Filed to story: Submitting to My Bestie’s Daddy Read Online >>???
“I think they might be a little too uptight,” I said to James.
James chuckled. “It’s an Italian thing. You’ll get used to it.”
Once we got up to the Piazzale Michelangiolo, I found that I was indeed in a breathtaking location. Not only were the flowers in the gardens beautiful, but it was possible to see everything for miles.
“That’s the Santa Maria del Fiore cathedral, of course,” James said, beginning to point out landmarks. “And the Ponte Vecchio. There are a lot of jewelry shops there. Traditionally, goldsmiths have sold their creations in shops on the Ponte Vecchio.”
I looked at the bridge that seemed to be completely lined on both sides by buildings, except for three arches in the middle.
“The Medici family had it built so they could cross the Arno River easily from home to work and back again,” James explained.
“It’s beautiful,” I observed. “And so is the cathedral.”
“Everything about Florence is beautiful,” James said. “I mean, it’s not Miami….” He gave me a long look. “You’re not the only one who is giving up a life they loved in order to keep their family safe.”
I looked up at James. I had to agree he had a point.
But I was still bitter over the lies and losing New Zealand, so I looked away and pointed in another direction instead. “What’s that?”
“That’s Santa Croce church,” James replied, going along with my change of subject. “It’s filled with Renaissance art, like many places in Florence. Michelangelo, Rossini, Galileo, and Machiavelli are entombed there. Among others.”
“Oh,” I said. “Nice. We’ll have to go take a look at that.”
“Do you like art, Becca?” James asked me. Strange we’d never discussed it before.
I had to give that some thought. “Well, I like culture. And it seems like Florence’s culture is built on art, so I’d like to see what all the fuss is about.” I gave James a grin.
James pointed to the far side of the Ponte Vecchio. “That is the Uffizi Palace and Gallery. Botticelli’s ‘The Birth of Venus’ is there.”
“Wow,” I said. “There’s a bronze statue of David up here, I saw. Are you going to tell me now that the original is somewhere in Florence, too?”
“I am, actually.” James pointed. “It’s in the Galleria dell’Accademia. It was outside, actually, for four hundred years before it was moved inside to protect it from damage. It used to be in the Piazza della Signoria. There’s a replica there now.”
“I’m impressed.” I took in the general splendor of arches, towers, and terracotta roofs. “It is very beautiful here, James. I’m not going to lie.”
James smiled softly and gave me his arm. I placed my hand in the crook of his arm and let him escort me away from the viewpoint.
He had a completely opposite look for the men who had discreetly spread out around us. His sharp look would have put me on my toes, too, if I didn’t know the side of James he showed to me.
“Where to now?” I asked, walking beside him.
“Dinner,” James grinned. “We’re going to watch the sunset from La Loggia.”
“Where’s that?” I kept walking along the stone path with him.
“Right here in the Piazzale Michelangiolo,” James said. “The food is great, the views are spectacular, and it’s a nice, historic place with some pretty features of its own.”
“Is this going to be one of those places where the food is too pretty to touch?” I asked.
James arched an eyebrow at me. “Is that going to be a problem?”
My jaw went slack. “Oh, my God, it is!”
James patted my hand. “Don’t worry. It’s delicious food that’s too pretty to touch.”
“You really are spoiling me today,” I said.
“I like spoiling you. I’d like to spoil you every day if you’ll let me,” James replied, looking at me with his soft brown eyes.
I bit my lip. “I’ll think about it,” I decided.
Becca.
We sat on the terrace of La Loggia under a white umbrella, a light breeze tickling at the tablecloth and the fabric of the umbrella.
“The boys” stood close by, but I was starting to get used to their presence and allowed them to fade into the background.
“How is the fruit?” James asked me, pointing a fork at the item I’d ordered.
It was some kind of tart, if I had to hazard a guess, but without the crust. “It’s exquisite,” I said. “And your… meat tower?”
James burst out laughing. “My ‘meat tower’ is delectable, thank you.”
“Good.” I blushed, but I didn’t know Italian, and James had ordered for us, so even if there had been English subtitles, I wouldn’t have seen them.
We shared what I thought was flan for dessert, which was decoratively covered in sauce. It was almost too beautiful to eat, but James dug in with a fork and held a small bite to my lips before I could protest.
It was melt-in-your-mouth delicious.
“Mmm,” I murmured, closing my eyes.
When I opened them, James was smiling at me. “Glad you’re enjoying it.”
“Still mad at you,” I said, but with a small, teasing grin.
“I know.” James held up another bite for me.
I closed my lips over the dessert and, glancing around at the empty tables nearby, made a low, somewhat indecent sound.
James’s eyebrows arched up, intrigued. “Well, well, Signorina Woods, were you hoping for a different kind of dessert?”
“I don’t know, Signore Valentino,” I teased back. “Were YOU hoping for a different kind of dessert?”
“Always,” James rumbled. “With you? Always.”
That made me wonder about something else. “I… know it’s not any of my business…” I began awkwardly.
“When has that ever stopped you before?” James chuckled.
“Ha. Ha. No, I mean… I know you know about Neal. I was just wondering if you had… you know… met anyone in Japan or Italy or wherever you’ve been…” I fidgeted with the tablecloth.
James held out his hand to me, and I stopped fidgeting, slowly laying my hand in his. “Becca,” he said softly. “There hasn’t been anyone else. And that’s the truth.”
“Oh.” I could feel my cheeks heating up with another blush.