Page 50 of Wounded King

"Something? All of it looks so delicious. I have no idea what to choose. Will you do it for me?"

I waive the maître de over and whisper in his ear, while I watch Violet take in the fake grapes hanging from support beams surrounded by twinkle lights, utterly unaware of how beautiful she looks bathed in this golden glow.

"Is this really how Italy looks?" She asks after the maître de leaves with his orders.

"It's a very inventive duplicate, but nothing compares to Sicily," I say, watching her. "Thomaso has created a very clever illusion, but the air in Sicily is heavier. Filled with the scent of flowers and citrus fruit. Around this time in the evening, you would hear the last noises of birds as they search for a place to rest for the night. You'd also hear the wind whisper through the palm tree leaves. The stars and moon would be brighter, and the sound of rushing waves would lure you in to go for a swim."

She looks at me with wide eyes. "Wow, I had no idea you were such a romantic. You must miss Sicily."

"I used to," I look straight at her. Having mercy on her after her face flushes, I add, "Have you ever been to Italy?"

"Me?" she laughs, "Never."

She reaches for a bread roll and delicately breaks off a piece before buttering it. I'm holding my breath as I watch her chew it.

"Oh my… wow, this is the most delicious bread I've ever eaten."

I smile. "That's because you Americans befoul your flour. Thomaso imports everything from Italy, including the flour."

"Befoul our flour?" She asks, amused.

I nod and wave my hand, "Si, but let's not talk about unpleasant things like the obscenities Americans do to their food."

"Alright." The maître de arrives with the wine, opens it in front of us, and pours a small amount into my glass for me to taste.

"I thought this only happened in movies," Violet watches me intently.

I wave the maître de on, and he fills our glasses, first hers and then mine.

"To a wonderful dinner," I toast.

"To your recovery," she smiles.

I follow her example and take a roll, butter it, and bite in. She's right, they are heavenly. It's been a few months since I've been here, but Thomaso always keeps a table ready for me. I vow to start making it worth his while and come here a bit more often again.

"I've heard you came to honor me and brought the most bellissima signorina with you." His deep voice sounds out behind me, as if by thinking of him, I somehow conjured him up, like calling Beetlejuice three times.

"Thomaso," I turn, rising and resigning myself to take the bear hug he's going to give me.

"It's been too long, my friend. I was worried your table would get all dusty."

"It has," I agree, enduring two slobbery kisses to my cheeks and a squeeze against his massive frame that makes every single one of my healing injuries scream. "A mistake I promise I will rectify from now on."

He turns questioningly at Violet, and a jolt of possessiveness overcomes me when she smiles at him warmly.

"This is Violet. Violet, meet Thomaso, an old friend and the owner of this wonderful establishment."

"That wouldn't have been possible without your help," he reminds me, like he always does.

"It's my great honor and pleasure to meet you, signorina," Thomaso pulls out all the charm, takes Violet's hand, and kisses it. I dig the tips of my fingers into my chair, willing myself not to jump up and link them around his round neck. I'm unable to explain the urge. I have no fucking idea what's wrong with me. I've introduced many women to this womanizer and haveneverfelt like this before.

Violet giggles adoringly, "It's a pleasure to meet you, too. Your bread rolls are to die for."

"Wait until you try my spaghetti." He finally releases her hand to push his thumb and forefinger together and press them against his lips, letting out a loud smacking sound. "Then you'll think you died and went to heaven." He winks, and one of my nails breaks on the chair.

"I can't wait," she beams up at him, totally oblivious to my seething temper. My ass partially lifts out of the seat.

As if sensing my displeasure, Thomaso turns to me, putting a hand on my shoulder, pushing me back down, grinning from ear to ear. "This man here is a keeper, Signorina Violet. You better not let him escape. Did you know that he financed my restaurant?"