said too much, Tuccia sat up and wound her arms around her upraised knees. “I’m afraid I’ve embarrassed you when I didn’t mean to.”
Cesare leaned closer. “Why would I be embarrassed to be paid a compliment like that?”
She put her sunglasses back on. “You always know the right thing to say, so I’ll never see what’s really going on inside you. But I’m thankful for this moment out of time to enjoy the company of a man revered by his mother and his friends. No men from my world can claim that distinction.”
“Do you mind if I ask you a question about Jean-Michel?”
“Of course not.”
“When your marriage was arranged, had you already met him?”
“No. My parents gave one of their many parties at our palazzo and insisted I attend. I was only sixteen and had refused to go because I couldn’t bear to be around grownups. But this time my father came to my room carrying a long dress. He said he would wait while I put it on. It was humiliating to be walked from my apartment to the grand ballroom like I was a baby.
“He led me through their usual set of guests to my mother. She was standing next to a man twice my age I didn’t recognize and didn’t like on sight. He was shorter than my father and overdressed, reminding me of a peacock. I shrank from his dark eyes where the lids remain at half mast like some French men’s.
“My father introduced me to Jean-Michel Ardois, the son of Comte Ardois of Paris. He wasn’t Sicilian, another huge strike against him. The man kissed my hand and slid a ring with a crest on my finger. While I stood there in shock, my father announced our engagement.”
Tuccia smiled at the man who’d become the center of her universe. “Aren’t you sorry you asked?”
His expression had sobered. “I want to know everything about you. Where’s the betrothal ring now?”
“I’m sure it has been returned to Jean-Michel. I left it on the floor of the ladies’ room at the salon.”
He studied her features. “How often did you have to spend time with him?”
“Twice a year I endured a visit from him at my parents’ palazzo until my father enrolled me at the University of Paris. He said I would have to learn French in order to be the comte’s wife. Once my parents took an apartment there, I had to go to the ballet or the opera with him every few months. Several times we went horseback riding on the Ardois estate. Our desultory conversations were worse than waiting for a train that never seems to come.”
Cesare drank more wine. “You’re not only articulate, you paint haunting pictures. Tell me more.”
It was wonderful being able to open her thoughts and heart to him. “The first time we went out alone, I made up my mind I would run away before the marriage on my twenty-fifth birthday. If I could have disappeared the night of the betrothal, I would have. But I was never left alone until that morning at the salon for my dress fitting,”
“Literally never?” He sounded incredulous.
“Never. My parents accused me of being a willful child and didn’t trust me. Someone was always watching me, even when I stayed with Zia Bertina.”
A strange sound came out of him. “Did he ever try to take advantage of you?”
“Yes. I was so disgusted I slapped his face hard and pushed him off me. It left a red mark that probably branded him for several hours.”
“Did he try to accost you every time you were together?”
She could tell Cesare’s dislike for Jean-Michel was growing more intense. “No. I don’t think he dared for fear I’d do something worse. Instead he bided his time until he had legal power over me. Grazie a Dio that never happened.”
On that note she got to her feet and put the cartons back in the bag with the rest of the wine. To her surprise he stood up and put his arms around her from behind. “I thank God it didn’t happen to you, either.” He kissed her neck.
Tuccia could have died of happiness right there, but a group of people were walking by. Cesare had seen them, too, because he let go of her.
“We—we need to get going so I can finish the sfingi and start the testa di turco,” she stammered. Before he could say anything else she added, “My arm is so much better I can hardly believe it, so you don’t have to worry that I can’t work anymore today, Dr. Donati.”
His quiet laughter hid whatever he was really thinking. Together they walked to the car. He gave her arm a squeeze before helping her get in. She’d wanted him to crush her against him and tell her he was in love with her, too.
Unfortunately this interlude was over, but it was yet another one with him she’d always treasure. The memories were stacking up and her love for him was exploding.
WHEN THE LAST batch of testa di turcos were finished and decorated, Cesare proclaimed them perfect and announced he was leaving. One more day tomorrow to guide Tuccia through two more recipes and then this private time with her was over.
He would no longer have a legitimate reason to come to the pensione. From that point on their business would have to be conducted at the castello kitchen. A limo could take her back and forth. After today he realized he couldn’t afford to be in such close quarters with her. Her burns had given him a reason to touch her, something he should never have done.
To see her lying there in the grass while he wanted to get down there with her and kiss them into oblivion had almost killed him. Another time like that and he’d have to act on his desire. If those people hadn’t walked by while he was kissing her neck, he would have pulled her back down and shown her how he felt.
But he’d picked up enough on hearing her talk about her life with her parents to realize how lonely, how empty her life had been. Being forced to think about marriage at the age of sixteen was criminal, as his mother had said. Cesare refused to be the man who came along at the most vulnerable time in her life and took away her chance to be emotionally free.
Today at the park he knew she wanted him. But she deserved marriage. That was the only way Cesare would make love to her. She would have to be his legal wife, but the situation with Jean-Michel wasn’t yet resolved. And deep down inside, he didn’t feel worthy of her.
“Cesare?” His head jerked around. “I guess you didn’t hear me. Who is the person who prints the menus for the guests? How far ahead do I have to get the names of the desserts to that person?”
“Don’t worry about that yet. Gemma’s pastries will be served until next Monday.” He was impressed she’d been thinking that far ahead.
Tuccia bit her lip. “What about the ingredients that come to the kitchen from town? Am I in charge of ordering them, or do I coordinate with Maurice? There’s so much I don’t know.”
“How could you have learned everything in a few days?” Her ability to consider all the ramifications of her new job astounded him. “I’ll be there to answer your questions.
“Right now
