Perfect Match (Vice Club Nights #2)

3. Gio

Chapter three

Gio

T he tinkling sound of her laughter travels between our tables on the breeze. A twinge of jealousy pinches in my chest as my cousin and the beautiful woman speak together like old friends. With her eyes still sparkling with humor, she looks my way, our gazes connecting for the first time and locking like magnets—her chocolate browns, warm and welcoming, to my blue-gray stare. The pale shade is a family trait that my three siblings and I inherited from my father.

She smiles with a slight tilt of her lips, then says something in a low voice to Emilio. He responds in typical Italian style, with his hand movements doing as much talking as his words. I strain to catch the animated conversation, but it’s become impossible to hear above the squawk of gulls trying to snatch a few tidbits from the fishermen’s catch.

A few more minutes of soft conversation, and I’m sure I’ll be dining alone. The blow to my ego is an unfamiliar emotion, which is mostly due to the bloggers on social media regularly noting my perceived bank balance and single status.

A beautiful Australian woman is not going to know who I am and doesn’t even seem to care. It’s disappointing that she’ll remain a mystery to me. But then she glances my way one more time, and when our eyes connect this time, a spark of interest lights up her face, her smile stretching wider. She gathers her notebook and pen and stands, then makes her way between the three tables that separate us until she’s standing beside me.

I spring to my feet. She reaches my shoulder, taller than average for a woman, given she’s wearing trainers and not heels.

“Thank you for the invitation to join you,” she says, her fingers curling around the top of the chair, and I wait for the but , given the way her voice rises at the end. It doesn’t come.

Instead, those long, graceful fingers with short, neat, unpainted nails—as understated as the woman—draw the seat back with a teeth-clenching scratch of metal on concrete.

She’s even more gorgeous up close. Naturally long dark lashes rest against flawless sun-kissed cheeks, with a sprinkle of cute freckles trailing across her nose.

Molto bella!

I hold out my hand to her. “Giovanni Barbieri. It is my pleasure to have you join me.”

And with a tilt of her shoulder, her cool hand slips into mine. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Victoria Jones.”

“Victoria, please sit?” I offer. “It’s a beautiful evening that should be shared, not spent alone.”

She brushes her hand against the side of her worn denim jeans, and her smile fades slightly.

What did I do wrong?

She sits, turning her head away from me, and I don’t miss the sigh that escapes from those kissable full lips. I return to my own chair beside her, the narrow gap between us seeming to grow wider as we sit silently, watching the empty boats bobbing on the darkening sea.

This feels incredibly awkward, and as someone who is never at a loss for words in English or Italian, I have no idea what to say.

“What brings …” I begin.

“Maybe this …” she says at the same time.

“Sorry, you speak,” I suggest.

She angles her body in my direction. “I’m sorry, but maybe this was a mistake. I should just return to my table over there and leave you at yours here.” She waves her hand through the air, gesturing behind her.

I reach out to capture her hand. “Please, Victoria, stay.” She doesn’t flick my hand off, and I take it as a good sign. “We can enjoy some food, a drink, and maybe some conversation. That’s all.” I lean my head closer. “Besides, my cousin will give me hell if I scare away one of his customers.”

She smiles at me. “You’re not scaring me away, Giovanni.”

I love the way she says my name. Her faint Australian drawl putting emphasis on the i at the end. I want to hear her repeat it again and again.

“Good. Would you like another drink? Do you drink wine?”

She looks down at where our hands are still clasped, resting on the table. At some point in our exchange, her fingers became entwined with mine. I don’t think Victoria had even noticed until now.

We release the hold at the same time, and I immediately feel the loss of her touch. A ridiculous thought when we’ve only just met. I’ve never believed in soulmates or that love at first sight kind of romantic rubbish. That’s my brother Antonio’s thing, not mine. I’m much more practical. Sure, an instant attraction is possible, even lust. Especially in the presence of a beautiful woman. But that’s all that I’m feeling with Victoria—a simple physical attraction.

“Yes. What do you recommend?”

Without opening the drinks menu, I suggest my family’s award-winning Chianti from our Tuscan vineyards.

