The Italian Read online

  The Italian

  T L Swan

  Copyright © 2019 by T L Swan

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the Author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations or places is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the Author. All songs, song titles and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  Contents

  Gratitude

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Ferrara - Coming Soon

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  Also by T L Swan

  Stanton Adore Excerpt

  For my Family

  Gratitude

  The quality of being thankful;

  Readiness to show appreciation for and to return kindness.

  Trust in the universe.

  It always delivers.

  1

  Olivia

  I stare up at the sign above the door, and I smile.

  When in Rome

  That’s me, in Rome, loving myself sick.

  The weather is warm, the scenery is breathtaking, and Rome is everything I dreamt it would be.

  I’m in week two of a five-week Italian vacation. I’ve been to Venice and I’ve been to Tuscany. I may also be in the middle of a small midlife crisis, but whatever. It’s forced me out of my comfort zone and into this Heaven, so I’ll take it.

  I push open the dark, heavy, timber door, and I walk into the bar and restaurant. It’s dusk outside, and the restaurant is large with a huge back garden area. Fairy lights are lighting up the space, and it has a party feel to it with jovial laughter echoing loudly around me. A three-piece band are playing at the front, and the place is a hive of activity. One man is singing, while two others play guitar. I can’t understand what they’re saying but I don’t need to. It sounds so good—so Italian.

  I take a seat at a table for two outside in the courtyard.

  “Buona sera.” The waiter grins as he approaches.

  I smile nervously. “Do you speak English?”

  “Ah, yes, Madame. How can I help you?”

  I quickly peruse the menu. “May I have a Prosecco, please?”

  “Ottimo.” He nods and takes off in the direction of the bar, leaving me to look around in wonder at the gorgeous surroundings.

  Everything is exaggerated in Italy. The hand gestures, the laughing, the story telling.

  The beauty of the language. I could sit and listen to people speak Italian all day, and I have done so for fourteen days straight now.

  It’s been the best trip. I thought I would have been nervous traveling on my own, but I’ve found an inner bravery I didn’t know I had. I’ve eaten out every night by myself, and I haven’t once felt self-conscious or unsafe. The people are all so lovely and friendly that I feel totally at home.

  I glance around the crowded bar and see people drinking, laughing, and having the time of their lives. I find myself smiling as I watch them talk with their friends.

  The waiter comes back with an entire bottle of Prosecco, and my face falls. Oh jeez,

  I meant a glass, not the whole damn bottle. I’m going to have to pace myself.

  I watch on as he pours me a glass. “Grazie.” I smile.

  He nods as he gestures to the food menu. “I back soon, okay?”

  “Yes, okay.” I open my menu and look down at the choices as he runs off to tend to other customers.

  Everything is written in Italian. Some choices I can make out, and others I have no idea about. I look at the people at the tables around me to see what they are eating.

  There’s pizza, pasta, something in a hot pot. Everything does look delicious, though. I look up to the bar and stare straight into the eyes of a man. I didn’t notice him before. He’s standing with a group of men. He’s huge, towering above the others around him. His black hair has a little length to it, with a curl, and his eyes are dark. Those eyes are unmistakably locked on me, and he doesn’t look away. Instead, he dips his head and gives me a slow, sexy smile.

  My stomach flips—his gaze is intense… hungry.

  Is he doing that to me, or is his girlfriend behind me?

  I sip my drink and casually look at the surrounding tables. I drag my eyes back to my menu and scan back through the choices. He has me flustered from just one look. From my peripheral vision, I feel him still watching me, and I glance back over.

  Our eyes meet and he smiles again, prompting me to give him a reaction. I have no idea if he’s smiling at me or not, but I decide to play along with the fantasy that is him.

  I give a weak smile, and then in slow motion his lips curl into the sexiest damn smile I’ve ever seen. How can a smile be so fucking sexy?

  He’s absolutely drop dead gorgeous—tall, dark, exotic. He’s everything I’m not.

  I look back down at my menu.

  Focus fool.

  Abbacchio alla Cacciatora

  Abbacchio Brodettato

  Bistecca Fiorentina

  Braciole

  Braciolone

  Bresaola

  Brodo

  Cacciatore

  I frown as I look down at the choices, and I turn the page. A million delicious things on the menu, and I’m about to no doubt order something crap that I’ll hate.

  I glance back up to the Italian Stallion and he’s gone. My heart drops.

  “Looking for me?” I hear a deep voice say from behind me.

  I jump and turn and see him standing behind me. “W-what?” I stammer as I stare up at the god.

