Chapter 5

Two days later, I went to the Vitale family's seaside restaurant.

My father was still uneasy when his car stopped outside. He reminded me again, "Niccolo wasn't always like this."

I turned my head. "Meaning what?"

"When he was 18 or 19, he was the star of the Vitale family. A good shot, and ruthless. Everyone thought he'd take over the family at a younger age than his father had." My father paused. "Then something happened. He injured his leg and rarely appeared in public after that. The Vitale family has kept a low profile these past few years. People say they're in decline."

When he finished I only asked, "Is that everything?"

That stopped him.

"I'm warning you, that's all. If you truly don't want this, there's still time to turn back."

I pushed the car door open.

"I've already made a mess out of a marriage once."

My father frowned. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning I'm clear-headed now. I know what I want."

The restaurant's second floor overlooked the sea.

Niccolo was already there.

He was thinner than in the photograph, his black shirt outlining his shoulders. When he stood, he held his cane in his right hand. His right leg lagged slightly, and he made no attempt to hide it.

That actually relaxed me.

I didn't like it when people tried to hide the obvious, as if ignoring it could make it disappear.

"Serafina."

He nodded to me.

"Niccolo."

Once we sat down, he pushed the menu across to me.

"What do you like?"

I nearly answered without thinking.

Luca likes seafood.

Bianca doesn't eat anything raw.

Matteo...

And there I stopped.

Niccolo looked up. "Is it that hard to choose?"

It wasn't that it was hard to choose.

It was that I had just discovered I had no idea what the answer was.

While my mother was alive, she decided what everyone ate. Then I was chasing Luca, so I went wherever he liked to go. After I married Matteo, the kitchen staff knew his tastes and what to keep off my plate.

But nobody had ever asked me what I liked, and I had never seriously thought about it either.

"Something spicy."

I pointed at a seafood dish at random.

Niccolo made no comment.

Ten minutes later, the first bite had me coughing with my eyes streaming.

He pushed the water toward me.

I couldn't get a word out, so I glared at him instead.

Niccolo's face was perfectly calm. "I'm not laughing."

"Your eyes are."

"They came that way."

I wanted to throw the water in his face even more. What was so funny about a woman as poised, cool, and gorgeous as me? The man had to be blind.

He'd already asked the waiter to take the dish away and bring a mild pasta dish instead.

"You can take your time with it."

I wiped the corner of my eye. "With what?"

"Finding out what you like."

That shut me up.

He didn't follow my father's script and ask why I had suddenly agreed to marry. He didn't ask whether I still had feelings for Luca. He didn't bring up his leg to test whether it bothered me.

He took a sip of coffee. "The same goes for getting engaged."

"Meaning what?"

"Your father has talked to me."

"And?"

"And I was willing to meet you."

Niccolo looked up.

"But today you don't have to prove that you'd suit the Vitale family, and you don't have to prove you're over anyone."

I stared at him. "Then what do you want me to prove?"

"Nothing at all."

He said it so naturally that I didn't know what to do with it.

"We can see each other a few more times," he said. "If you're happy with that, we'll keep going. If not, have someone tell me."

I couldn't help asking, "You're not worried about losing face?"

"Being turned down by a woman isn't losing face."

"In families like ours, a lot of people think otherwise."

"That's their problem."

I laughed before I could stop myself.

The meal was far easier than I had expected.

On the way out I scanned the parking area out of habit.

My father's car was on the left. There were people in the cars ahead and behind, and Moretti bodyguards stood at the exit.

I didn't move on until I'd finished counting.

Niccolo stopped behind me.

I turned around. "What?"

"Nothing."

He looked at me for two seconds.

"Do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Count the cars before you get into one."

I frowned.

It was a habit my mother had drilled into me. She always said a Moretti daughter should at least know how many people were standing around her.

"Habit."

Niccolo didn't push.

Once I was in the car I looked back without meaning to.

He was still standing at the restaurant door with the sea wind moving his jacket.

For a second, there was something strange about the way he looked at me.

Not like a man meeting someone for the first time.

More like someone who had waited a long time and had finally confirmed he had the right person.