Page 43 of Cinderella-ish
“Of course. We reserved it, knowing you’re in town. Welcome back, by the way,” Matteo says, speaking English very fluently, albeit with a sultry Italian accent. He’s a tall, older man, with heavy wrinkles defining his face. He grabs two small menus and gestures for us to follow him, leading the way past a few occupied tables to the back of the restaurant. Away from everyoneelse.
“Here you are,” he says, pulling out a chair for me to take a seat. “And here are your menus. Can I get you both something todrink?”
“I’ll have an espresso, please,” Antonio says, peering down at hisphone.
Matteo nods. “And you, Signorina? Would you like espresso, aswell?”
“May I have alatte?”
Matteo tilts his head, shooting me a doubtful glance, and Antonio immediately lifts his gaze from his phone tome.
“Uh, Signorina…just to be certain, you would like a cup ofmilk?”
Antonio flashes an empathy-laced smile. “She’ll have an espresso macchiato, Matteo. Thank you,” Antonio replies, saving me furtherembarrassment.
I smile appreciatively and hide behind my now-openmenu.
Antonio chuckles. “You’re cute. I should have warned you about the latte. But I just assumed you wantedespresso.”
“And an espresso macchiatois?”
“Espresso with a splash of frothy milk. I think you’ll enjoyit.”
Feeling it’s safe to remove the menu from shielding my rosy face, I find my voice and reply, “Thank you. I reckon while we’re here, you can order forme.”
“That’s too much pressure. What if I order something you don’tlike?”
“I’ll starve and lose a few pounds. Then people will mistake me for a lean and hotmodel.”
He leans into the table; his eyes dance around mine. “Like they don’t mistake you for one,already?”
He’s not flirting. He’s only beingpolite.
Feeling a flash of heat overtake me, I pick up a folded cloth napkin and fan myface.
And this is only thebeginningof day one inMilan.
Only nine more days togo.
Complimentary pastries are delivered to our table, along with our smooth-tasting espressos. I’m still a little too excited to eat more than a couple of bites of my cornetto—which is a light pastry similar to a croissant. And Antonio is engrossed in hisphone.
“TMZ has us pegged as lovers,” he says, lookingannoyed.
“Right. Emma showed me the photos lastnight.”
“Daniella, I am so sorry to have your name smeared over the media. I-I thought for sure the sunglasses would help. But I suspect they followed me from my house to yours, most likely tipped about my airline reservation.” He signals for the waiter who served ourfood.
“I’m not concerned. I mean, I know very few people who will even care about me in the news.” I reach over and touch his hand. “Seriously, it’sokay.”
He raises his eyebrows briefly. “Well, if you say so. Still, I want to protect your dignity in the future. I’ll figure somethingout.”
Matteo comes and clears the table. “Thank you, Signore. Do you need somethingelse?”
“No, thank you. Just the check,please.”
“Signor Michaels…it’s on the house. Enjoy the rest of your day.” He nods and walksaway.
“I hate when they won’t let me pay.” Antonio tosses his napkins onto the table. “Come on, we need to pick up thecar.”
