"Don't you know that 35 is when most men buy their first sportscar?" he bantered back.
"Not the men I know." But then the men she knew were her father, who had a luxury sedan and the requisite driver to go with it, and the men associated with her nonprofit organization.
The latter drove electric cars, sometimes hybrids, and none of them still had the new car smell clinging to them.
"Let me guess, your dates drive sedate fuel-efficient compacts."
"If we're going to save the planet, somebody has to." She didn't launch into her usual speech about thereducepart of the reduce, reuse and recycle motto.
For one thing, Carlo had heard it all before.
For another, she was enjoying the ride in the luxury sports car too much to say anything without feeling like a hypocrite. She also didn't mention that she didn't date. That was a little tidbit Annette thought she'd rather keep to herself.
They were sharing a lovely meal at a tiny restaurant that catered to the wealthy locals. No tourists here. Very few guests at all and a menu fixed by the chef that changed nightly based on local produce.
Annette was enchanted and said so.
"It is one of my favorite places to eat. Other places, it can be difficult for security to keep people who want to meet a Messina away from the table."
She knew he spoke the truth. While Carlo and his family would move countries before being in a reality television show, they were as well known in Sicily as the Kardashians were in America.
Security was such a natural part of the billionaire's lifestyle, Annette hadn't really paid attention when a car kept pace with theirs on the drive to the restaurant. Or when one of the men from it had taken up an inobtrusive position on the periphery of the establishment. He wasn't the only security man watching over a client here, but the restaurant had been designed to give the illusion of privacy, if not the reality.
"I owe you an apology," she said after the wine had been tested and poured.
Carlo jerked his head in the negative. "I did not want to talk about it five years ago, and I do not wish to discuss it now."
"But I am sorry. Please believe me, Carlo. If I had it to do over again, I would have done things differently."
"Ifdifferentlydoesn't include showing up at the church, prepared to speak your vows, I'm not interested."
"You have a very binary view of the world, did you know that?"
"In some things, like keeping one's promises? Yes, I suppose I do."
She stifled a sigh. "I never meant to hurt you."
"I never said you hurt me, but you did humiliate me. The media vultures were just a small part of it."
"I know. I'm sor—"
"Do not say it again. We start afresh. Now. You are the sister of my sister-in-law. The aunt and godmother to my very precious niece. Our history is no longer what is important, but our family's future."
"I agree, but—"
"No buts. This is the way it has to be, Annette."
Hearing him call her by name hurt in a way all its own, she realized. He'd always used to call her his beauty, or darling. He'd only used her name when they were making love and it had felt special then.
Now it felt like another barrier between them.
Despite the barriers, Annette had a wonderful time with Carlo. So long as she kept the conversation well away from their shared past, he was an interested and interesting companion.
He took her dancing and somehow, they found themselves on the dance floor for all the slower songs. Carlo held her close, sometimes singing along to the song lyrics in a surprisingly fine baritone.
As the night wore on, Annette's defenses against his sensual pull crumbled bit by bit.
Because he treated her like a date, not a woman he despised and could not trust.