Cesca bit her lip. ‘I don’t understand it all. I mean, I can read some of it, the pastas are fairly simple, and I can translate some of the seafood. But the rest I can’t read at all.’
‘Would you like me to translate for you?’
She smiled at his kind offer. ‘I’ve got a better idea, why don’t you just order for me? You’ve been here before, you must know what’s good.’
Sam laughed. ‘I usually just let Alfredo order for me. I pretty much eat anything.’
‘Me, too.’ She tried not to think of her skip-diving days. ‘So let’s allow Alfredo to order for both of us.’
‘Sounds good to me.’
Cesca took a sip of her negroni. It was cool and sweet, the orange peel adding a citrusy edge. ‘This is delicious. And probably very intoxicating.’ She couldn’t even taste the alcohol, that was always a bad sign. ‘Remind me to only have one.’
‘They wouldn’t let you have another,’ Sam told her. A smile was still playing around his lips. ‘Next they’ll be plying you with different wines to accompany each course.’
Her eyes widened with alarm. ‘How many courses?’
‘Usually six or seven.’ He was grinning now.
‘I can’t drink six or seven glasses of wine. I’ll collapse at your feet.’ Her cheeks were starting to heat up.
‘I know. I remember the last time you drank red wine. I had to carry you to bed.’
Oh God, the mortification. She’d hoped he’d forgotten about that.
‘Well I won’t be drinking that much again. Especially if you’re driving. It’s no fun drinking on your own.’
‘It’s fun for me.’
‘I can imagine,’ she said drily. ‘Hefting me up some stairs while I mutter unintelligibly must have been a whole barrel of laughs.’
‘You weren’t muttering unintelligibly,’ Sam told her. ‘You were quite clear.’
Now her face was flaming. How had this conversation even come up? ‘I was?’
He nodded slowly. ‘Oh yes. You wanted me to know how much of a bastard I was.’
Cesca grimaced, burying her face in her hands. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I said that.’ A small lie. Of course she’d said it. It was nothing more than she’d been thinking since he arrived at the villa.
From the tone of his voice, Sam was enjoying making her blush. ‘Yep, to quote you, I’m a “mojo-stealing, house-invading, good-looking bastard”’.
Cesca couldn’t look at him, not when mortification was stealing over her like a shroud. Had she really described him that way? It sounded like something she would say.
Pushing her half-full glass of negroni away from her, she sighed. ‘I’m never drinking again.’
‘But you’re cute when you drink.’ He reached out, gently taking her hands in his. ‘And you’re truthful, too. I like that.’
‘You like being called a bastard?’
He shrugged. ‘At least I’m a good-looking bastard.’
She groaned again. ‘I need to be gagged. Or have a nil by mouth sign tattooed on my forehead.’
‘If it makes you feel any better I’ve been called much worse.’ He was still holding her hands.
‘If it makes you feel any better I’m sure I’ve called you much worse, too.’
‘I’ll bet you have.’