  His eyes hold mine. “I asked if you were looking for me.”

  I stare at him, electricity zaps through the air between us. I’m unable to think because of his close proximity. He’s even more delicious up close, if that’s even possible.

  “Ahh.” I pick up my drink and take a big gulp. “No, actually.”

  He chuckles, the sound deep and raspy. It does things to my insides.

  He holds out his hand for me to take. “My name is Enrico Ferrara.”

  I place my hand into his. Its big, warm, and holy hell, is this happening?

  Enrico sounds so exotic.

  “I’ve been watching you from the bar,” he says with a heavy accent.

  “You have?”

  “Do you need some help?”

  Help with what? Kissing? Undressing? Unzipping your trousers?

  Stop it.

  He smirks to h
imself as if knowing exactly what I was thinking. “Help with the menu.” He gestures to the menu in my hand. “I saw you frowning while reading it.”

  “Oh, of course.” I giggle nervously and drain my glass. Idiot. “Yes, that would be great, thank you.”

  He sits down opposite me and steeples his hands under his chin. His eyes are assessing me. “Come ti chiami?”

  I don’t know what he just said, but fuck, it sounded good. “I don’t speak Italian, I’m sorry.”

  “What is your name?” he repeats in English.

  “Oh.” I shake my head, flustered. Honestly, this guy needs to go away, I’m embarrassing myself here. “Olivia Reynolds.”

  He picks up my hand across the table and slowly kisses the backs of my fingers, leaving me to watch on. “Olivia,” he purrs. “What a beautiful name.”

  Oh jeez. “Thank you.”

  We stare at each other, and my heart is beating hard in my chest from the feeling of his lips. A trace of a smile crosses his mouth, and he’s clearly amused by my physical reaction to him.

  Annoyed with myself, I snatch my hand away and open my menu. Unexpectedly, he does the same.

  “What would you like to eat, bella?”

  You. I would like to eat you. “What would you suggest?” I ask casually as I pretend to read through the choices. I can’t see a thing. I have double vision from the smell of his aftershave. Why does he smell so good?

  He raises his brow at me. “You like meat?”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “Yes.”

  His eyes drop to my lips, and I feel my insides clench.

  Okay…what the actual hell is going on here? This guy is insanely sexual.

  “When was your last meal?”

  I look up into his stare…what are we talking about here? Food? Sex? It’s been twelve hours since food and twelve months since sex.

  I’m basically fucking starving in all areas. “Too long.”

  Arousal flares in his eyes, and I know in that very second that we are talking about sex.

  He sits back and steeples his hands under his chin again. “You’re beautiful. Where are you from?”

  “Australia.”

  “Where is your man?”

  I frown. “I haven’t met him yet.”

  Our eyes lock as tension bounces between us. I’ve never encountered a sexual attraction to someone like this before. You read about it, but it’s never actually happened to me.

  I break the silence. “Where is your… other half?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Oh.” I pretend to read the menu once more.

  “What are you doing in Rome?” he asks.

  “I’m on vacation.”

  “Alone?”

  “No. My girlfriends are back at the hotel,” I lie. Rule 101: never tell anyone you are travelling alone. See, Mom, I do remember some rules.

  “Why are you here alone… in this bar?”

  “You’re very nosey.” He frowns as if not understanding the term. “Inquisitive,” I add.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You want to know everything.”

  He breaks out into a broad beautiful smile. “I do.” He reaches over and picks up a piece of my shoulder length, honey-blonde hair. “So fair,” he says. “Is your hair fair like this everywhere?”

  I swallow the lump in my throat as my heart has an epileptic fit.

  He smiles as if fascinated and takes my face in his hands. “Blue eyes.”

  “The opposite to you,” I breathe.

  “Opposites attract.” His eyes drop to my lips again.

  Okay, what the actual fuck is going on here?

  I pull out of his grip and open the menu in a fluster. “The food,” I remind him.

  He sits back, clearly annoyed that I pulled away from him. “I already know what you are eating tonight.”

  “You do?”

  His eyes hold mine. “And so do you.”

  I begin to hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Is he thinking what I’m thinking? “What’s that?”

  “Pasta.”

  “Pasta?” I frown.

  “Yes, of course. What did you think I meant?”

  I giggle and refill my glass.

  “What were you thinking, Olivia?”

  “I don’t know. You have me all flustered.”

  He frowns. “Flustered?” I can see him trying to translate the word. “Like a chicken? You mean plucked?”

  I laugh. “Yes, plucked like a chicken.”

