“I hope you’re right about that.”
Alberto sat back in his chair, the warm breeze ruffling his hair and his aviator sunglasses giving him a rakish look. “I’m right about almost everything. For instance, I was correct in knowing that you would be the perfect partner for this endeavor.”
He couldn’t have really known that. The man was a hopeless flirt. Still, she found herself playing along. “And why, exactly, is that?”
“Because you like to meddle in everyone’s business.”
Only years of training kept her jaw from dropping. “I do not.”
He waved his hands around as if he could brush her denial out of the air. “But of course you do, but you do it out of love…and boredom.”
“I am never bored.”
“You wouldn’t be if you let me seduce you as I am trying so very hard to do.”
“You’re very forward.”
“I’m Italian. It’s in our blood.” He took a sip from his wine, the movement drawing her attention to his very kissable mouth. “Plus, there’s no other way for me to be when I’m around beautiful women, let alone the most beautiful woman.”
“That ship sailed years ago.” Sure, she’d kept herself up; she had an image to uphold. “I’ve aged into being regal, if one is generous.”
Alberto leaned forward, propping his surprisingly toned forearms on the table. “I know this will shock you, bellissima, but you are wrong.”
Wrong? Her? Almost never. She wasn’t foolish enough to say absolutely never. Any sign of weakness, though, wasn’t acceptable. A woman didn’t get to her rung on the Harbor City high-society ladder by allowing for personal vulnerabilities. Time to end this little talk.
“I won’t have this discussion with you.”
“Why?” He drew off his sunglasses and gave her an assessing look. “Because of your Michael?”
Just the mention of his name was enough to make her chest clench. Three years and it hadn’t gotten any easier. Every room she walked through in the home they’d made together echoed with his absence. Every fund-raising event she attended was a battle of self-control not to give in to the melancholy. Every night alone only served to highlight the emptiness of their bed.
“I love…” She paused, taking a deep breath to slow her heart rate before correcting herself. “Loved…my husband.”
“No one would argue that. It is as obvious as the feistiness of your nature. But was he the type of man who would want you to live out your days alone?”
Is that what she was doing? No, she wouldn’t accept that. “I’m not alone. I have my children.”
“That is not the same, bellissima, as you very well know.”
It wasn’t, but it was her life, and she wasn’t about to allow some overgrown man-child with his handsome face and flirtatious ways to know that. It wasn’t the Harbor City way. She played things close to the vest. Always had. Always would.
Setting down her wineglass, she pulled her most impervious mask into place and let her voice drop the temperature out on their waterside veranda. “It is enough.”
“For a woman like you?” he asked, not taking her hint to drop the subject. “No.”
Of all the— “And who are you to tell me what I need?”
“A man who has been in your very spot.” He reached out across the table, taking her cold hands in his warm ones. “Losing my Sophia so many years ago…I thought the hurt would never go away, but it did, leaving behind an empty place in my soul. For many years, I thought it would consume me.”
“Until you filled it with much younger women and wine, I suppose.” Just like a man. She’d been appalled by the number of men who so casually dated around after losing a spouse. She’d never dishonor Michael’s memory that way.
“No.” He gently squeezed her hand, holding it firm in his as his gaze pierced her with an empathetic sincerity she hadn’t expected from a man who seemed to flirt as easily as he breathed. “That place, Sophia’s place, in my heart never closed up, but it changed from one of cold emptiness to a warm place filled with all the laughter and love we shared—and it happened when I let myself stop focusing on the fact that she was gone and instead began to remember how we lived.”
Helene had never cried in public a day in her life. Not as a child. Definitely not as a full-grown woman. Even at Michael’s funeral she’d maintained a stalwart appearance for the sake of her boys. But Alberto’s heartfelt advice—though not asked for—shifted something inside her and the tears slid down her cheeks. It wasn’t a waterfall, but it was enough. Slipping her hand free, she patted at her cheeks with a napkin and took several steadying breaths. When she had herself back under control, she looked at the man who understood, knowing he deserved more than a cold brush-off. He deserved the truth.
“I’m not sure I can do that,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “I know it’s been more than three years, but even considering moving on still feels like betrayal.”
“I understand, but I hope that will change and when it does you will reach out to the bold Italian who would like nothing better than to sweep you off your feet.” His face broke into a broad smile, and there was a little something extra twinkling in his eyes. “Just make sure not to wait too long; we’re not getting any younger.”