Instead of stepping back, she stepped forward, into his personal space, showing him he couldn’t intimidate her. “Yes. I still want to work for you.”
“You’re a crazy woman.”
“I’m a desperate woman. Your confusion about painting me isn’t going to scare me.”
He out and out laughed at that. “Fine.”
She motioned to the door. “So let’s get back to the office and tackle those letters requesting commissions.”
* * *
He almost followed her to the door, but hesitated. He’d been thinking about painting her. Imagining it. Mentally feeling the sway of his brush along the canvas. The ease of movement of his arm and hand as they applied color and life to a blank space.
But his hand had shaken when he’d reached for a brush. His heart had pounded. His fingers refused to wrap around the thin handle.
“Come on, mister. I don’t have all day.”
He laughed. Dear God, how he wished he could get that on a canvas. Sensuality, sass and sense of humor. A few years ago, capturing that wouldn’t even have been a challenge. It would have been a joy. Today, he couldn’t pick up a brush.
He ran his shaky hand along his forehead as sadness poured through him. This place of being trapped between desire to paint and the reality that he couldn’t even pick up a brush was as hot and barren as hell.
And maybe she was Satan.
He glanced at her simple skirt, the shirt made for a man, the too-big glasses. Or maybe she was right. Maybe she was just a single woman looking to make a life for herself, and he was Satan—depriving her because he worried that he couldn’t endure seeing her pregnancy, watching another man’s child get the chance for life his child hadn’t. Watching her joy over becoming a mom.
“I’m not ready to answer the letters about commissions yet.” He wasn’t sure why he’d said that, except that turning everything down really was like telling the world his career was over. “But maybe it’s time I looked at some of the invitations.”
“Invitations?”
“To parties and galas and gallery openings.” He caught her gaze. “Maybe it’s time for me to get out into the world again.”
Who would have thought it would be running from a pretty girl that would force him back into the world he didn’t want to face? If it weren’t for his fears around her, he’d be staying right where he was—hiding.
Instead, he was about to face his greatest fear—getting back into the public eye.
ANTONIO MANAGED TO find a gallery opening for that weekend. He called Olivia, his manager, putting his phone on speaker, and Laura Beth heard the astonishment in her friend’s voice when Antonio told her he would be leaving for Barcelona that evening and would be at the event on Saturday night.
“I hadn’t planned on going myself,” Olivia said, her voice the kind of astonished happy that made Laura Beth stifle a laugh, since Olivia didn’t know Laura Beth was in the room, or even that she was in Italy, working for Antonio. “But I can be on Tucker’s plane tomorrow morning. In fact, my parents can stay with the kids and Tucker and I will both come. We’ll make a romantic weekend of it.”
Laura Beth glanced at Antonio, who quickly looked away. “You know I’d love to see you, but I’ll be okay on my own.”
“Oh, no, you won’t!” Olivia immediately corrected. “You’ll probably start telling people you never want to paint again, and all those great commission offers will be off the table. I’m going.”
He laughed and Laura Beth watched him, a mixture of curiosity and admiration tumbling around inside her like black and white towels in a dryer. She saw a dark, unhappy side of Antonio when he talked about painting. But with Olivia he could joke about it. So who was he showing the real Antonio? Her or Olivia?
He disconnected the call and rose from his desk. “I will be gone for the next few days. You have two choices. Enjoy the pool or sightsee.”
Watching him walk to the door, she swallowed. Had he just used work to get out of work? Maybe to show her she wasn’t needed?
When she didn’t answer him, Antonio motioned toward the door. “Come on, missy. I don’t have all day.”
Knowing she had no right to question him, she rose from her chair. “No fair using my own lines against me.”
He followed her out the door. “All’s fair.”
In love and war.
She knew the quote. She just didn’t know if he thought wanting to paint her was love or war.
* * *
Sitting alone in the huge, echoing dining room two nights later, Laura Beth felt like an idiot. She gathered her dish and silver and carried them into the kitchen.
Rosina about had a heart attack. “You are done? You barely ate two bites!”
“I’m lonely. I thought I’d come in here for company.”
“Francesca and Carmella are gone.”
She walked to the table and set down her plate. “But you’re still here.”
Rosina winced. “Sì.”
“Then I’ll talk to you.”
“You are a guest! You shouldn’t be in here and we’re not supposed to talk to you.”
“Did Antonio tell you that?”
“No. It’s good manners.”
“I’m not a guest. I’m an employee, like you. I should be eating in here. I would be eating in here with you if it weren’t for my friend Olivia, who is Antonio’s manager.”
Rosina eased to the table, slowly took a seat. “Sì, Miss Olivia.”
“I’m actually an IT person.” At Rosina’s frown, she clarified. “Information technology.” She took a bite of ravioli and groaned. “This is great.”
“You should eat lots of it.”
Laura Beth laughed. “And get big as a house?”
“You’re pregnant. You don’t need to worry about gaining a little weight.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
They chatted a bit about Rosina’s grandchildren. But the whole time they talked, Rosina looked over her shoulder, as if she was worried Antonio would arrive and scold her for fraternizing with his guests.
Respecting Rosina’s fear, Laura Beth ate breakfast by herself Friday morning, but by lunch she couldn’t stand being alone another second. She wandered into the kitchen long before noon and actually made her own sandwich, which seemed to scandalize Carmella.
She tried to eat alone at dinnertime, but the quiet closed in on her, and she took her plate and silver into the kitchen again.
Rosina sighed but joined her at the table.
“I’m sorry. I just hate being alone.”
Rosina shook her head. “This isn’t the way it works in a house with staff.”
“I know. I know. But I still say we’re both employees and we should be allowed to talk.”
The sound of the doorbell echoed in the huge kitchen. Rosina’s face glowed with relief as she bounced off