A Moment on the Lips - By Kate Hardy Page 0,53

the way he’d reacted last night at his family birthday meal, probably not. She still didn’t quite understand why he was backing away from her, why he was so insistent that a relationship between them wouldn’t work. Over the last few weeks, since she’d got to know him, she’d revised her own opinion on that score. Yes, they came from different worlds; but she thought that they balanced each other nicely. He’d taught her a lot about business, and he’d given her the confidence to run Tonielli’s because she was beginning to understand what she was doing. She’d discovered that she had a serious side, and people were at last taking her seriously, thanks to him. And she was teaching him to relax and that you didn’t have to work every second of the day, putting some balance back into his life, too. She liked his family, and she was pretty sure that he liked hers, otherwise he wouldn’t be mentoring her.

Together, they could be such a great team.

How could she persuade him to give them that chance?

That evening, she almost dressed up and put on full make-up. Then again, that was just surface and Dante saw deeper than that. He would tease her for being princessy if she wore a dress. And she didn’t want him to think she was just a clothes horse. She wanted him to take her seriously—as herself, not just in business. So she contented herself with changing into a clean pair of jeans and one of the little strappy tops she knew he liked, left her hair down and brushed it until it shone, and added a slick of lipstick and a touch of mascara.

When he arrived, he was carrying two parcels. ‘What’s that?’ she asked.

‘Pizza.’

She rolled her eyes at him. ‘I know that—you said you were bringing it. I meant the other box. The one that isn’t pizza-sized.’

‘All in good time, Princess.’

The teasing smile in his eyes warmed her.

‘We’d better eat. The pizza’s getting cold.’

It was as good as he’d promised. And there was an expression on his face she hadn’t seen before when he looked at her. She couldn’t even begin to guess what it meant; but she tried really hard not to hope for too much. To hope that two nights of sleeping away from her had made him realise that he missed her. That his bed, like hers, felt just too big for one.

‘New flavours of ice cream, hmm?’

‘This one’s meant to be hot.’ She brought out the first tub from the freezer.

‘Hot ice cream?’ He gave her a half-smile, and took a spoonful.

‘What do you think?’

‘Honest opinion?’ At her nod, he grimaced. ‘Either you overdid the chilli, or it works much better in chocolate bars than it does in ice cream.’

She tried a spoonful. ‘Much as I hate to admit it, you’re right.’

The blackberry sorbet was much better, and this time she actually got a compliment from him. Then he smiled at her. ‘I was going to buy you flowers to say thank you for spoiling me in Paris.’

‘You really don’t have to.’ And clearly he hadn’t, because that box wasn’t the right size to contain flowers.

‘But I thought you might like this a bit more.’ He handed her the parcel. ‘It’s an unbirthday present. Just to tell you that I …’ He stopped.

Her heart skipped a beat. And another. Was he going to say it? The words she was so sure she’d heard that night in Paris?

‘ … I appreciate you,’ he finished, looking wary.

Was that Dante-speak for I love you?

Or was she hoping for way too much?

She undid the wrappings. It felt like a frame of some kind. And it had been very well wrapped. Wrappings she recognised as the kind she’d used at Amy’s gallery.

And then she unwrapped the final bit and saw what he’d bought her.

The painting she’d fallen in love with in Paris.

‘Oh, my God. Dante. It’s …’ Her eyes filled with tears.

‘That was the one you liked?’ he asked, sounding suddenly unsure.

‘Yes, but it was hideously expensive.’

He shrugged. ‘Money’s not important.’

‘It’s beautiful. And you hate it. Yet you bought it for me.’

‘Because it made your face light up,’ he said simply.

She felt her bottom lip wobble. ‘I think I’m going to cry.’

‘No, you’re not.’

He looked panicky; obviously he found tears unsettling, and yet he’d let her cry all over him in the past. Especially that time when her English grandparents had sent her the film from her childhood. ‘These are happy tears,’ she