She tilts her head to the side. “Not a local red?”

“Aglianico from the Campania region is a very good wine, but I would like you to try one from my family’s vineyards.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to point to it on the wine list, like it somehow makes it more legitimate. “It’s a very good wine. Is that okay?”

She dips her head to read the menu. “Mmm, it sounds good, and I trust your expertise.”

After a waitress has placed our drinks on the table, she suggests, “Now we just need to agree on the perfect dish to accompany it.”

“That’s easy. A traditional Neapolitan pizza, my cousin’s specialty. Have you tried it yet?”

She grins. “Actually, I have. I was here last night.” Then, with a sideways glance, she adds, “And I’m glad you suggested pizza. I had dreams about the soft, squishy crust and gooey cheese last night. When in Naples …” She tings her glass against the stem of mine, which is suspended midair in my hand, on the way to my mouth.

She’s captivating and exactly the dinner companion I hadn’t known I needed tonight.

“Perfecto!” I say with a chef’s kiss to my fingers. “Emilio’s pizza is the best in all of Napoli.”

“I do have a confession to make.” She chews on her bottom lip as I peer at her over the rim of my glass, waiting. “I took a photo of my pizza last night, and I never photograph food. Please don’t judge me, in case I have to do it again.”

My laugh rumbles up from deep in my chest, an unfamiliar feeling these last couple of weeks. “Emilio’s pizzas are certainly Insta-worthy.” I gesture Emilio over to place her order.

When we’re alone again, I recline back in my chair, wine glass in my hand and my legs stretched out in front of me. “What brings you to Italy, Victoria?”

She tilts her head toward me, and her warm gaze turns glassy. The flicker of sadness in their depths is so fleeting that I wonder if I imagined it.

She blinks a couple of times, like she went somewhere in her head for a second but is back now. “That’s a long story. But the short version is a desire for adventure.”

My eyes narrow in concentration, trying to figure out the woman beside me. She’s already shown me a roller coaster of emotions. One minute joyous, the next heartbreaking melancholy. Red flags would normally be waving, but with her, they don’t even seem to be unfurling. I want the long story. I want to hear every story she wants to tell me.

I’m mesmerized by the movement of her sweet lips, and the tone of her accent is fast becoming my favorite, the blood in my veins heating and rushing south with every syllable.

“I have to admit that I’m intrigued to hear there’s a longer story.”

She tilts her head from side to side, but the casual gesture can’t hide her discomfort. She shakes it off with a wilder toss of her head, and a few more strands of silky dark hair slip free from her bun.

“What about you, Giovanni? What brings you to Italy? I know you have family here, and you mentioned a vineyard, but your American accent tells me you’re not a native.”

It’s a nice deflection away from her. “Please call me Gio; my friends do.”

“Already, we’re friends?” Her brow arches up in question. “It’s not too soon for me to be calling you Gio?” she teases.

The smile I return is the one that women usually find appealing. Not that I expect Victoria would fall so easily for a nice smile. And she certainly doesn’t fit into the category of the usual women I date. But that’s what makes her so unique.

With a shrug of my shoulders, I respond, “As you wish, Gio or Giovanni, but I’d say we are becoming friends.”

“Okay, Gio it is. But only if you call me Tori.”

“Tori! I like that. It suits you.”

“You know … I don’t normally accept invitations to dinner with strangers, but Emilio assured me that you were a gentleman.” Her lips tilt up suggestively. “And he might have also mentioned that your family has an olive grove nearby that makes this delicious olive oil.” She points to the bottle on the table that’s labeled Barbieri extra-virgin olive oil.

I bark out a laugh. “You only agreed to join me for dinner on the hopes of learning the family secrets to making the best olive oil.”

She shrugs, but the enigmatic smile she gifts me along with it has me mentally replanning the next couple of days of meetings so I can take her to the family villa to show her the olive groves. I park the thought, knowing it’s too soon to suggest another meeting when we haven’t even eaten yet.

“I’ll pass on your compliments to my brother who runs that part of the company.”

“You have a brother?”

