Now he laughs too, low and sexy, and motions to our plates. “We had better eat before Marabella scolds us.”
I pick up my fork, unable to contain the curve of my lips at the exchange. I’m not just attracted to Kayden. I like him. I like Marabella. And with the thrumming of rain on the glass beside us, good food, and good company, I have this sense of being cocooned in warmth and safety. I also know without question it is not a feeling I have often enjoyed in my life, and yet these two virtual strangers have given that to me. It matters to me in a deep way I might not fully understand, but value. And for the next little bit, we finish our salads, while Kayden shares details about the neighborhood, encouraging me to try a bakery nearby and visit the little shops he’s described.
Too soon, our plates are removed, and Kayden taps the file. “Time to study. Let’s start with, why did you come to Italy?”
“After my parents passed away, I resigned my secretarial position in Dallas, Texas, at Reynolds Electronics to travel. What if Gallo looks up the company? Does it exist?”
“Yes. They’re a major corporation, which means human resources won’t know you personally, and they will handle any inquires if anyone tries to find you. And yes. You have a record.”
“I can’t believe how far Matteo took this.”
“I told you. I’m confident we’ve hidden you in plain sight. Next question, and you can bet Gallo will check this one: What’s your home address?”
I blink and sit up straighter. “San Francisco. I can’t believe I didn’t tell you this already. I had a flashback, and I’m certain I’m from San Francisco. The man, whoever he is, was letting me stay with him after my passport was stolen.”
“The man?”
“I still can’t remember his name or face. Just that he’s powerful and rich. I don’t think he’s Niccolo. I saw his picture and still didn’t place him in my memory.”
“We’ll look through pictures tomorrow. Anything else you can tell me before I call Matteo?”
“I have a friend named Sara, no H, in San Francisco. I know I’m close to her, but aside from her being a pretty brunette, I really don’t remember anything else. It’s not much to go on, I know.”
“Matteo doesn’t need much,” he assures me, already punching the button on his cell to dial him.
I sip my cappuccino, anxiously waiting for the call to go through, eager for answers. Kayden announces into the phone, “Ella thinks she’s from San Francisco.” He listens a moment. “Right. And she has a friend named Sara—S-A-R-A. That’s all I have.” Another pause, and he scrubs his jaw and adds, “You pull this off, and we’re even, as far as I’m concerned.” He ends the call and sets his phone down. “The ball’s in his court now.”
“Did he think he could find out anything?” I ask.
“He didn’t say, but if anyone can, he can. He’s that damn good.”
“Dinnertime,” Marabella announces, returning to the table with two huge bowls of spaghetti. “This is my grandmother’s recipe, passed down to my mother and now me.” She kisses her fingertips. “Perfetto!”
Kayden and I dig in, both of us raving about how perfetto it truly is, and I go so far as to add, “Even without my memory, I believe it’s the best pasta of my life.”
My admission has her glowing and humming her way back to the stove.
“You’ve made her very happy,” Kayden assures me. “And for the record, everyone who needs to eat her food is too skinny for her.”
“How do you not get fat with her cooking for you?”
He pokes a meatball with his fork and holds it up. “That’s why there’s a full gym upstairs.”
I laugh. “I will definitely be visiting it, and soon.”
We eat for a few minutes in comfortable silence, and I think it’s a sign of how well we get along. It stirs a million questions about what had him staring into the darkness tonight, what haunts him, but I’m afraid if I ask, he’ll withdraw. I am almost certain that he will. Marabella is quick to join us, chatting a little and taking our plates.
“Dessert?” she asks. “I have cheesecake.”
I pat my belly. “I’m stuffed. I’d better not.”
“I’m with Ella,” Kayden agrees. “Maybe later.”
“Then I’ve achieved my goal,” Marabella approves, setting fresh espressos in front of us and casting her attention on me. “Before I head to bed, there’s a whiteboard on the counter. Leave me a list of anything you like and I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”
It’s a pleasant revelation to realize I know what I like. Chocolate. Coffee. Cheese. Pasta. “I’m allergic to shellfish,” I say, glancing at Kayden.
“That’s a good thing to remember,” he says.