the small fridge. “How about eggs and toast?”
Her stomach didn’t lurch at the thought, so she nodded.
Antonio studied her. “Hmm. Not very enthusiastic. So let’s try French toast.”
“I love French toast.” And she hadn’t had it in forever.
He motioned for her to sit at one of the bar stools, obviously needing her out of the way in the tiny space. He hit a button and what looked to be a grill appeared.
“This is so cool.”
“This is the life of a billionaire.”
She glanced around. Remembering her thoughts from the night before, she didn’t look at the plane as somebody who someday wanted to own one. She counted her blessings that she was here and had a job and a place to stay.
“It’s kind of fun getting to see things that I wouldn’t normally see.”
He frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Well, I’m never going to be a billionaire. So I’m never going to own a plane like this.”
“Ah.” He broke two eggs in a bowl, added milk, vanilla and a dash of what appeared to be cinnamon, beat the mixture, then rummaged for bread. When he found it, he dipped two slices into the egg mixture and put them on the small griddle. They sizzled.
She sniffed the vanilla. “Yum.”
“You really must be hungry.”
“I am.”
He turned to flip the two pieces of French toast. She tilted her head, taking in the details that made him who he was. Sexy dark hair. Wide shoulders. Trim hips. But his face was the showstopper. Dark, dark eyes in olive skin. A square jaw. High cheekbones.
Something soft and warm floated through her. She was just about to curse herself for looking at him again when she realized she’d never felt like this with Bruce. She’d liked Bruce—actually, she’d believed she’d loved him. But she’d never felt this odd combination of attraction and curiosity that mixed and mingled with the warmth of their friendship and turned her feelings into something more...something special.
She cleared her throat. What was she doing? Fantasizing again? This guy was her boss! Not only that, but he was a widower. Someone who’d lost his wife and still grieved her so much he no longer painted. What would he want with her? Plain, simple Laura Beth Matthews, who—oh, by the way—was also pregnant with another man’s child. Her job was to organize him back to the land of the living, not drool over him.
He made eight pieces of French toast, divided them onto two plates and handed one to her.
Her stomach rumbled again. “Thanks.”
He passed the syrup across the bar. She slathered it on her French toast, but waited for him to pick up his fork before she picked up hers. If there was one thing she’d learned from her years of attending Olivia and Tucker’s baby events and Ricky and Eloise’s elaborate parties, it was to follow the lead of the host and hostess.
He took a bite of his French toast, then smiled at her. “So getting a job where you get to live in was a pretty nifty way to handle the apartment problem.”
She reddened to the roots of her hair. “Does it seem sleazy?”
“No. It’s smart. After I rotated out of the foster-care system, I’d have killed for a job that got me off the streets.”
“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have scrounged your way to Italy, where your dad found you.”
“Scrounged.” He grinned. “I love American words.”
“Hey, you’re half-American!”
“Yes, I am. And proud of it. I use both worlds.” He frowned. “Or did.” Then he brightened. “Never mind. How’s the toast?”
“I love it.” She pushed her plate away having eaten only two slices. “But I’m full.”
Antonio took her plate and his and set them in a metal drawer, which he closed. “Staff will get this when we land.”
She laughed. “Wow.”
“Hey, you better get used to living like this.”
Though she didn’t think Antonio was as persnickety or as pampered as his dad, she decided not to argue the point. Especially since she’d had a sleepless night, agonizing over her problems. With her tummy full and the lull of the plane, she just wanted to curl up on one of the sofas.
She wandered back to her seat, buckled herself in—in case they hit turbulence—and almost immediately fell asleep.
She awoke to the feeling of someone shaking her. “Laura Beth...we’re here.”
She snuggled into the blanket someone had thrown over her. “We’re where?”
“In Italy.”
Her eyes popped open. When she found herself staring into the gorgeous face of Antonio Bartulocci, it all tumbled back. They were on a plane to Italy. His dad had hired her. She didn’t have an apartment. She was pregnant.
Her stomach dropped.
She was pregnant. In a foreign country. Starting a new job. Working for Antonio, who needed her. But she was attracted to him. She thought he was the sexiest, most gorgeous man alive and she would be living with him. But he didn’t feel the same way about her.
That relaxed her. It could be a good thing if he only saw her as a friend. As long as she hid her crush, there’d be no problem. Plus, being on call twenty-four-seven to help him get his life back would keep her from dwelling on her problems.
That was the real silver lining. Not just the money. Not just a place to live. But someone to take care of, so she could forget about herself.
She pushed aside the soft cover. Her days of daydreaming she belonged in this world as anything other than an employee were over. She could take this job and run with it, create a halfway decent life for herself and her baby. Everything would be fine.
“Thanks for the blanket.”
Antonio smiled. “My pleasure.”
She found her purse and tucked her science fiction novel inside. Two gentlemen, Antonio and Constanzo waited for her to exit first.
Constanzo paused to say something to the pilots, but quickly joined them on the tarmac below the steps.
She glanced around. The sky was blue, as perfect as any she’d seen in Kentucky. Tall green grass in the fields surrounding the airstrip swayed in a subtle breeze that cut through the heat. “Another private airstrip?”
“You don’t think my dad’s going to have a plane and suffer the torment of going to a real airport and waiting to take off and land, do you?”
Pushing a strand of her hair off her face, she laughed. “Right. Spoiled.”
