Ten Days in Tuscany (3 page)

“
Buona sera.
Welcome to
Giannino’s.
” The man filled Nic’s water glass from the bottle he’d carried over. “I am Mauro.” He put the water bottle on the table in front of Nic and held his hands out widely. His handlebar moustache bobbed as he moved. “We are pleased to welcome you here.” He lowered his head. “I am very sorry for that altercation. My daughter is a little upset tonight.”

“No problem. I hope she is okay?” Nic leaned back and looked around when Mauro nodded. “You are doing a fine trade tonight.”

“
Pfft
.” Mauro waved one hand dismissively. “It is like this every night. We love our guests. Are you traveling through?”

“No, I am staying at the
Casa Marmo
for a few days.”

“Ah, the Baldini villa. Good to see it being rented out finally. That family has poured an obscene amount of money into renovating a place they never visit. And you know what? They did not employ one local tradesman. We are not good enough for the Baldinis. They think they bring the best from Rome!”

After Mauro’s disparaging comment, Nic wasn’t about to tell him he was a Baldini and that he’d directed the renovations himself.

Mauro looked over Nic’s shoulder. “Ah,
bella,
there you are. Here is my fragile little flower. Gia will take your order and ensure that you wish to dine with us again during your stay.” Nic smothered a smile as Mauro clapped his hands together and introduced his daughter with a flourish as he beamed down at her. “Have a good evening,
signore
.”

The young woman stepped around the bottom of the stairs and her gaze settled on Nic. It
was
his little gypsy from the incident on the roadside. The ugly black glasses still graced her face, but the rich black curls had been tamed into a sleek braid, and a rosy flush—he presumed embarrassment—tinged her cheeks. Her brother’s word was obviously law, despite her Papa running interference for her. Huge dark eyes widened as she continued to stare at him. She pulled an order pad from the front pocket of the bright red apron that now covered her crumpled clothes. She nodded at Nic as her father moved away to the group at the next table.

“Have you had a chance to look at the menu yet,
signore
? Or perhaps you would prefer to avail yourself of our
primo
buffet to begin your meal?” Her voice was soft and gentle, but the lilting Tuscan accent still held the husky undertone he had heard before. This meek woman was nothing like the little firebrand who had called him an idiot and poked him in the chest. This shy Gia didn’t even meet his eyes as she gestured to the buffet laid out on a large table beneath the window.

So she’s going to pretend nothing happened.

Nic settled back in his chair. The change in her demeanor was fascinating. He would’ve teased her, perhaps made some joke about their last encounter. But having overheard her brother’s heavy-handed rant, he’d not add to the girl’s stress. And for some reason her father called her fragile. “No, I haven’t had a chance to look at the menu yet. Perhaps you could recommend something?” A frisson of interest rippled through him as a smile tipped one corner of her mouth. A very pretty mouth, now that he had time to look at her. She knew very well who he was, but it looked like she was too shy—or embarrassed—to mention their earlier meeting.

Before she could tell him about the local delicacies, Nic’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “Excuse me for a moment, Gia.” He pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

Antonio.
Again?
Surely it was too early to hear?

Chapter Two

Gia waited while the guy with the “voice” took his call. Trying not to be rude, or even listen to what he was saying, she waited, allowing the tone of his deep voice to wash over her. It was a voice she could almost transfer to canvas—sexy, full of hidden meaning and dark shadows, and it sent a shiver running down her back. She should have guessed that he was heading to
Giannino’s;
most tourists headed their way for dinner at this time of year. It was the first restaurant on the edge of the village, and they were full every night during summer. She was lucky; if he’d been going any faster, she wouldn’t have had to worry any more about working as a waitress—she’d probably be roadkill right now. But it really hadn’t been his fault. She’d been in such a bad mood, she’d not been paying any attention to where she was, and she
had
stopped in the middle of the road just as she topped the hill. Not that there was usually much traffic coming into the village on the way past her cottage. She realized he had stopped talking and she switched her attention back to him. She smoothed her hand down her apron as she waited for him.

He was listening with the phone pressed to his ear. “No.” The sexy voice was impatient now. “No way. Papa can deal with it.”

Gia studied him, partly embarrassed, partly impressed by the way he so bluntly expressed himself. She rather liked the changes in his face. Anger drew his brows together over his sharp eyes, tightened his full lips. And the dimple in his chin drew her attention. She closed her fingers, resisting the urge to brush her fingers over that little indentation.

“No, no, and no. Do you get that?”

If they didn’t, they weren’t listening very well.
Mr. Perfectly Groomed Black Shirt was very clear in what he was saying. She waited for him to finish his conversation, wishing she had the inner strength to say what
she
wanted in those confident tones. She caught her lip between her teeth as she recalled the way she’d called him an
idiota.

Okay, it had been rude. And she had to wonder if perhaps her foul mood had triggered his.

He raked a hand through his dark hair and shifted in his seat, obviously frustrated by the phone call. Broad shoulders strained his shirt. Sharply defined cheekbones sat high in a tanned face. His bottom lip was full even though both lips were now pursed into a dissatisfied expression.