  He smiles and holds his glass up to clink it with mine. “I hope to pluck you many more times tonight, Olivia.”

  The word play between P and F has never been so high. I smile goofily as we stare at each other, electricity buzzes between us, our glasses touch.

  I need to change the subject. “What do you do for work, Enrico?”

  “Poliziotto.”

  “Huh?”

  “Policeman?”

  “Ah.” I smile. “Law enforcer.”

  “Yes.”

  I feel myself relax a little. If he’s a policeman, I’m safe.

  A man approaches the table and says something in Italian. Enrico answers him, and then turns to me.

  “Olivia, meet my brother Andrea.”

  “Hello.” I smile as we shake hands.

  “Hello, nice to meet you.” He smiles. He’s slightly younger than Enrico, but with the same gorgeous bloodline: dark hair, olive skin, and big brown eyes. He, too, is deliciously handsome, though in a completely different way to his brother. He seems softer but the family resemblance is strong.

  “Andrea is a doctor here in Rome,” Enrico says proudly.

  “Oh, wow, that’s amazing.” I begin to feel at ease. He’s a cop and his brother is a doctor. Maybe Enrico isn’t a serial killer after all.

  “Thank you. Are you English?” Andrea asks.

  “Australian.”

  “Ah, I see.” He smiles and turns to his brother. “Are you coming with me, Rico, or are you staying? I have to go now. I have work in the morning.”

  Rico. They call him Rico. I like that.

  Enrico’s eyes come back to me. “No, I’m going to eat pasta with Olivia, and then show her why I’m the best dancer in all of Italy.”

  Andrea rolls his eyes, and I smile into my drink.

  Sounds so fun.

  “All right then, good luck, Miss Olivia.” Andrea bends to kiss my cheeks. “You will need it. It was nice to meet you.”

  “Goodbye, Andrea.”

  He disappears, and Enrico turns back to me with a satisfied smile. “What am I feeding you, bella? You need energy for dancing.”

  I giggle and open my menu, this is the best night of my life. “Pasta,” I remind him.

  “Ah, yes.” His eyes dance with delight. “That’s right. Pasta it is.”

  “So, tell me about yourself.” He drops his chin onto his hand as his elbow rests on the table. “What is the Olivia Reynolds story?”

  We’ve eaten, drank two bottles of wine, and now we’re sitting in the darkened courtyard, fairy lights are lighting up the space and the music now soft and romantic. I’m feeling very tipsy indeed.

  “Well.” I sip my wine. “I’m here on a holiday… I guess to try and find myself.”

  “Are you lost?”

  “Perhaps.” I smile bashfully across the table at him.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” I contemplate his question. “I feel like I’m searching for something, but I don’t know what it is yet. I’m here to try and figure that out.”

  He gives me a slow sexy smile. “Maybe it’s me. Maybe you’re looking for an Enrico Ferrara?”

  “Oh yes, that’s the logical answer, how many of you are there?” I giggle.

  “Just one.” He smiles. “One is enough.”

  “How long have you lived in Rome?”

  “About ten years. I moved here when I joined the police force. Where do you live in Australia?”

&nb
sp; “Sydney. Have you ever been?”

  “No, it’s on my list, though. I don’t travel far.”

  “Really, why not? I love to travel.”

  “I prefer Italy. I travel around Europe regularly, but Australia is a long way from here. How long does it take to travel there by plane?”

  “Twenty-one hours.”

  “Twenty-one hours,” he scoffs. “On a plane? You must be crazy, woman.”

  I giggle at his horror. “We’re used to it. Australia is on the opposite side of the world from everywhere. If we want to travel, it’s a twenty-four-hour plane trip to most places. That, combined with the terrible jetlag from time zones, it turns a lot of people off.”

  He frowns and sips his drink. “Do you work at home?”

  “Yes, I’m a fashion designer.”

  He smiles, as if surprised. “Really?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What do you design?”

  I shrug, embarrassed. “Well, I’m designing pyjamas at the moment for Kmart.”

  “Kmart?” He frowns.

  “It’s a department store.”

  “What pyjamas would you put me in?” he asks. I watch his tongue dart out as he sips his drink, and my sex clenches in appreciation.

  “I don’t think pyjamas would do you justice. I imagine your birthday suit is enough.”

  His eyes have a tender glow to them as he watches me, and my heart constricts in my chest. He really is a beautiful man.

  Embarrassed by my forwardness, I change the subject. “But it’s only temporary. I would love to work in fashion one day. That’s the ultimate dream.”