Out of the Dark (4 page)

“I will be. I love you.” I set the phone in its cradle and a momentary flush of panic rushes through me.

They didn’t try to stop me
.

I don’t know if I’m making the right choice, but I realize that my parents just treated me like the adult I am. I’m the only person who can make this decision, and they are letting me.
 

Take risks, be brave, live.

I find Stefan waiting outside the study, as promised, and follow him through his home as we continue to get to know each other.

He shows me things he says he feels are worthy of my attention—his library, a private home theater, the view from the atrium.
 

I learn more about him with each minute—his love of French films, Kafka, and surrealist art. His unruly youth and the trouble he often got into, before he became more responsible and focused when he inherited his family’s business at the age of twenty-five, after his father passed away. His mother, sister, niece, and nephew all live together on an estate in Ravine Creek, New York, and I see that unparalleled passion, a deep and boundless love for his family, exuding once more.

He leads me downstairs and shows me his exquisite kitchen, knowing that as a chef, I’ll appreciate it. It’s decorated in the same cream and pale gold as the rest of the house, but somehow, this room feels even warmer. It’s immense but cozy at the same time.

I imagine myself cooking here, and I fall into a daydream of evenings spent trying recipes and pleasing Stefan. Pleasing him with my food and then my body. Surprising fantasies take over my mind, but I’m brought back to reality by a tug on our entwined fingers.

“Do you like what you see?”

I smile. “I absolutely do.”

He takes me through a small door, which leads down a narrow, spiral staircase.

Racks and racks of wine bottles span farther than I can see, and though my knowledge of wine is limited, I’m blown away by his collection. Some of the bottles are almost a hundred years old.
It’s damp and a bit musty down here.

Hand in hand, Stefan guides me through the maze. He shows me a bottle he calls Sangiovese. “This wine is a treasure. The grape that it is made from has a thick skin, but it’s truly a delicate fruit. It’s difficult to grow . . . the slightest change in weather can alter the flavor. Impeccable, but unpredictable.”

“Sounds like you’re describing yourself.”

His head snaps up, and the look in his eye makes me regret my statement.

I fumble to fix my mistake. “I-I-I just mean . . .the w-way you described it—”

He moves closer to me and grips my hips, backing me up against a rack of wine, and kisses me with a fury I hadn’t felt earlier. He presses into me, and I can feel how hard he is for me.

When he rubs against me, I can’t figure out how what I said is so arousing to him, but I don’t question it. I allow myself to fall down the rabbit hole. My eager hands stroke his back and arms. I caress his face, and he holds my neck.

He deepens the kiss with his tongue, and I reciprocate his escalation, my hands working on their own accord and finding their way to his belt. He’s big. I can feel it through his clothing.
I feel possessed. I want him . . .
now
.

But he stops kissing me.

I can tell he’d like to continue, but for some reason, he doesn’t.

I had been entertaining the idea of letting him take me right here against his wine rack, but I’m glad he was enough of a gentleman to stop. I would have regretted it. At least that’s what I tell myself as he steps away from me, and we come down from our proximity high.

I’m disheveled and panting and afraid to look at him as I stare down at the thick dust that has accumulated on a wine bottle resting on one of the lower shelves.
 

“There are very few people who speak their minds to me, Carina. I like it.”

So that’s it
.

Maybe he’s used to being around his compliant employees, who all seem to fall in line with his wishes. Maybe what Stefan wants from a woman is honesty.

“When I kiss you, all I can think about is that I want more. How’s that for honesty?”

He releases a breath and laughs then comes close, so close, and brushes my mussed hair from my face. “I like it. Very much.”

The door to the cellar opens, and I hear Bianca clear her throat. “Mr. Savano? Your dinner is ready.”

Stefan forgoes the formality of the dining room and asks Bianca to serve us on the veranda.
 

The stars that speckle the coal-colored night sky are reflected in the still water of the pool. Lanterns flicker all around us, and a warm, fragrant breeze blows over my skin. It’s exquisite. We’re served pappardelle with chunks of lobster in a rich tomato cream sauce, and Bianca announces that we are drinking the ’99 Pinot Grigio.

I take in the scents and flavors of what we’re consuming and chat with Stefan throughout dinner, telling him about my childhood. I describe my father’s work as a carpenter and my mother’s as a secretary before she gave it up, and when my wine is refilled, I start feeling comfortable enough to open up to him about the breast cancer my mother has been battling for years.

“It was hard for me to leave her and go away to college. I felt guilty, but she wouldn’t allow me to make that sacrifice for her. She knew how hard it was for us, living on one income, trying to pay her medical bills, and she didn’t want me to give up my dreams for her. My parents have been sacrificing for me my whole life. My mother says my happiness makes it all worth it.” I feel the same sting of conflicting emotions that I’d struggled with when I made the decision to go to school so far away and to take this trip to Italy after graduation. “It was hard for me to go, but it makes her so happy to see me doing things she dreamed of—” My voice catches in my throat.

“You did the right thing, Carina. And it was right for your mother to encourage you. It may not feel like it now, but you’ll see one day. I don’t mean to sound condescending—”

“No, you don’t sound that way at all.” He’s making an effort to soothe my pain. In the haze of the wine, I speak from my heart. “I don’t know what it is, but I just feel so good when I’m with you.”

He reaches across the table and takes my hand.

I shiver from the touch.

“I feel good around you, too.”

We’re served classic tiramisu for dessert, and although I’ve tasted this dish many times, when Stefan asks, I have to admit it’s better than I could make myself. The sweet, light creaminess dissolves on my tongue.

“Your chef is very talented.”

“Yes. Fabrizio has been on my staff for a long time. I’ll be sure to introduce you to him tomorrow.”

