Under The Tuscan Sun...: A Bride for the Italian Boss / Return of the Italian Tycoon / Reunited by a Baby Secret

“Done yelling at Daniella?”

Rafe scowled at Emory. “She oversteps her place.”

“She’s trying to keep the peace. To keep the customers happy. And, in case you haven’t noticed, they are happy. Today they were particularly happy.”

He sniffed in disdain. “I opened the dining room to the view from the back windows.”

Emory laughed. “Seriously? You’re going with that?”

“All right! So customers like her.”

“And no one seems to be hanging around hoping you’ll lose your temper.”

He scowled.

“She did exactly what we needed to have done. She shifted the temperament in the dining room. Customers are enjoying your food. You should be thrilled to have her around.”

Rafe turned away with a “Bah.” But deep down inside he was thrilled to have her around.

And maybe that wasn’t as much of a good thing as Emory thought it was. Because the whole time he was yelling at her, he could also picture himself kissing her.

Worse, the part of him that usually toed the line wasn’t behaving. That part kept reminding him she was temporary. She might be an employee, but she wasn’t staying forever. He could have an affair with this beautiful, passionate woman and not have to worry about repercussions because in a few weeks, she’d be gone. No scene. No broken heart. No expectations. They could have a delicious affair.

CHAPTER FOUR (#uc70900d6-4aa0-52b0-b4c3-f07831d4b4d0)

DANIELLA RETURNED HOME that night exhausted. Louisa hadn’t waited up for her, but from the open cabinet doors and trash bags sitting by the door, it was apparent she’d begun cleaning the kitchen.

She dragged herself up the stairs, showered and crawled into bed, refusing to think about the possibility that Rafe might be attracted to her. Not only did she have a marriage proposal waiting at home, but, seriously? Her with Rafe? Mr. Unstable with the former foster child who needed stability? That was insanity.

She woke early the next morning and, after breakfast, she and Louisa loaded outdated food from the pantry into even more trash bags.

Wiping sweat from her brow, Louisa shook her head at the bag of garbage she’d just hauled to the growing pile by the door. “We don’t even know what day to set out the trash.”

Busy sweeping the now-empty pantry, Dani said, “You could always ask Nico.”

Louisa rolled her eyes. “I’m not tromping over to his villa to ask about trash.”

“You could call him. I have his card.” She frowned. “Or Rafe has his card. I could ask for it back tonight.”

“No, thanks. I’ll figure this out.”

“Or maybe I could ask the girls at the restaurant? Given that we’re so close to Monte Calanetti, one of them probably lives in the village. She’ll know what day the trash truck comes by.”

Louisa brightened. “Yes. Thank you. That would be great.”

But Dani frowned as she swept the last of the dirt onto her dustpan. Louisa’s refusal to have anything to do with Nico had gone from unusual to impractical. Still, it wasn’t her place to say anything.

She dressed for work in the dark trousers and white shirt Rafe required and drove to the restaurant. Walking in, she noticed that two of the chefs were different, and two of the chefs she was accustomed to seeing weren’t there. The same was true in the dining room. Allegra was nowhere to be seen and in her place was a tall, slim waitress named Mila, short for Milana, who told Daniella it was simply Allegra’s day off and probably the chefs’, too.

“Did you think they’d been fired?” Mila asked with a laugh.

Dani shrugged. “With our boss, you never know.”

Mila laughed again. “Only Chef Rafe works twelve hours a day, seven days a week.”

“I guess I should ask for a schedule, then.”

She turned toward the kitchen but Mila stopped her. “Do yourself a favor and ask Emory about it.”

Thinking that sounded like good advice, she nodded and walked into the kitchen. Emory stood at a stainless-steel prep table in the back of the huge, noisy, delicious-smelling room. Grateful that Rafe wasn’t anywhere in sight, she approached the sous-chef.

“Cara!” he said, opening his arms. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if there was a schedule.”

The short, bald man smiled. “Schedule?”

“I’m never really sure when I’m supposed to come in.”

“A maître d’ works all shifts.”

At the sound of Rafe’s voice behind her, she winced, sucked in a breath and faced him. “I can’t work seven days a week, twelve hours a day. I want this month to do some sightseeing. Otherwise, I could have just gone back to New York City.”

He smiled and said, “Ah.”

And Daniella’s heart about tripped over itself in her chest. He had the most beautiful, sexy smile she had ever seen. Directed at her, it stole her breath, weakened her knees, scared her silly.

“You are correct. Emory will create a schedule.”

Surprised at how easy that had been, and not about to hang around when his smile was bringing out feelings she knew were all wrong, she scampered out of the kitchen. Within minutes, Rafe came into the dining room to open Mancini’s doors. As he passed her, he smiled at her again.

When he disappeared behind the kitchen doors, she blew out her breath and collapsed against the podium. What was he doing smiling at her? Dear God, was Louisa right? Was he interested in her?

She paused. No. Rafe was too business oriented to be attracted to an employee. This wasn’t about attraction. It was about her finally finding her footing with him. He hadn’t argued about getting her a schedule. He’d smiled because they were beginning to get along as employer and employee.

Guests began arriving and she went to work. There were enough customers that the restaurant felt busy, but not nearly as busy as they were for dinner. She seated an American couple and walked away but even before she reached the podium, they waved her back.

She smiled. “Having trouble with the Italian?”

The short dark-haired man laughed. “My wife teaches Italian at university. We actually visit every other year. Though this is our first time at Mancini’s.”

“Well, a very special welcome to you, then. What can I help you with?”

He winced. “Actually, we were kind of hoping to just have soup or a salad, but all you have is a full menu.”

“Yes. The chef loves his drama.”

The man’s wife reached over and touched his arm. “I am sort of hungry for this delicious-sounding spaghetti. Maybe we can eat our big meal now and eat light at dinner.”