When in Rome (Sweet Somethings Book 2) Read online

  “That’s a wrap, people!”

  Domenic stands on a chair in the center of the studio. We’ve just finished going over the final proofs that will be sent to his client, and now everyone has gathered for one last team meeting, from the haughtiest model to the lowliest intern. The core members of the crew stand closest to Domenic, and one by one he praises each department for their hard work in bringing the shoot to a successful close.

  The gathering breaks up as Domenic hops down. Within a few minutes, the studio clears, leaving just those of us who flew in from New York. Domenic folds his arms and surveys us with a satisfied grin. “I have a surprise.”

  Beside me, Lauren leans over to hiss in my ear. “He always does this.”

  I glance at her, but I’m more interested in finding out what Domenic has in store.

  “I’ve had it planned for a while but didn’t want to say anything in case we went over schedule or budget. Luckily, we hit the target on both.” Domenic’s grin explodes into a beaming smile. “I’m taking you all to Taormina.”

  Dave and Rafe give twin “woots”, while Corrine’s face brightens and Lauren gasps with glee. Miranda casts a look of anticipation at Joe, who returns it with a smile.

  I have no idea why they’re all so thrilled at Domenic’s announcement. But their excitement infects me, and a hesitant grin begins to grow.

  Domenic catches my gaze as he continues. “You’ve all earned it. The train leaves tomorrow at six-thirty. Everybody get some rest tonight. We’ll have two full days in Sicily, then take the night train back to Rome.”

  Chatter punctuates his remark as everyone gathers up their personal belongings and heads out. Everyone, that is, except Domenic and me. We remain in the center of the empty studio, staring at each other.

  “So,” I begin. “I guess my job’s done here.”

  He blinks, taking in my comment. “You aren’t interested in going to Taormina for the weekend?”

  “Sure I am. I just . . .” My voice trails away. This entire experience has been both humbling and exhilarating. “Guess it’s a little bittersweet to know the shoot’s done and soon we’ll be going our separate directions.”

  “Everybody’s worked their asses off, including you.” He closes the space between us in three carefully measured steps. “I usually try to get everyone a couple days of rest and relaxation before we head back to the real world. I can tell you how each of them will spend their time. Joe and Miranda will disappear for the entire weekend. Lauren will camp out in some corner cafe with free WiFi so she can mess around with the photo editing software she’s building. Dave and Rafe will sample cuisine from every local restaurant before finding the closest thing to a sports bar. And Corrine will spend the entire forty-eight hours, give or take, on the beach.”

  His proximity brings warm shivers across my scalp. “And what about you?”

  “Well . . .” He moves an increment closer. “I was kind of hoping you’d come sightseeing with me.”

  His light, citrusy cologne fills me with visions of the two of us wandering through orange groves, or sipping limoncello as we bask in the fading light of sunset over the Sicilian hills. “I think I could manage that.”

  “Great.”

  I wait until he reaches the door before I call to him. “Just to be clear—”

  “Clear about what?” he asks, turning back.

  Uncertainty drops like a lump into the pit of my stomach, but I decide to speak up anyway. “Up to this point, our relationship has been purely professional.”

  Domenic cocks one eyebrow. “Has it?”

  No, damn it, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it. “You’ve been signing my paychecks.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “But now the shoot’s over. I’ve done my part, so officially, any time remaining is off the clock. Right?”

  His shoulders square as my meaning sinks in. “Kate, the clock has been shut down. I’m no longer your boss.”

  “Good.” I exhale in relief.

  Nodding, he swings open the door. “So I’ll see you tomorrow morning, bright and early.”

  “Before the ass-crack of dawn,” I quip.

  With a grin bordering on incorrigible, Domenic waves at me and walks out. I remain frozen in the center of the room for another five minutes.

  Domenic Varezzi is no longer my boss. He’s all but told me that his interest extends far beyond my talent with a camera. And my body has certainly given me enough clues as to my own level of interest in him. If I go to Taormina and spend all that time with him, where will it lead? Worst-case scenario, I let him get close and end up with my heart trampled into a pancake. But the best-case scenario sees me with my name—and my photographs—in front of an international audience, and maybe I get to have a little romantic fling as a bonus.

  “Oh, why the hell not?” I mutter.

  I have the rest of my life to sit on the sidelines once I get back to Atlanta. I only have two days to play the game in Taormina.

  The compartments on the Intercity-Express are situated on one side of the train, affording us a gorgeous view of the coast as we rattle south to Villa San Giovanni, a port city on the toe of Italy’s boot. From there, Domenic explains to me, the train will be loaded onto a ferry for the forty-minute trip across the Straits of Messina to Sicily.

  “They can put a train on a boat?” I ask in disbelief as I settle onto the forward-facing seat beside the window.

  Lauren plops onto the seat across from me. “Once the trains are on board, we can go up on deck.”

  Joe and Miranda claim the other two rear-facing seats, while Corrine deposits herself closest to the door on my side of the compartment. This leaves the center seat open. I glance at the corridor, where Domenic chats with Dave and Rafe. The compartment only seats six, and there are eight of us. Two people will need to find someplace else to sit, and given the fact that they already do everything together, I assume Dave and Rafe will be the odd men out. That means Domenic gets to sit beside me.