Movie star looks.
A quiver of something ran through Gia’s nerve endings and settled low in her belly as his eyes caught hers. The heat ran up into her cheeks for the second time tonight. Okay, so he’d caught her checking him out. She had an eye for beauty, and he was certainly a fine-looking man. She stepped back and looked through the window to the courtyard, trying not to listen to his conversation. Spring had been late arriving this year, but the courtyard was finally alive with vibrant color. The honeysuckle covering the brick walls that closed in three sides was covered in fat yellow buds, and the geraniums along the edge of the wall were a riot of red. Her fingers itched to hold a paintbrush.

“Not my problem. Talk to Papa.”

She swallowed as she realized he’d finished his call and was staring at her. She quickly put her head down and focused on her order pad, ignoring the gaze that she knew stayed on her face. She could feel him looking at her, and the warmth in her face traveled through her body.

“Sorry for that. You were about to tell me what you would recommend?” His deep voice sent a tremor down her back. She was tempted to use the order pad to fan her face, but that would only draw his attention to her embarrassment. She peeked over the top of the order pad, though it certainly wasn’t big enough to hide behind. Amused sapphire-blue eyes surrounded by the longest eyelashes she had ever seen, stared at her.

“
Signore
.” She dug deep for courage. “I think an apology is in order.”

“Apology? For what?” Those blue eyes were suddenly full of mirth. Better than the look that had been on his face when he’d been on his phone.

“For calling you an
idiota
,” she rushed on and moved closer to him, brushing the stray strands of hair that fell across her face, impeding her vision as she leaned forward. “It was entirely my fault. I shouldn’t have stopped where I did. I’m so very, very sorry I was rude to you. I should not have been.”

“Apology accepted. Let’s forget we have already met. Perhaps we can begin again?” He stood and held out his hand, and Gia looked up at him shyly as she put her hand in his. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her fingers, and her heart sped up a notch, but he turned it over and examined her paint-stained palm.

“I am Nic… and you are Gia.”

Her heart gave another funny little blip and that damned warmth moved lower from her stomach. He truly was one of the sexiest men she had ever seen. The voice, the eyes, the dimple…the whole damned package.

She pulled her hand from his and slipped it into the pocket of her apron, conscious of the paint stains.
Probably not very hygienic in a restaurant.
No wonder Gabriel had sent her off to wash her hands like a small child. “I shall not bother you any longer. Are you ready to order?”

“Bother me?” He smiled at her. “Why would you be bothering me?”

That voice sent her nerve endings running amok—not to mention the sexy bedroom eyes that were holding hers. Oh dear, she was out of her element here.

Gia held up her order pad and tried to regain a measure of calm. “What would you like for dinner, sir?”

…

A strange, yet familiar, fragrance washed over Nic when Gia pulled her hand from his. Talking to her almost took his mind off the phone call from Antonio. Her hands were stained with paint, and the not-very-intoxicating scent of turpentine blended with her sweeter perfume. Ignoring her request for his order, he narrowed his eyes as interest quickened in him. “You are an artist?”

Gia lifted her head and returned his gaze coolly before inclining her head in a simple nod. Her pen was poised above the order pad. “I would recommend the
ribollita
to begin with. It is made from vegetables grown locally in the village. The herbs come from the garden in our own courtyard.”

Nic got the impression she was quite shy and didn’t want to answer his questions, so she had launched into her waitress spiel with her standard description of the menu. She obviously didn’t want to engage in any more personal conversation. He found it difficult to turn away from anyone who needed encouragement. That’s where the whole artist protégée thing had begun.

His mother had told him it was his Cancerian nature. He’d always treated it as a load of rubbish, but Antonio delighted in ribbing him about their mother’s insistence that Nic had been entitled to more teenage angst than he was because of Nic’s astrological chart.

Don’t know about Venus rising in Mercury, you’re just a moody bastard.
Nic had been tempted to punch his brother’s lights out after that comment.

Nah, I’m just a sucker for anyone needy
. And that’s why he was so interested in this shy woman who waited for his order. He knew there was fire beneath that shy facade; he’d seen it firsthand. He focused on the menu before he looked up at Gia with a smile.

“Then the
ribollita
it is.” He put the menu down as she waited for him to continue. “I’ll look at the rest after I have my
primo
course.”

“Certainly, sir.” Gia scribbled away.

He reached up and caught her hand. “Call me Nic.”

“Certainly, Nic.” Gia nodded again before she removed her hand from his and turned away, walking across to the other side of the restaurant.

