Bella Rosa Proposals: Star-Crossed Sweethearts

“Then why are you frowning?”

“I wasn’t aware that I was.”

“You are.”

“If I am, it’s not the company.” She said it automatically. She’d had a lot of practice placating men.

“Sure it is.” Angelo’s eyes narrowed. “I make you nervous.”

“Please.” She waved a hand. “What do I have to be nervous about?”

“You’re attracted to me.”

She huffed out an impatient breath to camouflage the truth. “Right. And that would make me nervous?”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “You’re not as confident in real life as you are in your movies.”

So, he’d figured that out, had he? Well, points to him.

“That’s because I’m a person, not a character for whom every action and reaction has been scripted.” She crossed her arms. “You, on the other hand, come across as grossly overconfident.”

“It’s not overconfidence if you can back it up with actions.”

“I’m talking off the ball diamond.”

“So am I.”

“Is that so, sweetheart?” she drawled. “I hate to tell you this, but, all of your bravado aside, you’re no more certain of yourself than I am. It’s easy to flirt and throw out pickup lines, but you’ve admitted that you aren’t capable of cultivating a real relationship.”

“I didn’t say I was incapable.” The calf that had been rubbing against hers under the table stilled. “I said it’s not what I want.”

“Uh-huh. The right woman doesn’t exist for you. I remember the conversation. Have you ever had a relationship? And I’m talking about something that involves more than the exchange of apartment keys and regular sex.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “As I said, that’s not what I want.”

“Why?” It was her turn to play therapist, and if it kept her out of the hot seat, all the better. “Is your life so perfect flying solo all the time?”

“That’s right.”

“No. That’s what you want everybody to think. Most people buy it. I don’t. What insecurities are you trying to mask? Hmm? What are your secrets?”

He shifted back in his chair, his gaze turning guarded. She’d struck a nerve.

“You know, I almost turned around and walked the other way when I saw you today,” he admitted.

“Regretting that you didn’t?”

He didn’t answer.

“You don’t like it when the shoe is on the other foot,” she said.

“It’s damned uncomfortable,” he surprised her by admitting.

“Then maybe you’ll resist the next time you’re tempted to analyze me.”

“Maybe. I probably should.” He shrugged. “For that matter, I should probably leave you alone entirely. You’ve asked me to. I don’t usually pursue a woman who tells me not to bother.”

“Then why are you?”

She expected him to mention attraction again. What he said was, “I can’t quite figure you out, Atlanta.”

Her laughter was bitter. “No one else seems to have a problem.”

“Yeah, I thought I had, too. But you’re a bundle of contradictions. Strong one moment, vulnerable the next.”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Maybe I’m both. Maybe I’m neither. I am an actress.”

“Uh-uh. My turn to tell you I’m not buying it. This is you. Not an act. Contradictions,” he said again. “Like the way you keep telling me no but—”

That was as far as he got. She shot to her feet, rapping her hip against the edge of the table and spilling both of their beverages.

“When I say no, I mean no.”

“Atlanta.”

“No means no!”

He reached out a hand in entreaty, but she shook her head, turned and fled.

CHAPTER FIVE

What was that all about?

Alone at the café, Angelo slumped back in his chair and replayed the encounter. Atlanta had surprised him twice. First, by turning the tables on him and questioning what his secrets and vulnerabilities might be. And then with her overreaction to his admittedly poor choice of words.

He was a firm believer that when a woman said no, she meant no, but that was in the bedroom. He hadn’t been talking about sex, at least not directly; although where Atlanta was concerned, it was much on his mind.

“I should have walked the other way,” he muttered.

He didn’t have time to sort through her emotional baggage. As she’d already figured out, he had enough of his own.

Standing, he tossed some bills onto the table alongside her discarded cannoli and left to meander through the town. He had a little more time to kill before seeing Isabella.

Everyone he passed in Monta Correnti was friendly. From the shop owners to their customers to the people milling about on the streets, they smiled and called out polite greetings. But not one of them asked for Angelo’s autograph. Not one of them asked him to stop and pose for a photograph. Almost absently, he rubbed his shoulder. Just as he had at the airport in Rome, he found anonymity disturbing. He also found his need for fame disturbing.

What insecurities are you hiding? Atlanta had asked.

“Buongiorno.”