  Or maybe I should think of it the opposite way—I get to sit beside Domenic.

  My assumptions are confirmed when Dave and Rafe each get a friendly clap on the shoulder from Domenic before they turn and disappear toward the rear of the train. Domenic slides open the compartment door and enters. He barely glances at the seating arrangement before plopping down beside me. I swallow, heat creeping up my neck, and turn to the window as the train lurches into motion.

  “The guys planning to camp out in the dining car?” Corrine asks without looking up from her smartphone.

  “As usual,” Domenic replies.

  He spends the next half hour or so asking Lauren about how her software project is coming along, then shifts gears when Corrine shows him the fall fashion preview sketches a designer forwarded to her last night. Joe opens a magazine as Miranda’s head bobs and comes to rest on his shoulder, her eyes closing in utter relaxation if not sleep. Lauren puts in her earbuds to shut out the background noise while she works on her laptop, her chin bobbing to the beat of her music.

  Beside me, Domenic and Corrine’s conversation melts to a low hum in my ears, masked by the rattle of the train. I prop my elbow on the window ledge and look out, watching the coast whisk by, towns and villages clinging to the rocky slopes leading down to the turquoise waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea.

  I don’t know how much time has passed when a tap on my shoulder pulls me from my reverie. But when my attention returns to the train compartment, I realize I’ve slumped to the side, my temple against someone’s upper arm.

  Straightening, my gaze meets Domenic’s. I glance past him at the wardrobe stylist. She leans against the headrest, arms folded over her chest and eyes closed. My lungs tighten, and I slowly look at Domenic again. “I hope I didn’t drool on you.”

 
Wow. That was a little on the pathetic side. I quickly replay the private conversations we’ve had over the past few weeks and realize that every time he catches me off guard, I say something obvious and borderline idiotic. Today, apparently, is no exception.

  He doesn’t seem to find anything awkward about my comment. Instead, he gives me a knowing grin and plucks a small lock of hair free from my eyelashes. “Your cheeks get really pink when you’re asleep.”

  Said cheeks now on fire, I try to put a little space between us. “How long was I out?”

  “A few hours.” His voice is a low murmur, meant for my ears alone. “We’re probably halfway to San Giovanni.”

  At this, he points out the window. The tracks hug the coast now, speeding us south through villages and towns. Domenic quietly tells me a little about the regions we’re passing through. At some point in his dissertation, he slides his arm across my seat and inches close enough for his chest to press lightly against my back. I clamp my lips shut and try to breathe like a normal human being, try to pretend his actions are incidental and meaningless. But I know I’m fooling myself. Back in Rome yesterday morning, he made himself pretty clear.

  When it comes to me, Domenic, and Taormina, the barriers are down. Anything goes.

  Eventually, his words come to an end, and we remain semi-spooned in our seats, staring at the scenery as it flashes by. For a few minutes, I let myself forget the other four people in the train compartment. It’s just me and Domenic.

  Until his phone rings. He startles away from me and stands, yanking his cell from his pocket. Everyone jerks back to reality to stare at him.

  “Sorry,” he says to the group at large. “Clients probably just got the proofs.”

  All eyes trail him as he steps into the corridor and walks away, phone raised to his ear. Then Corrine sits straight in her seat, Lauren pops out her earbuds, and Miranda gives Joe a not so subtle elbow to the ribs.

  Joe clears his throat. “I’ll just . . . I’m gonna go see what Dave and Rafe are up to. Grab some sandwiches or something. Anybody want anything else?”

  I start to ask for a bottle of water, then realize the question was rhetorical. The compartment door slides shut behind Joe, and Corrine reaches over to turn the lock.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to do that during the day.” My voice sounds flat, and my heart hammers against my ribs.

  Corrine switches seats to the one Joe just vacated. “This won’t take long.”

  Lauren sets her laptop aside and scoots to the edge of her seat. “We wanted to talk to you.”

  My gaze sweeps from one woman to the next. Lauren and I are close to being what I’d consider friends. Miranda and Corrine, however, barely think of me with civility most of the time. “About what?”

  “Domenic,” Miranda says.

  Defenses flaring, I summon every snarky fiber in my body as protection against whatever might be coming. “What about him?”

  They exchange a look, then face me. Lauren bites her lower lip. “We just wanted to give you a warning. No, not really a warning. Maybe just a heads up.”

  I narrow my eyes at them. “Okay . . .”

  Lauren makes a soft sound of distress and looks at Miranda. Clearly she didn’t want to be the one to start the conversation. Miranda rolls her eyes, then leans toward me.

  “Okay, here’s the thing,” she says. “You’ve known Domenic for two months or so, right? We’ve known him a lot longer. Years. We know what he’s like. His track record. He—”

  “Women adore him,” Lauren bursts in, cutting Miranda off. “Aspiring models mostly, who think he’s their ticket to a glamorous life. He doesn’t usually date them, not for real. Maybe take them out to dinner or to a fashion show. But nothing long term. Domenic’s the sort of guy who’s friendly to everyone, compliments everyone. He doesn’t really string them along, so much as . . .”

