“And talented?”
“True.” I smiled. “You’re the only one who has always been there for me.”
“We’re famiglia, Gia.”
I took another big bite of the garlicky, buttery pasta.
It was perfect.
Shortly after cleaning my plate, I crawled in bed and slept for fourteen hours.
The next day my phone rang. It was James.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”
“I forgive you,” I said. I didn’t make a big deal of it. I knew that apology cost him dearly. In many ways.
“I’m leaving town.”
“I heard.”
We were both silent for a few seconds.
“It’s not your fault,” I finally said. “She was a really good con artist.”
He didn’t respond.
“Where you going?” I asked.
“Serbia,” he said.
“Really?” I was flabbergasted.
“Yes. You have a problem with that?”
I frowned. I didn’t like his dickish attitude. I knew he was hiding his hurt, but it still sucked.
“Take care of yourself. I’ll miss you,” I said.
He didn’t answer, just hung up.
I wasn’t too worried about it. He’d get over it. We’d had heated arguments and conversations before. It was no big deal. We’d be fine the next time we spoke or saw each other. At least that was what I was telling myself. I just hoped he wouldn’t spend too much time beating himself up over that stupid opera bitch.
A few days after I spoke to James, I was busy making arrangements for the construction crews to work on the hotel. The deal had finalized earlier that week, and Dante and I had celebrated with a private champagne dinner at the restaurant.
We’d decided to redo the hotel one floor at a time, so we could keep it operational during reconstruction.
I was hunched over the paperwork and blueprints when the phone in my room rang. I yawned and picked it up. Usually, the only people who called on it were hotel staff or room service.
“’lo?” I said.
“Is this Gia Santella?”
The voice was familiar.
“Yes, this is she.”
“This is Anthony Ferraro.”
The mayor.
“I tried your other number…”
“I lost that phone.”
“Oh,” he said.
“That’s fine, Mayor,” I said formally. “What can I do for you?”
I knew he had agreed to speak to the planning commission about the permits and the street closures. But Dante had been the one dealing with him on those issues.
“I have two tickets to a moonlight cruise on the bay and was hoping you would come with me. It’s supposed to be a full moon, and the weather is spectacular.”
I looked toward the window. I’d been at my desk in my hotel room all day, but it did look wonderful outside.
My first instinct was to say no. I had too much work to do. Because I took so long to answer, he must’ve sensed my hesitation.
“I know you’re really busy,” he said. “Dante told me that you’ve been locked up in that hotel room for three days. That’s one reason I decided to buy the tickets. I’m trying to save you from yourself. You need a break. I’m the same as you, Gia. I tend to work too hard. But trust me when I say a tiny break will be good, and you’ll be able to get after everything with a fresh start in the morning.”
It was a convincing speech. I was smiling by the time he was done.
“No wonder you were elected mayor,” I said.
He laughed loud and long. A real, genuine, hearty laugh that made me laugh too.
“So, is that a yes?”
“You win. What time? And what’s the dress code?”
“I’ll be there to pick you up at seven, and the dress code—let’s just say it’s cocktail attire.”
“See you then,” I said softly and hung up.
My attention was back on my laptop. I spent the rest of the afternoon putting together a final cost analysis for my company—they had agreed to finance the remodeling but needed estimates and hard quotes from every contractor and subcontractor involved. I’d just finished a draft of the document when there was a knock on the hotel room door.
It was only then that I noticed the sun was setting. I glanced at the clock. Seven. The mayor was at the door.
Shit.
I raced to the door and flung it open. He stood there in a black button-down shirt and black pants, and he looked like Clark Kent come to call.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I lost track of time. The cost analysis for the remodeling is due in the morning.”
He just stood there in the doorway, grinning, until I finished speaking.
“You going to wear that?”
I looked down at my outfit. I was in bare feet, running shorts and an oversized sweatshirt falling off one shoulder. I had no makeup on, and my dark hair was piled on my head in a messy bun.
“No. Shit. Make yourself a drink,” I said, flustered. I was already racing toward the bedroom. “I’ll only be a second.”
In my room, I stepped under the fastest shower of all time, and when I got out, I slipped on a knee-length little black dress. I sprayed perfume, slicked on some red lipstick and shook out my hair from its bun. Then I grabbed my Jimmy Choo stilettos and my bag and raced to to the living room. He was standing at the window looking out at the Golden Gate.
“Are we late?”
He turned, and his eyes raked over me. I suddenly felt self-conscious.
“That’s the fastest I’ve ever seen a woman get ready in my life,” he said and gave me a slow smile. I was about to make an excuse when he spoke more. “And yet, I’m not sure anyone has ever looked so good.”
I sat there with my mouth open. I was used to charming men, but he took the cake. I could feel my cheeks get hot, so I turned away and slipped on my heels, heading for the door.
“I’m ready if you are.”
He was instantly beside me.
“I’m sorry, I should’ve told you to take your time,” he said in a low voice near my neck. “I didn’t want you to rush.”
“I don’t want us to miss the cruise,” I said.
That’s when he reached out
