“So that’s your role?”
He shook his head, and the smile dropped. “We all do various things.”
“Is it what you wanted to do when you were a child?”
He frowned, reaching for his fork. She caught her breath as he held it over the rice.
“I was raised knowing it would be my job, I suppose. I never gave any other career a moment’s thought.”
He pressed the fork into the risotto, but didn’t yet bring it to his lips.
“You don’t strike me as someone who’d have his future dictated to him.”
He was silent as he pushed the fork into his mouth. She held her breath, anxious beyond bearing that he should like the risotto, even when she knew food was completely subjective and his disapproval wouldn’t indicate that the food was in any way substandard. Yet she wanted him to like it more than she could say.
He swallowed, then sat back in his chair, studying her with eyes that were darker than coal.
“This is very good.”
Her heart leaped. “Thanks.”
“I mean it. The saffron is delicate, not overpowering. The champagne gives it a nutty sweetness.”
“Yes,” she smiled, relief flooding her.
“I wouldn’t describe Gianfelice as dictatorial,” he said, after a moment. “He was a proud man. Proud of his family, proud of his business, and he bred that pride into us. The company is our legacy; each of us has taken our part because we want that.”
“And if you’d wanted something else?”
“Then as you say, it would have been very difficult to stop me.”
She nodded. “Why do you live here?”
The question did something to Gabe, so he looked at her with a hint of caution, a reserved cool spreading across his handsome face.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s so remote.”
His lips twisted in silent agreement. She tried some of the risotto, but barely tasted it. It was as though all of her focus was on the man opposite her, on the words he would speak, and those he wouldn’t.
“Is remote bad?”
She considered that. “Not necessarily. But it’s certainly a lifestyle choice.”
“I spend time here, but have other homes.”
She looked around the kitchen, nodding.
“That makes sense, I suppose.”
“You don’t seem convinced.”
Her eyes flared wide at his perceptive response. “Because I think this is where you choose to be more often than not,” she remarked. “I get a sense that you would resent surrounding yourself with people and noise, being in more populous areas. Why?”
“You tell me; that’s your perception.”
“Is it wrong?”
He drank his wine, his response delivered somewhat reluctantly. “Not entirely.”
“So you like to be on your own.”
“Yes.”
“Have you always been like that?”
“What’s with the interrogation?”
She lifted her shoulder. “Do you want me to stop?”
His lips compressed and his nostrils flared as he exhaled. “You’re unusual.”
“Why?”
“Another question?”
She laughed. “You say I’m unusual, surely I get to ask why?”
“Fine. One minute you’re shaking like a leaf, as though I’m the big bad wolf about to destroy you, and then next you’re staring me down, demanding I answer whatever question you decide to pose, no matter how invasive.”
Heat flared in her veins at the very idea of him being a big, bad wolf, and of her being destroyed by him. She dropped her eyes to the risotto, focussing on the meal instead of him, trying to slow her pulse, which was not easy while he continued to study her.
“Is the question so invasive?” Damn it, she was back to shaking, her voice unsteady and breathy.
It was evident in his features that she’d caught him off-guard. “Yes.”
Warning flared in his eyes and yet she didn’t back down.
“The same could be said for your questions earlier.”
His smile flicked through her, warming her, igniting her.
“True.”
She tried not to bask in that simple concession. She sipped the wine; it was delicious. Somehow, he’d chosen the perfect accompaniment to the risotto.
“Fine,” she said softly, scooping some of the meal into her mouth. “I’ll ask you an easier question if you’re so scared of answering me.”
His eyes bore into hers, something incomprehensible in their depths. “That’s the second time you’ve called me scared.”
A shiver ran down her spine as she recollected the circumstances of the first time. “And?”
“I’m not afraid of answering you.”
“Then why hedge my question?”
“Because I’m enjoying this.”
She frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Dinner. This evening. You. I want to keep enjoying tonight. Talking about certain things will diminish my pleasure.”
“Ah,” she nodded. “You’re saying it’s too upsetting to discuss.”
“I’m saying I’d prefer to discuss other matters, but if you’re adamant on knowing everything about me then fine: ask anything and I’ll answer.”
She considered that, but after a moment, shook her head gently. “It’s okay. Keep your secrets. I’d rather you enjoy tonight, too.”
Their eyes locked and some kind of unspoken agreement passed between them, something that lodged in her chest and made her feel alive and precious, excited, all at once.
Conversation moved to considerably less controversial ground. As they ate, they discussed her university degree, his contract, some of his other business interests. It was easy to talk to him, and that surprised Isabella. She hadn’t expected to find him so pleasant to spend time with.
“Would you like some more?” She offered, after he’d already polished off two enormous serves of the dinner.
“No. I’m full. Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure. I really am grateful to you, Gabe. If you hadn’t let me stay here, I seriously think I would have met my death on this mountainside.”
His knuckles turned white as he gripped the stem of the wine glass, his face momentarily serious before he nodded once, a tight smile on his lips. “I wouldn’t want that.”
“Nonetheless, I’m grateful.”
“You shouldn’t have been driving in this weather.”
“I know. I didn’t realise it would get so bad.”
“Nobody warned you?”
“I think the woman at the road stop might have been trying to, but my Italian isn’t great. I thought she was just giving me directions.” She winced. “In hindsight, I was pretty stupid.”
“The weather can change on a dime around here.”
“Does it get this bad often?”
“Not