“I have three. Antonio, he’s the one with the olive oil. Then there’s Leonardo; he’s a chef in New York. And finally, the baby of the family, Nicolo, who is based in London.”

“That must have been fun growing up. I just have my sister.”

“Tell me about your sister.”

“Her name is Charli, and we’re identical twins.”

“Really? You mean there is another gorgeous brunette who looks just like you?”

She slaps me playfully on the chest at the compliment. Her eyes sparkle with delight when I place a hand on my chest like her soft tap wounded me.

“What? Your story is more impressive than having three brothers,” I argue.

She shakes her head, still smiling. “You Italian men love to throw out compliments like confetti.”

Another laugh bursts from me unexpectedly. She’s right, of course, though it’s not something I tend to do often.

Our two pizzas arrive before I can reply, and the conversation slows. I glance at my watch, wishing I didn’t have to return to the meeting.

“Do you need to be somewhere?” she asks, a crinkle in her shaped brow.

“Unfortunately, yes. Another meeting. But not yet. I still have time for us to enjoy our pizza.” The temptation to stay is strong. I’m enjoying Tori’s company. And what’s different with Tori is that it’s not because I want to tempt her into my bed. Although that would be an absolute pleasure.

“What were you writing in your book?” I ask, remembering earlier when I first noticed her.

“It’s a journal for my sister. This is the first time we’ve been apart, so I promised I’d write every day to tell her what I’d done and seen. We speak most days, but this is different. It’s like she’s travelling with me.”

She picks up a slice of pizza, folds the tip of the triangle up so the gooey cheese doesn’t slip off, and then takes a tiny bite.

“Will I make an entry in your journal?”

She finishes chewing. “You’ve already been mentioned as the hot Italian man sitting at a nearby table. ”

I bark out a laugh. Her lack of a filter is refreshing. “You think I’m hot?”

“I thought you were Italian. I’ll have to update that to American.”

This girl is awesome. Not only gorgeous, but clever and witty. “So tell me about the places you’ve been so far.”

And she does as we continue to eat our meal, entertaining me with funny stories of her travels through Germany and Switzerland before coming to Italy. It makes me wish for the freedom to be able to pack a bag and just go. Away from my CEO responsibilities and the overbearing demands of my father.

“Where to next?”

She wipes her fingers on a paper napkin. “Tomorrow, I’m going to Sorrento by ferry. My friends are already there. Then, after a few days, we’ll travel north to Rome, then Florence.”

Sorrento? I could take her on the company yacht. The idea quickly plants itself in my head, and before I can stop myself, the words roll off my tongue. “I could take you to Sorrento tomorrow.”

Her eyes pop wide. “Really? How?”

“I’ve got a boat.” At my words, she quirks one brow. “And I have a business meeting in Capri tomorrow. You could come with me to Capri for the day, and then I’ll drop you in Sorrento on the way back.”

Okay, so I don’t currently have a meeting in Capri, but I can arrange one with the manager of our small vineyard on the island. I’m overdue for a visit.

Her gaze holds mine as she considers the offer. It’s like she’s peeling back the layers of my skin and searching within. What does she see? Hopefully, a man she can trust and someone who genuinely wants to spend more time with her. I don’t look away because I want her to see me.

Those long dark lashes shutter closed, then open again. “Thank you, I’d like that.”

“Fantastic,” I exclaim, and the suddenness makes her jump. We spend a few minutes agreeing on a time to meet tomorrow morning in the lobby of my hotel, and then it’s time to go.

I stand, adjusting my jacket. “Thank you for joining me for dinner. I really enjoyed talking to you.”

She can’t possibly know how much I needed this interlude away from work or how grateful I am. I lean down to brush my lips across her smooth cheek. She smells like a field of wildflowers on a summer’s day, as sweet as honeysuckle and as intoxicating as jasmine. Beautiful, and I want to savor the scent, but I straighten.

She blinks up at me, her high cheekbones blushed pink.

“Good night, Tori,” I murmur, then leave, stopping briefly on the way out to say goodbye to Emilio and make sure he charges everything to me.