Mama never talked about this side of Papa, but I figured it out soon enough and stopped mentioning men around him. That’s how it has been for the past year. Now that he’s gone, I’ll be damned if I’m letting anyone else control me ever again.
Papa always said focus on business and the right guy will find me. What a bucket of bullshit that was. I’d love to feel soft lips on mine and the warmth of a man’s body and the part that throbs that Mila raves about.
I miss the euphoria that comes with meeting a man who might be ‘the one’ and the subsequent excitement that comes with each text or phone call. . . Papa denied me all of that and I still resent his interference.
But what they don’t know is that Mila bought me a vibrator and I hid it under my mattress. I may be a virgin but I enjoy an orgasm just as much as the next person.
My eyes are still locked on the handsome devil with dark bedroom eyes returning my stare. A piece of hair falls across his forehead, making him even more irresistible.
I’ve never seen a man look sexier in a suit. The way his clothes fit makes me think he has them custom made or altered to fit. Mama was an excellent seamstress, so I know a thing or two about well-made clothes.
Even though this man has danger written all over him, I don’t want him to leave. There is a story behind the dark eyes and brooding undercurrents, a story I’m interested in. I’m excited in ways I’ve never thought possible.
“Allora. Please, come back to my office so we can discuss what you want for the wedding.”
I lead the way; Mila raises an eyebrow as I pass.
I furrow my eyebrows in response conveying the ‘say nothing’ look to the fact that I’m taking an interest in him. Marchello follows on my heels.
“Do you have colors picked out? How many tables will you have?” I ask as we walk into my small office. The neutral colors in this room provide the clients a neutral background when they’re picking their flowers. Papa spent a small fortune remodeling the place but kept all of the original Roman bricks and stonework to stay up to code and keep me happy.
“My brother is inviting 200 guests with 10 to a table so that’s twenty tables, give or take,” he states, but the smile teasing me pulls at the corners of his mouth leads me to believe he’s flirting. That’s impossible. No one would want to flirt with me.
No one dares to flirt with me. But with Papa out of the picture, maybe I can start dating and start living. I just have to be careful around Besnik.
Damn. If the past is any indication, I’ve inherited another guard dog.
“Mr. Micheli…” I start but he cuts me off.
“Marchello, please.” The way he tips his hand towards me, to encourage a less formal meeting, is appreciated. I’m intrigued and can’t resist exploring more.
“Okay, Marchello it is. No offense, but you sound like you’re reading a grocery list. Flowers aren’t just pretty decorations. Quite a few flowers and plants were used as ancient remedies and have special meaning.”
“Oh, to be sure, I have no doubt you know your stuff when it comes to botany.”
“Really? Why do you trust me so much?”
“Your shop is successful so that tells me you are driven. Businesses do not succeed without a lot of hard work. You’re probably a perfectionist too. That’s why you’re asking me a million questions about the wedding, and I have very few answers.”
He settles back in his chair like he won a match and has a minute to think about his next move.
“Besides, your shop is on the preferred list of every prestigious hotel in Florence. Your reputation precedes you. You must have impeccable taste.”
I was prepared to be on the defensive and don’t know how to his words of praise. However it appears he’s done his research, many of my clients are not easy to please.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I reply.
“Good,” he leans forward, “it’s meant to be.”
His proximity and his deep voice make the hair on the back of my neck rise. Is it him or his flattery that is getting him past my first wall of defense?
“The date is January 25th? It looks like I have my work cut out for me. What time is the wedding?
“Five, at the church.”
I let out a huff. That can’t be right.
“What? Did I say something wrong?”