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“Ha!” Fabiana laughed. “And Kei wasn’t intense? The man treated you like you were his chocolate covered love toy.”

Mira chuckled at the comparison. Kei had never been as controlling as Fabiana thought. Mira was very old fashioned when it came to relationships. She believed in catering to her man as long as it was a shared experience. Kei was the type of man who’d paint her toenails while she read her favorite book or rise from bed in the middle of the night to get her pain pills because she had menstrual cramps. When they were alone he always proved to be very loving and tender with her. “Kei and I had an understanding. But we grew apart, and it makes me sad. I’ve changed. I’m not the nineteen year-old girl who needed a father figure, lover, and friend. I’m a woman now. Kei said he didn’t want me to change, and I couldn’t stay the same for him no matter how much I tried.”

“He wanted to marry you.”

She nodded. “Yes. And I have my regrets. Things ended badly. I hurt him. But it’s over now, and I’m ready to move on. I think.”

Francesco returned to the table with the arrival of a meal she hadn’t had a chance to order.

“He says it’s prepared just for us from the chefs.” Fabiana translated Francesco’s announcement. Mira found herself a bit disappointed that the evening would be shared with the man who was all hands and bad breath. Francesco sat next to her again, embarrassingly close. She could stand it no more.

“Oh, good grief! I don’t feel like putting up with this tonight.” Mira knocked Francesco’s hand from her knee and shot him a murderous warning. He began to apologize in Italian, and she rolled her eyes when his hand returned to her thigh.

“Lorenzo should be back soon,” Fabiana said.

“Well this one here is giving me the creeps. Would you keep your damn hands off me?” Mira snapped. Francesco threw his napkin down on the table and rose saying something heatedly in Italian before storming off. They looked at him and then each other before exploding in laughter.

Fabiana picked up her wine in a mock toast to his departure. “Yeah, sorry about Mr. Gigolo. Apparently, he thinks you’re a stuck up American bitch.”

Mira frowned. “Is that what that pip-squeak said?”

Fabiana nodded. Mira sighed, resigned to the fact that she’d never escape the place until Fabiana had at least one more conversation with her heartthrob. She rose from her seat. The bathroom had to be close. “I’ll be back.”

“The monk fish is good, hurry.” Fabiana grinned.

Mira searched the way for the bathroom and found herself in a dead end. She stopped a drink waiter with her hand to his arm. The young man blinked at her.“Bagno?”she said, asking for the bathroom in her limited Italian. He pointed to the far left, in the direction of the private dining area. She nodded and made her way.

A man dining with what looked to be a young group of friends actually yelled something to her from across his table, startling her for a moment. The men weren’t shy in Italy. She did however notice that most things in Italy were small. The plates were small, the men were short, the rooms were tiny, the closets, even the cars. That was until she saw Lorenzo. He was quite tall and imposing. A giant among the men she met thus far.

And she’d met quite a few men. The flattery over the attention her dark skin drew had become a bit overwhelming. Older men in particular took notice of her when she entered or left a room. She flashed the guy a sweet smile and kept moving. When she drew closer to the hall, which led to the bathroom, she caught the shadow of a man’s tall form from the corner of her eye. Her gaze flickered left.

It was Lorenzo. He walked up three purple velvet steps where four men were seated in a private meeting. The walls circling behind them held shelves of wine bottles, and the large round table spaciously sat ten to twelve easily. Mira’s attention was immediately drawn to the man seated before the center of the table. Who wouldn’t be? Even in the dim lighting it was clear he had a strikingly handsome face compared to the others. She found him a bit similar to Fabiana’s heartthrob Lorenzo. His hair was dark, thick, it brushed his collar and was tucked behind his ears combed back from his face. And his dark brows were drawn together over piercing light eyes. She guessed them to be blue, but wasn’t sure.

The man in all black tilted his gaze up to Lorenzo upon his arrival. He appeared remote, cool, and a bit disinterested. An air of authority clung to his persona and reminded her of how at times Chinese store owners in Chinatown would behave when Kei took her to dinner. They always regarded him with respect and humility. Kei dismissed it, but she knew there was more to him than the investment banker he claimed to be. And this one here was Kei magnified by ten.

Deep within her core her body warmed with mounting curiosity. She watched him lift a glass and take a sip, causing a ring on his pinky to catch the light. The center was a black stone, possibly onyx, but there was something engraved in gold on top of it. She had an eye for detail, and the ring thankfully wasn’t on his wedding finger. The stranger possessed broad shoulders. She guessed his height equaled Lorenzo’s. Without thought or reason she moved closer, drawn like a penny to a magnet, desperate for a better look.

Despite her best efforts, her clear view of the stranger had become obstructed. Lorenzo’s towering form before the table forced her to step forward and to the right to get another glimpse. He clasped his hands behind his back as he spoke to the group. For a moment everyone at the table seemed to tense and go still over whatever news Lorenzo delivered. The man in the center studied Lorenzo. An impatient scowl had hardened his handsome features and stopped Mira cold. The stranger spoke. She wished she could hear his voice; a man’s voice was always telling for her. The group exploded into a chorus of laughter, including Lorenzo. Whatever tension occupied the gathered men had subsided. Without warning, his gaze shifted and locked on her.

Surprised, she froze.

Dammit! What are you doing Mira?

He was undeniably focused on her solely and the raw intensity made him still as well. An eternity passed before she could even muster the courage to take a breath.Run! Girl, turn and run to the bathroom. You look like a fool watching this man. Go! Go! Go!The corner of his mouth curled up sly and easy, half shaping a smile. She felt her cheek twitch with the making of her own smile.Oh good grief, are you flirting with this man?He winked at her. It was as if he telepathically transmitted into her thoughts an invitation through his wink. Lorenzo noticed. He glanced back over his shoulder, and he too soon wore a darkly suggestive smirk.

She lost her nerve.

The attention from them both forced her legs to move. She quickened her steps and beat a path to the bathroom. Once inside, air returned to her lungs. “Goodness!” she laughed. “What the hell was I thinking?”

It took several minutes for her heart to calm to a manageable beat. Mira walked over to a chaise in the suite outside of the stalls and dropped on it. She needed to get her emotions under control. First, she couldn’t stop the memories of the life she’d abandoned with Kei in New York. Then a wink from a stranger had her conjuring up rebellious naughty thoughts. Even now she felt a bit giddy remembering the cool calm leveled at her in his gaze.

“Fabiana is right, I really do need to get out more,” she sighed. Three long years of hard work and sweat had garnered her the acclaim to show off her designs along one of the most sought after catwalks in the world.

The success, however, had come with a heavy burden. It was a hard business to be in. Many marginalized her work by labeling her a ‘black’ designer. It was a fickle business, too. Financial backing could be extremely lacking if she failed to stun critics with original and trend setting material. This is why her focus had been singular, and she remained so committed. It’s also why her relationship began to suffer. No matter how sexy the man in black appeared, she had no time for flirting or God forbid a new romance. She shuddered at the thought of it.

Determined, she collected herself and used the facilities. In Italy, they referred to the bathroom as the toilette and she always had to flush by pressing a button above the commode. She washed her hands with perfumed soap, and refreshing her makeup, she felt a bit more at ease. There were times when the death of her grandparents would drill her purpose in her hard. She was alone in the world. Her mother died when she was a baby, and she never knew her father. She would often wonder about who he was. Maybe she could convince Fabiana to abandon the romantic notions of the city and just do some fun girl things. Neither of them had the time nor energy for much relaxation. A spa trip and some snorkeling along the beaches of Capri might do them some good after the show. Mira escaped the bathroom and stopped. Francesco paced angrily outside of the door.

He followed me?