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She blinked, shocked. Then she laughed. “You’re right. It’s the statement I gave to the press.”

“Okay. I’ll ask a more personal question. Why did you choose to design women’s clothes?”

“What woman doesn’t like fashion? It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

“Surely there’s more, another reason?”

Mira eased her hand from his. She sliced into her fish. “You’ve seen my work. That’s my passion. End of story.”

A more patient man would have moved to another discussion. He was never a patient man. There was more to this woman than the fancy dress he saw her grace along her runway. She looked stunning, but out of place around the flashing bulbs and applause. Dominic told him that the Milan show was the first she’d been invited to in Italia. Lorenzo shared that Fabiana was intent on a vacation for them both. An escape. Why would she need an escape from her passion?

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” He smiled.

“Staring.”

He nodded. “I guess I am.”

“Something else you want to say?”

Giovanni fingered the stem on his wine glass. He watched her lips part to accept a small portion of fish from her fork and the way she chewed lightly, the tip of her tongue peeking out to swipe at the corner of her mouth. What man wouldn’t stare?

“Who are you? Really?” she asked.

“Now we’re back to me? Is that your final question?”

“Depends on your answer.” She winked.

“I’m a man who makes it his business to understand the motivations of people. What they want, what they need, what their weaknesses are.”

“Why would you become that kind of man?” She frowned.

“A birthright.”

“Interesting.” She ate a bit more.

“When I was a boy my father decided to test me. He made me stand on the edge of a cliff and jump into the sea.”

Her gaze shot back to him. “What? How old were you?”

“Five or Six.” Giovanni said. “Do you know why he did that?”

“That’s awful. Your father forced a six year-old to jump off a cliff?”

“I survived.” His lips twisted and settled into a smile. “Do you know why he did this?”

“No. I don’t know why any sane parent would do that to their child.”

Her bitter reply was followed by a deep frown. Giovanni conceded that Tomosino had ways that kept his mother in fear most of her life. But as a man he understood his father much better now. “Shall I explain?”

“Please.”

“A father wants a son in his own image. Mine did. The events in our childhood strengthen character, shape our lives, and decide the steps we will take to be the people we are born to be. I’m his son. Many still question this fact, and I suppose he did too at one point. Not because of the blood in my veins but my heart and what it was made of.” Giovanni’s voice became hoarse with emotion. He never spoke of his father so openly, not even with Catalina. To show weakness in his life would be a deadly mistake. Mira listened intently. She soothed him, even seduced him with her patient understanding. So he continued. “We are who our parents raise us to be. My accomplishments and failures are because of what I learned the day I jumped off the cliff. I’m Tomosino Battaglia’s son and someday I’ll be made to prove it. Now I’ll ask you again. Who are you Mira? And why do you design women’s clothes?”

Mira recoiled a bit inside to hear the hard truths of his childhood. He seemed so jaded by it all. A father who would force his young boy off a cliff sounded like a madman. To hear Giovanni speak of him, it was an act of love. She lowered her fork. Her heart softened for the man in front of her. Though handsome and obviously wealthy, he sounded empty She stared into the misty blue swirls of his eyes. All too quickly, she ran out of diversions. Her chest swelled with remembrance and emotions of her empty childhood. The choices she made were shaped from it. He was right.

“Who are you?” he asked again.