with us, huh?”
“I do what the boss says.” As usual, he’s not one for big conversations.
“I guess there are some perks that come with the job.” Anybody could hear the undercurrent of snarkiness, but all he does is blow out a deep breath through flared nostrils. He’s not taking the bait tonight.
The chef comes out to greet us, clasping one of Gianni’s hands in both of his before we’re joined by a pair of tall, slim men in dark suits. The older of the two is handsome in a silver fox kind of way, his salt and pepper hair and icy gray eyes in contrast to his tanned skin. Both men share the same long, thin faces and cleft in their chins.
Father and son, the Moronis. Gianni told us about them on the way here.
“Look who it is,” Roger murmurs as he pushes his chair back. “Your future husband.” Tatiana flushes, shooting him a filthy look before he stands to shake hands with the men.
Gianni nods to Tatiana. “Jack, Donovan, this is my daughter, Tatiana.”
I hold my breath, my skin tingling before Gianni’s gaze falls on me. “And this is her friend, Caterina.”
I force an overly wide smile, nodding to the men before they both plant a kiss against the back of my hand. Donovan sits to my right, while his father sits opposite Gianni at the rectangular table. We’re seated close to the kitchen, the chef’s tasting table, partly secluded by a low wall separating us from the rest of the dining room.
This would be like something out of a dream if it wasn’t for the disappointment that’s slammed into me. What did I expect? For Gianni to stand on his chair and announce to the entire restaurant that I’m his woman? I don’t even want us to be public yet—not until I figure out a way to explain it to my dad without him having a stroke over it.
But here I am, ready to sulk, feeling like the poor girl who wants to sponge off her rich friend.
Stop projecting. Don’t ruin this. I stiffen my spine and murmur my thanks to the server, who pours me a glass of wine.
“Caterina.” Donovan’s voice is low and rich as he turns my way in his chair. He’s handsome like his father but just as smarmy. There’s an intimacy in the way he whispers to me. “Do you have a last name?”
“Sure, I do.”
“Not going to make it easy for me, are you?”
I’m not sure what he’s talking about, so I don’t say anything. When I glance at Roger, he’s glaring openly at Donovan, but looks away when Gianni clears his throat.
I feel like I walked into this situation without knowing all the facts.
“Tatiana, it really is a pleasure to meet you,” Jack says, raising his glass like he’s toasting her. “I understand you spent a good portion of this summer in Europe.”
“It was a graduation present,” she explains. Considering she bitched to me for hours about this dinner at home, she’s putting on the performance of a lifetime. Nobody would guess how unhappy she is to pretend.
“And what do you plan on doing after this? Any jobs lined up?” He laughs indulgently, winking at Gianni. “I’m sure your father could pull some strings.”
“Tatiana will go her own way,” Gianni informs him. The tightness in his voice is obvious. This guy needs to tread lightly, or any deal between them is going to die before it goes through.
“And what about you?” Donovan asks in a whisper meant only for me. “Did you tour Europe, too?”
“No, I had a job lined up already.”
“A hard worker.” His leg brushes firmly against mine under the table. “I like that. Too many girls nowadays expect a man to take care of them. All they have to do is sit around, look pretty, and get their nails done.”
Cool. Dinner with a side of misogyny. Exactly what I was in the mood for.