  Corrine picks up when Lauren trails off. “They latch on, like desperate leeches, who won’t let go no matter what he says or does.”

  The gist of their words hits me like a ton of Roman paving stones. “Are you accusing me of latching on like a leech?”

  Miranda releases a dismissive pfft, but Lauren nearly jumps to her feet. “No, Kate, of course not!”

  “He has a reputation,” Corrine continues. “People think he’s a playboy, but he’s not. The couple of times he’s actually gotten involved with someone, at least since I’ve known him, he’s ended up getting burned.”

  A few pieces click into place. “Riley?”

  Corrine shares a glance with Miranda, while Lauren chews her lip again and stares out the window.

  I fold my arms over my chest and flop back in my seat. “He told me she tried to pass some of his proofs off as her own, and then basically had a mental breakdown. Hence the need to bring me on board.”

  Miranda straightens. “Riley didn’t just try to steal his work. She turned into a leech.”

  “She was one of the few Domenic decided to risk his heart on,” Corrine continues. Her tone softens with concern and protectiveness. “This was a couple years ago, way before she broke the copyright agreement. They dated for probably six months. A lot of us thought it might be the real thing.”

  “That would’ve broken a lot of models’ hearts, I bet.”

  Corrine glares at me. “The only one who ended up with a broken heart was Domenic. He thought they broke off their romance on the best of terms. He even kept her on board because he had faith in her abilities as a photographer. But she couldn’t let it go. She didn’t just want fame—she wanted him.”

  “The thing with the photographs came after he told her, in no uncertain terms, that they weren’t going to be an item again,” Lauren adds. “I think she did it, in part, to get back at him.”

  Miranda shrugs. “Either way, she snapped. Domenic’s just lucky she didn’t bring him down with her.”

  Heaving a breath, I gaze out the window and try to absorb this information. “I’m not pursuing him, you know. He started it.”

  “And that’s exactly why we wanted to talk to you.” Corrine switches seats again, this time coming to sit beside me. Her hand rests on my knee, which she then pats. “Look, I know we haven’t been exactly . . . welcoming to you. We’ve butted heads.”

  I glance at her, brows lifted in the snarkiest possible way.

  Her lips tighten. “You’ve earned our respect as a photographer.”

  “I always liked you,” Lauren pipes up, only to be shushed by Miranda.

  Corrine bends a slight glare at the younger woman before turning back to me. “Here’s the deal. We know Domenic’s got a thing for you. It’s been obvious since day one. And we know you’ve been fighting it. We’re just asking you to keep fighting it. Keep him at arms’ length. It’ll be better for both of you in the end. This way, nobody gets hurt.”

  I study her, then Miranda and Lauren. “You don’t think the fair thing would be to let us figure it out on our own? Like consenting adults?”

  “Do you plan on sticking around after we get back to New York?” Miranda asks.

  “No.”

  “Then it shouldn’t matter if you put him off.”

  Except it does matter to me all of a sudden. “Listen, ladies. I appreciate your concern for Domenic—and for me. But it’s misplaced. Even if we end up flirting a little bit this weekend, I know good and well it’ll end the second we land in New York.”

  Lauren now bites her fingernails. “It’s good that you realize it. Honest. But things don’t always work out the way you intend.”

  “We’re just asking you to help us protect a colleague and friend,” Corrine adds. “You’ll protect yourself in the bargain.”

  “Well, bless your heart,” I mutter. “But I’m a big girl. I can manage my own love affairs.”
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  Lauren glances at Miranda, who shakes her head. Corrine slides back into her original seat and unlatches the lock on the door. We fall into tense silence for several miles, until Domenic and Joe return with their hands full of plastic-wrapped sandwiches and bottles of water. My face aches as Domenic drops onto the seat beside me and passes me a sandwich, the tightness of my smile a poor mask for the turmoil raging inside. As I eat, I turn again to the window in order to hide my feelings from him. Then, as Joe distracts everyone by translating some of the news articles in the Italian paper he picked up in the dining car, I pretend to fall asleep.

  Curiosity over how a train would be loaded onto a boat breaks me out of my funk when Dave and Rafe pop into the compartment to announce that we’ve reached the ferry in Villa San Giovanni. As soon as the announcement comes over the loud speakers that passengers may temporarily leave the trains and go above deck, I deliberately hustle out of the compartment ahead of everyone else.

  Upon exiting the train, I pause and scan the hold. Tracks crisscross the floor, and I count three or four trains, each split into two to three sections, occupying the space. People mill about, but slowly weave in the general direction of the stairs. I make note of where our train has been secured before following the flow of foot traffic.

  Brilliant sunlight temporarily blinds me when I reach the upper deck of the ferry, and gusts of wind snatch at my hair, ripping tendrils from my topknot. The exhilaration of it blasts the stale taste of admonishment from my throat, and I decide, just for now, to forget the unsolicited advice I received earlier this afternoon.

  “There you are.” Domenic appears behind me and takes my hand, threading his fingers with mine.

  Gasping, I involuntarily clutch his hand. “I guess I was just anxious to get some fresh air.”