The Art of Stealing Kisses - Stella London Page 0,6

decide. “If that’s okay?”

“Of course.” St. Clair smiles at me. “I’d love to get to know everyone.”

He puts his hand on the small of my back as he follows me to the table and a little shiver runs up my spine. I hope I can keep my blushing under control - something tells me that Nona will notice everything.

We take our seats, with Giovanni and Nona joining us at the table. Carmella and Fred head back to work, and Cousin Eddie lingers nearby, glaring at St. Clair.

Giovanni passes a basket of fresh-baked ciabatta rolls around the table. St. Clair takes a bite and his expression freezes. “Oh my God, this is the best bread I’ve ever had.”

Giovanni laughs, “Everyone says that.” He beams proudly.

Nona says, “It’s the biga- a secret starter yeast recipe I brought from my grandmother’s kitchen in Naples, over fifty years ago. That’s the secret of good bread, it’s all in the right ingredients. Like a marriage,” she adds, giving me a look.

St. Clair chews a big mouthful. “It’s delicious,” he says and I smile. He’s figured out the way to their hearts, food of course, and won them over. “So tell me about how you started the restaurant?” St. Clair asks. “This place is an institution, I hear.”

Giovanni launches into the history I’ve heard a hundred times, so I sit back, and try to relax. Still, it’s strange to have everyone around the same table. The di Fiores know me as their waitress and surrogate daughter, but St. Clair’s only seen the face I present to the world: polished and confident— or at least trying to be. I wonder briefly what he makes of them. The restaurant is a far cry from the five-star restaurants he’s used to, with its homey feel and rustic food. But soon Charles is talking enthusiastically about the unusual foods he tried in Italy, and Giovanni and Nona are laughing along.

He fits. Somehow, St. Clair has the ability to walk into any room and put people at ease. It’s not just shallow charm, it’s how he’s genuinely interested in everyone and wants to hear their stories.

Dinner flies by, and once the plates have been cleared, Giovanni raises his glass. “A toast to our Gracie and Charles, and their big night out.”

A chorus of “hear hear”s go around.

St. Clair smiles. “And to the bread!”

I glance down at my watch, mindful that St. Clair is a guest of honor at the benefit tonight. “We’d better get going,” I say, apologetic.

“Thank you so much for a lovely meal,” St. Clair says to the di Fiores, shaking Giovanni’s hand. He kisses Nona on the cheek and gives Eddie a friendly shoulder-grab that I’m pleased to see Eddie return in kind. “I hope to see you all again soon.”

“I’ll just get my wrap,” I tell him, and go to the cloakroom at the back of the restaurant. Nona follows me.

She looks up at me, the wrinkles in her face creased with concern. “You seem very…taken with this young man.”

I blush. “I really like him,” I confess.

“I can see that. But don’t let your heart get so swept up that you cannot see the ground anymore, okay?”

I’m surprised. Where is this coming from? “Nona, I’m fine.” I kiss the top of her head. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

“Just be sure that you don’t let the stars get in your eyes, Gracie, dear.” She squeezes my hand. “All that glitters...”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

“I know you will,” she smiles gently.

I go to meet St. Clair by the doors, but I can’t help wondering if what Nona said is true. Is all this glitz going to blindside me into making bad decisions? Or even more troubling: has it already?

CHAPTER 3

When we arrive at the gala, I can’t believe the scene: it’s being hosted in the lobby of the new modern wing at the hospital, with a real-life red carpet and photographers lined up outside to snap the society arrivals. Camera lights flash and reporters toss out questions to the guests and I feel like a celebrity, walking up on St. Clair’s arm.

“Mr. St. Clair, over here!”

“Charles, a word!”

“St. Clair!”

He guides me smoothly past, pausing to talk about the great work the fundraisers did, and how many people the new wing will help.

“You’re so natural out there in front of all the press,” I say once we’re past the paparazzi.

His smile slips. “It’s part of the job,” he shrugs. “But to tell you the truth, it’s