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“Naw, no one told me. I just have a nose for authenticity.”

“It looks packed.”

He shut off the engine. “Probably is, but I called Mario Carnesi, the owner, and he and his wife, Sophia, always manage to save the small table near the kitchen for me. Hope you’re hungry. They have an antipasto to die for.”

He got out and opened the door for me, reaching for my hand again. This time, when I stepped out, he held my hand firmly and for a beat kept us close. I thought he was going to try to kiss me again, but instead he just smiled and turned us toward the entrance. I breathed in relief, and I hated having to do it. How could you have any sort of relationship with someone if you freeze or retreat from a touch, a hug, and especially a kiss?

Even before he opened the door, the aroma of pasta and sauces and pizza swirled about me, churning up my appetite.

From the look of the small crowd, I saw that we were definitely the youngest customers. The chatter and laughter suggested most everyone here knew everyone else. A few people looked our way but not for long. The owner’s wife stepped up to greet Troy, who introduced me. She led us to our table but was too busy to stay there and talk.

“They have a menu,” he said, “but I can order it all. What would you like to drink, a soda, iced tea?”

“Iced tea, thanks.”

I glanced around. The restaurant was cozy, with prints of the Amalfi Coast and small villages on walls that were painted deep red. The floor was hardwood. There was no bar. Toward the front, there was a couple who had brought along their small white dog, which sat obediently, hoping for crumbs to fall. Playing low, but not too low to hear over the chatter, was an Italian tenor singing “Nessun Dorma,” a song Mother loved.

“It really feels like we should be in Italy,” I said.

Troy smiled. “Authentic, as is the food.”

“Did you ever bring anyone else here?” I asked.

“Ah, so now we begin to dig in our chest of secrets,” he replied. “You want to know if I brought Mrs. Robinson?”

The waitress stepped up. She looked to be in her forties, her dark brown hair cut short, her light complexion flushed from rushing about in a room warmed by its customers and the stoves. She and Mrs. Carnesi were apparently the only waitresses. In one breath, Troy ordered everything for us, the antipasto and the pizza. She nodded, flashed a smile, and returned to something else she had to do.

“She’s new,” Troy said, looking after her. “Actually, I haven’t been here for nearly a month. No,” he continued. “I’ve never brought anyone else here, younger or older than myself, but now that you have started it, want to play truth or dare?”

“How does that work?”

“You never played it?”

“Maybe I’m from another country,” I said. There were many times when I felt that way.

“You ask someone a question he or she has to answer or else take a dare. You want to go first? Actually, you did when you asked me to tell you if I had ever brought anyone else here, so technically I can go now. What do you say? Game for the game?”

Saying no would only lead to more probing questions. “Okay,” I said, feeling like I was stepping out on thin ice.

The waitress brought our drinks.

“We’ll keep it as innocent as possible. How old were you when you had your first kiss?”

“That’s easy. A few hours.”

“Very funny. I meant a kiss from a boy.”

“You didn’t specify that, so I go now. How old were you when you kissed the first girl unrelated to you or she kissed you?”

“Actually, that’s perfect for this game. I was ten. My cousin Nora was sixteen, and she and her parents were visiting us, and Nora brought her friend Jenny. They started to play truth or dare in the room I was in, and when Jenny chose not to answer a question that had made her blush, my cousin Nora’s dare was for her to kiss me like a lover. I was so frightened that I ran out of the room. Naturally, they were hysterical.”

“Where was your sister?”

“Already sent to a private school.”

“That young?”

“Yes,” he said. His expression changed subtly, his eyes narrowing, his lips tightening. Then he quickly smiled again. “You just asked two questions. I go twice.”


Tags: V.C. Andrews The Mirror Sisters Suspense