After the plates are cleared away, a wave of exhaustion rolls over me, and a yawn escapes.

“You’re tired. You’ve had quite a day. Let me show you to your room.”
He holds my hand again and leads me up a grand staircase. He opens the door to a beautiful room containing a pale gold, queen-sized bed with a wrought iron headboard, and a private bath.

My suitcase is waiting, resting against an antique armoire.

“Bianca’s room is adjacent to yours, so, if you need anything at all, feel free to disturb her.”

I nod. The bed looks so comfortable and inviting, and I cannot wait to crawl beneath the sheets.

He watches me surveying the room with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Thank you for everything, Stefan.” I’m not quite sure how to say goodnight to him.

He makes this decision for me when he moves closer and takes my hands in his, bringing them to his lips and leaving a seductive, yet sweet, kiss on the knuckles of each hand. “Good night.”

At first, I sleep undisturbed, but during the night, I hear foreign sounds—a conversation through the wall and then what sounds like moaning. I’m too wrapped in sleep to make sense of it, and I can’t discern if the cries of pleasure I hear are real or exist only in my dreams of Stefan.

I wake soaked in sweat.

Chapter Three

Disoriented, I open my eyes expecting to find my dorm room before I remember how far I am from that place. I should be waking in a hotel room, but I’m not, and I smile at the vision of Stefan in my mind’s eye.

The sun shines through the window of my guest room on the estate at Savano Vineyard, and I remember that, in the span of twenty-four hours, I’ve kissed a man I barely know.

Twice
.

Although I’m surprised by my own behavior, and I’m certain it’s the romance of Italy prompting me to act this way, it’s thrilling to be with such a desirable man.

Threads of dreamy memories weave together in my head, and I remember the noises I heard—or think I heard—last night. I dismiss what I’m sure were my own fervid fantasies, but I can’t shake the feeling that the man’s voice I heard was different from Stefan’s.

I throw off the covers and enter my guest bathroom. The counter is filled with toiletries in small, delicate glass bottles with Italian labels. I open each one, relishing the sweet, decadent fragrances, and replace them with reverence before I enjoy a warm and refreshing shower.

Afterward, I wrap myself in a lush towel and open the window in my bedroom to find the summer day is already warm. I waver over what to wear and finally decide on a white cotton skirt, sandals, and a blue blouse.

When I get downstairs, I find the door to Stefan’s office open and hear him on the phone.

Rocco is sitting in the living room with his back to me, hunched over, his attention fixed on some documents. His doesn’t notice my presence.

I eavesdrop on Stefan from the bottom of the stairs, his commanding voice once again sending heat through my body.

“I don’t want to have to be presented with this again. Do you understand? If this continues, it will not end peacefully. You know my position. The next time I hear from you, I expect this to have been dealt with.”

I recall the scars Stefan bears on his hands, and his gun collection, and would hate to be the person on the other end of that line. His voice is almost frightening. Stefan seems to be a fierce business owner, but he’s been nothing but kind to me. I have to admit, I’m attracted to the dangerous element he presents. I like hearing him speak that way, and I want to hear more.

“
Buongiorno
, Miss Carina.”

I jump, startled by Bianca’s greeting. She’s dressed as she was yesterday. However, I notice faint red marks on her knees.

She must have been busy cleaning house
.

Rocco turns at the sound of her voice, and a smile crosses his lips.

“Mr. Savano has asked me to show you to the breakfast table,” Bianca says.

“I was wondering if I could meet the chef. Would that be all right?”

She narrows her eyes, but she concedes. “Yes. Of course.”

She’s speedy, and when we arrive at the kitchen door, she motions for me to enter. “Fabrizio, this is Miss Carina, Mr. Savano’s guest. She would like to meet you.”

Fabrizio looks nothing like I expected. His white chef’s apron is tied around his waist and extends to his feet, but he’s wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. His hair and his eyes are a warm brown. He’s handsome and almost as large as Rocco.

“
Buongiorno
!” He greets me with a smile, a nod, and a cleaver in his hand.

His voice sounds familiar, but before I can place it, his gaze shifts to Bianca and the look on his face reminds me of the way Stefan looks at me. I almost chalk it up to the rumored passion Italian men are famous for, but it’s obvious he’s interested in Bianca.

She doesn’t make eye contact with him, but the blush on her face is familiar as well.

I feel like I’m caught in the middle of something, and not wanting to make this anymore uncomfortable, I keep my conversation with Fabrizio brief. “I just wanted to let you know how much I enjoyed the meal last night.”

His gaze still rests on Bianca. “It is my pleasure to cook for you,” he says in a very thick, Italian accent. He nods once again before returning his attention to the meat.

It’s not my place to ask Bianca about the obvious tension between them, so I follow her through the glass doors onto the veranda. “Fabrizio seems very nice.”

She stops beside the table and clears her throat.

For the first time, I notice she’s wearing a wedding ring.

“Fabrizio is very passionate about what he does.” She glares at me and confirms my suspicion. She’s telling me in no uncertain terms to stay away from Fabrizio. “So is Mr. Savano,” she says as she walks away.

I sit and contemplate the exchange. I feel a little unnerved, but I’m convinced Bianca holds no malice toward me.

The spread on the table before me distracts me from my thoughts. It’s been set with fresh fruit, biscotti, cappuccino, juice, and jam. I can tell by the scent that the biscotti are fresh baked. I unfold my napkin and try to enjoy the scenery while I wait for Stefan to appear.

Butterflies start fluttering in my stomach, giving me a thrill, when I see him. He looks different from yesterday. He’s in a white V-neck T-shirt and tan pants instead of a suit. He’s barefoot, too, and his black hair is messy instead of combed. The dominating and frightening voice I heard him use earlier doesn’t seem like it could’ve come from this man, yet I know it did.