In the Market for Love - By Nina Blake Page 0,20
room.
The ceiling was warped and looked like it might cave in as large dark wooden beams struggled to hold its weight. The walls were whitewashed, forming the backdrop to an eclectic mix of paintings of landscapes and piazzas of Italy. The roughly hewn wooden tables were largely unadorned.
Rachel was transported to another country and felt as if she’d chanced by an Italian trattoria on her travels. This wasn’t at all what she was expecting.
“So you made it here alright?”
Jake’s voice was deep and guttural, intoxicating even when his words were matter of fact.
She turned to face him. “Of course.”
He took a step back, a subtle smile washing across his face as his eyes skimmed the length of her figure. The crimson top she wore was clingy and its deep V neckline exposed rather more cleavage than was usual for her. The top might not have been her first choice if she’d known she was having lunch with Jake, but he could look if he wanted.
A young waiter knew Jake by name and seated them at a small rustic square table in a corner. He handed them menus and placed cold water on the table.
“Shall we order first or go through the agenda?” Rachel asked.
Jake’s lips curled up at the corners. “What agenda?”
“I thought you wanted to meet over lunch. I presume we’re here for a purpose.”
“Oh, we are.”
She looked him in the eye with an air of confidence to match his own. “Well there’s no need to let me in on the secret.”
The head waiter, a rotund Italian fellow, came over to their table.
“Jake, so nice to see you again,” he said loudly. “And who is the lovely signorina?”
Jake introduced her to Carlo.
“Bellissima.” Carlo was even louder than before.
“And was the last lady Jake brought here also bellissima?” Rachel asked.
“Certamente,” Carlo said. “Molto bellissima. But she wasn’t a signorina. It was his mother, Signora Austin.”
Not the answer she was expecting. So Jake was close to his mother.
He then ordered a glass of red wine for himself and sparkling mineral water for her.
Carlo continued. “The cook has done a wonderful job with the pasta arrabiata today but it will not be as ‘hot’ as your signorina.”
“Perfect,” Jake said. “We’ll have an antipasto platter to start and two pasta dishes for mains.”
Carlo left them.
“So you’ve decided what I’m having for lunch, have you?” Rachel asked.
“Actually I didn’t decide what we’re having. Carlo did. That’s the secret to ordering at this place. I have them bring me whatever is freshest and best on the day. That’s why I like it here. It doesn’t look like much from the outside but the food is excellent. Just simple good food.”
Rachel was still determined to have some fun with him. “Sounds to me like you’re avoiding taking responsibility.”
“On the contrary, I think you can take responsibility for the pasta.”
“How’s that?”
“Arrabiata means ‘angry’ in Italian and that’s the kind of pasta we’re having. Carlo seems to think it’ll suit you. That is, after your comment about the other signorinas.”
Rachel laughed. “Really? At least I know you aren’t trying to impress me. If you were, you’d probably take me one of those expensive fine dining establishments.”
He shrugged. “Maybe next time I will. But, tell me, which would you prefer, a flash restaurant or the place I take my mother?”
“What’s the saying? Mother knows best.”
“I’m very close to her,” Jake said. Rachel nodded for him to continue. “She raised my brother and me on her own and did a darn good job even though she was up against it. We were a bit of a handful.”
“Oh I’d believe that!”
“We needed a man in our lives and our father wasn’t there so we rebelled. Got into a bit of trouble. My mother is a strong woman. She had to be to raise us on her own. I’ve always admired strong women. Women who can make it on their own. My grandmother was the same, taking over the farm when Pop damaged his back. They were married for over 50 years. Now that was a marriage.”
“What about your father?”
“My parents divorced when we were young and he spent the rest of his time making his millions,” he said. “Apparently money was more important than spending time with his sons. Even after all these years I still don’t know him but I have this horrible feeling I might be a bit like him.”
Rachel thought about her own family and how close she and her sister were to their parents. Although they were