Although she’d braided her hair and washed the paint from her face—that smear he’d seen near her glasses had been too bright to be dirt—he wondered if she realized that the kitchen light behind her accentuated the thin cotton of the shirt she wore. Not that he minded the glimpse of a lacy bra, from the distance and the lighting he couldn’t quite distinguish the shade, something pale though, pink or perhaps lilac in color. Much more feminine and soft than he’d expect from the prickly woman who’d refused his assistance, and much sexier than the black and white waitress uniform she wore over it. He settled back and picked up the glass of water as he observed the restaurant around him, thinking of colors and contrasts, the series of small paintings and colorful landscapes that covered the wall behind the buffet caught his attention. He narrowed his eyes as a tingle of interest ran through him. They were different from the generic prints sold by the hawkers in the squares around Florence. The crowd around the buffet table had cleared and Nic picked up his empty plate. Everything from antipasto to pizza was on offer on the food-laden table, but he only gave it a glance as he leaned closer to the wall.

The small landscapes were…exceptional. To stay in touch with his art, he attended as many exhibitions as he could. What stood out in each of the paintings in front of him was the minute detail of the flowers, the scarlet heads bobbing in a breeze that he could almost feel. The artist had captured the distinctive bluish light of the Tuscan hills to perfection. The silence of the hills replaced the noise of the restaurant around him until a deep voice interrupted his intense observation.

“Our Gia likes to dabble in her spare time.” Mauro stood beside him with a frown on his face. “We try hard to ask her to work with her sister in the village in the daytime, but”— the burly man threw his hands in the air in frustration—“she will not listen to her Papa. She should be thinking about settling down, raising a family, and not chasing her foolish dreams.”

Nic widened his eyes. “These are Gia’s?”

Mauro sighed and nodded. “Yes, she wanders the fields and then paints what is in her head. She is very stubborn, but it is not a good life for her.”

“Are they for sale?” Nic pointed to the four paintings on the wall in front of them.

“Tourists.” Nic was sure he heard Mauro mutter under his breath before he raised his shoulders. “No. They are not for sale. They are the product of her little hobby”

“I will pay you well for them.” Nic stared at the man, shocked that he couldn’t see the talent, the passion that screamed out from each of the landscapes.

Not a life for her?
Nic hadn’t seen talent like this in a long time, not from any of his past protégées or even in exhibitions.

Frustration clawed at his throat.
What I would give to be able to capture a scene like this with the stroke of my brush.
But all the money in the world couldn’t buy talent like that on the wall in front of them. It made him all the more determined to put the next ten days to good use. He sympathized with Gia. Obviously they both had fathers who saw their art as a waste of time.

“I will ask Gia.” Mauro pointed back to Nic’s table. “You have not had your primo course yet and your soup is waiting.”

“Thank you…and no matter. I will ask her myself.” Nic smiled at Mauro. “When I complete my order.”

Mauro frowned and shook his head. “I am afraid you won’t be able to ask her. My daughter has gone home. She was not…well.”

“Is she okay?” Hoping it was not delayed shock that he had caused, Nic frowned. “Where does she live?” He immediately regretted asking when Gia’s father pulled himself up and stared at him. For a moment, he’d forgotten he was in rural Tuscany and not sophisticated Florence.

“My daughter does not live at home. It would not be right to give her address to a stranger.”

“Does she have a studio where she works where I could see her work when she is feeling better? Does she exhibit anywhere?”

“No, of course she doesn’t.” Mauro frowned and shook his head. “But I will ask her if she is interested in selling her little paintings.”

For Christ’s sake. Her little paintings.
Nic couldn’t believe the dismissive tone in her father’s voice.

Empathy filled him for the shy, young woman he had met so briefly. No wonder he had sensed that passion in her, if she was capable of producing amazing work like this. Her father’s disinterest made him doubt that he would even mention his interest to his daughter. Nic wondered if anyone else had asked about her work before and the message hadn’t been passed on to her. No wonder she looked as though she had no confidence in herself, if this was the way her family treated her.

“Perhaps you could call back tomorrow. I will ask her for you.” His tone was not very enthusiastic, and Nic got the impression that Mauro was less than impressed with his interest in his daughter…or her paintings.

One or the other.

“Thank you.” Nic nodded and headed back to the table. He quickly finished his bowl of soup, declining the wine list when Gabriel reappeared and held it out to him

“No wine, thank you.” Nic’s appetite had gone and had been replaced by a desire to go back to the villa and paint. Creativity surged through him and his fingers tingled with the urge to hold a brush. He had been inspired by Gia’s landscapes. If she was willing to sell them, he had the perfect spot for them above his desk back in Carrara. He could take some of the countryside back with him to remind him of his promise to his mother.

Odd thing was, when he thought about leaving, it was the image of Gia, not the countryside, that filled his mind… And he didn’t want to go.

…

Gia walked slowly up the hill. Papa’s words as she departed rattled around in her head with every step she took.

“Are you ill? Have you been getting enough sleep? Have you been eating well?’

Yada, yada, yada.
Same old story. No, she was not ill. No, she was not in need of rest or food. What she needed was to escape!

The bottom line was: she didn’t want to be here. Not just there at the restaurant, not in Castellina. The studio at the back of her little cottage was the only thing that fulfilled her.
When I can paint and put my feelings onto the canvas.
That’s what brought life to her soul. Not serving food to an endless procession of tourists, night after night, and being wrapped in cotton wool by her well-meaning father.