“Me too. It is a story brought to life through art. The critics say that is the same with my cooking. They can be very kind.”
Hunter appears as the food is put in front of us. “Perfect timing,” he says, returning to his seat while his coffee is poured out by the still-muttering waiter.
“You’ve got red on your shirt,” I tell him.
He glances down at the linen, rubbing the red spot with a finger. “Just ink,” he says with a smile. “Nothing to worry about. Get eating.”
I look down at my plate. “What’s this?”
“Maritozzi.”
“Doesn’t answer my question.”
“A sweet exterior filled with cream.”
“Me or the food?”
“Why not both?”
I cut a slice and stick it in my mouth. “Oh myGod, that’s amazing. Tastes like summer in a bowl. What’s in this?”
Antonio smiles. “Secret recipe,” he says, retreating as he does so, the waiter beside him. “Thank you so much for your kind words.” He pulls the door closed as they go.
“Unfortunately, I have to leave sooner than expected,” Hunter says, taking a sip of his coffee. “Business must intrude on our enjoyment. A cab will take you wherever you want to go from here.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a money clip of banknotes thick enough to make me pause with my fork halfway to my mouth. “This is to pay for a decent pair of shoes.”
“So, who’s paying for breakfast? It’s like a hundred Euros a head in here.”
“I have an account.” He counts out ten hundred-Euro notes, laying them on the table in front of him. “It’s been fun, Bex. Don’t waste more of your life thinking about that asshole ex of yours. He won’t be a problem anymore, trust me.”
He gets to his feet, taking another sip of coffee before placing his mug on the table.
I look up at him and frown. “You know it’s rude to leave in the middle of a meal, right? I might only be a PA, but I know that much. I might cry. You want to make a girl cry?”
“You won’t cry. You’re stronger than you look, and the money will compensate for the insult. Trust me when I say I’d love to stay, but I have something urgent I must attend to, and like you, I have deadlines of my own to meet this morning.”
He walks around the table, takes my hand, kissing the back of it. His lips feel warm, the stubble on his chin rubbing gently, sending a zing of electricity through me as he lets go too soon.
I get an image in my head, his hand on the back of my neck, holding me around my middle, his lips forcing against mine as I fight him off. The sculpture. He’s Pluto. I’m Proserpina, being dragged down into the underworld, into his lair. I fight him, but he’s too firm, and then he kisses me, and I don’t want to fight anymore.
I blink, and the image is gone. I get a closer look at the spot of red on his shirt. It doesn’t look much like ink to me.
4
Hunter
* * *
George straightens his tie as I approach the hotel reception. “La situazione e stata risolta,” he says when I reach him. “We have him locked up.”
“Good,” I reply, slipping a folded banknote across the counter to him. His bony fingers curl around it, and it’s gone like a conjuror’s trick as if it was never there. “I should be done in five. The furniture will need replacing. Send the bill to Toby.”
“Si, SenorLombardi. Yourconsiglierecalled my line two minutes ago and wanted to speak to you.”
I turn in time to find the lobby boy opening the elevator for me. “Grazie, Benji,” I say, stepping inside as he hits the button for the seventh.
My cell phone rings as I climb. I dig it out and put it to my ear. “Toby,” I say down the line. “Stall him.”
“Why aren’t you here?”