“It’s tables and chairs set up in a series of caves.”
“But the caves,” she lifted her hand and rubbed it over the wall beside them. It only came up to the same height as the tabletop; it was cold and uneven beneath her fingertips, and damp in that way stones by the sea always are. “Are spectacular.”
“The grotte have a long history,” he said with a nod. “There are dozens along the sea here. Some, further south, were used to shelter townspeople in the renaissance. They lead to a long rabbit warren of tunnels that cuts through the hillside. There’s an entrance to one in Monte Verde.”
“That’s miles away!”
“Nearly seven,” he nodded.
“Wow. Have you ever explored them?”
His smile cracked something inside of her. It shone with so much beauty and mystique. “As a boy, I spent as much time as I could losing myself here. I’ll never forget the first time I made it to the other side.”
“In one day? How old were you?”
“Eleven.”
She lifted her brows.
“I got to Monte Verde but didn’t make it home.” He grinned. “Someone called Yaya and told her they’d found me. I was grounded for a week.”
It was easy to return his smile. There was something contagious about his happiness, the ease with which he told his stories.
“My grandfather was proud though. He’d undertaken the same journey as a boy. I think he secretly saw it as a right of passage.”
“Surely he could have prevented you from being grounded?”
“He left Yaya to raise us,” Nico shrugged. “It wasn’t until we were older and he was preparing to pass the business on that he began to spend time with us. He wasn’t good with children, he used to say, but young adults he could tolerate.”
“Were you close to him?”
“Si.” Something shifted in his expression. “He might not have been able to tolerate us, as children, but we adored him.”
“You spent a lot of time with him?”
“We lived with Yaya and Gianfelice until we went away to school.” Something inside of her bristled – a warning flag. She knew school to have been where he met Michael. The subject immediately felt dangerous, like volcanic lava she was best avoiding.
“Why? Where were you parents?”
“In Spain.” A hint of derision curled his lips, though it was smothered quickly enough.
“In Spain?”
The waiter appeared with a small platter of amuse bouche. “Are you ready to order?”
“I haven’t even looked,” she apologised.
“A few more minutes.” Nico was relaxed, no hint of the sharp emotion she’d seen in his face when he’d mentioned his parents.
The waiter left them alone once more and Maddie made a concerted effort of opening the menu and scanning the dishes. “Would you prefer to see it in English?”
“On the contrary – I told myself I’d be partway fluent in Italian by the time I leave Ondechiara. I’m taking every opportunity to practice.”
“So I should be speaking to you in my language?” He asked in Italian. It took her a moment to decode the words but not because they were beyond her, so much as hearing his tones in his own tongue was musical and addictive. She dug her fingernails into her palms in an attempt to curb the rush of her desire.
“Yes, absolutely.” But her own response was husky, imbued with sensual need, and he heard it. She saw the way his eyes widened a little, his gaze dropping to her lips, and her stomach punched.
“So Spain?”