Bella Rosa Proposals: Star-Crossed Sweethearts. Barbara McMahon

this is okay?” she asked not for the first time even before their beverages arrived.

      “Why wouldn’t it be? I’m hungry. They serve food.”

      “It has nothing to do with what I mentioned earlier? You know, about Zeke.”

      “And his tendency to call all of the shots?”

      She nodded.

      “Maybe a little,” he agreed.

      Her lips pursed. “So, you’re humoring me.”

      “I don’t see it that way.” Control was important to her right now. She needed to have it. She needed to exercise it. Besides, he was curious to find out what she would do with it. And if it helped him take his mind off his father, all the better. “As I said, I have no reason to object.”

      Mollified, she nodded. “Okay.”

      “For the record, when I find a reason to draw a line in the sand, I do and I’m not likely to cross it afterward.”

      “Stubborn?”

      “So I’ve been told.” Most recently by Alex.

      “But you’re not completely intractable.”

      “What makes you say that?”

      “You’re in Italy to meet your father,” she reminded him.

      “Only because my brother asked me to.”

      “Is that the only reason?”

      He said nothing.

      The waiter dropped off their drinks, sparkling water for both of them. When they were alone again, she said, “I briefly considered picking your family restaurant for dinner this evening.”

      He sipped his water. “Why didn’t you?”

      “Given your reaction to your father’s note, I didn’t want to push you into doing something you might not be ready for,” she admitted.

      Her concern touched him, though a part of him was eager to shake it off. “I wouldn’t have cared. He’s nothing to me.”

      “Angelo—”

      “Less than nothing.” The strident words scraped his throat, making him wonder who he was trying to convince.

      “It’s okay to be angry,” she said quietly.

      “Gee, thanks for your permission.”

      “You know what I mean.”

      “Yes. I do. Sorry.” He exhaled sharply.

      “So, when do you plan to see your father?”

      He thought about the party Isabella had told him about. He tried not to think about the invitation his sister had told him he was welcome to extend to a guest. He mentioned neither to Atlanta. Rather, he said casually, “I’m in no rush. I’ve still got a couple of weeks to kill.”

      “What about the restaurant? Have you seen it?”

      “I ate lunch there today after you and I…parted company,” he finished diplomatically.

      “By yourself?”

      “With Isabella. I owed her an apology.”

      “Isabella, hmm? You work fast. I wouldn’t have guessed you’d have had an opportunity to offend any of the local women already.”

      “Isabella is my sister.”

      He liked the way the announcement caused heat to suffuse her face.

      “Sister,” she repeated on a slow nod.

      “Half, I guess is the more accurate description. Luca remarried after Alex and I were out of the picture. He had a second family.” Bitterness welled. “He decided to keep this one around.”

      “And you didn’t know about them,” she guessed.

      “Not until recently.” He sipped more of his water. “Nor did they apparently know about Alex and me. It came as a bit of a surprise to us all, you might say.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      He shook his head and his tone was rueful when he said, “That was my line today. As you’ve noticed, I’m not handling this situation very well, which is why I owed Isabella an apology. All she did was to hold out an olive branch.” He shifted in his seat. “My beef isn’t with her. It’s with Luca.”

      “Yet you’re in no hurry to see him, confront him.”

      Her simple statement cut right to the heart of it. He didn’t like what that said about him. Thankfully, she changed the subject a moment later.

      “Oh, my God! I nearly forgot. Something’s come up. Something…embarrassing.”

      That got his attention. “Embarrassing for me?”

      “For both of us, I’m afraid. It seems that the paparazzi you saved me from at the airport the other day got their money shot. My arrival in Rome made headlines in a couple of the rags back home.”

      “Sorry, Atlanta. I’d hoped to shield you from that. I take it since I was in some of those shots I was mentioned.”

      “Yes and some, um, assumptions were made regarding our relationship.”

      “They assumed we’re getting away together for some R&R—Romance and Recreation,” he guessed.

      “According to one of the stories, I’ve seduced you.”

      “Really.” His eyebrows rose along with the corners of his mouth. “You seduced me, hmm? There’s a thought that’s going to keep me awake into the wee hours of the morning.”

      “This is serious, Angelo.”

      He sobered a bit. “From your perspective, I know that it is. For that reason alone, if I could get my hands on those photographers, they’d be sorry they ever bought their first camera.”

      Atlanta was no fan of violence, but his words warmed her. When was the last time, outside of a movie set, that a man had defended her honor, let alone offered to beat up someone for her? Back to the matter at hand, she chided herself when she realized she was staring at him, a sappy smile threatening to break out.

      “Aren’t you the least bit upset? You’re being likened to a boy toy, and Zeke is claiming that you’re merely another one of my many conquests.”

      “When you put it like that, okay, I’m a little upset. I’m no boy, Atlanta.” No, indeed, he was all man. “As for the conquest remark, well, that rubs the wrong way, too.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “But there’s an upside to this for me.”

      “There is?”

      He smiled again. “Unlike the other recent tabloids reports about me, at least this time no one is questioning my physical ability.”

      She laughed because she didn’t have an off-the-cuff remark handy. Not to mention that the mental image of Angelo “performing” to his physical best left her a little tongue-tied.

      The sandwiches they ordered came on thickly sliced ciabatta. The cold cuts and cheese were tasty, the bread good, but none of it could hold a candle to the stuff Angelo had sampled at Rosa earlier in the day, a fact that made him feel strangely proud and definitely uneasy.

      The thing that helped banish both was watching Atlanta eat. She pulled off one of the two slices of provolone and half of the salami, setting them aside with the top slice of bread. No doubt she was tallying up carb and protein grams as she went. Afterward, she went after what remained of the sandwich with dainty nibbles that barely put a dent in the hefty ciabatta. It was the damned cannoli all over again. Angelo stifled the urge to comment. Instead he went after his own sandwich with a gusto that far inflated his actual enjoyment of it.

      When he glanced up, Atlanta