Chapter 36

There was no freaking way I was staying at the cafe to be stared at like some zoo animal.

The moment Matteo was out of sight, I left.

Naturally, I gravitated to the musicians setting up. There were four men. By the looks of it, they were not a standard quartet. Instead of two violinists, a violist, and a cellist, they instead had one violinist and a bassist.

They started with a favorite of mine, Con te partirò.I always teared up from the bittersweet lyrics. I even adored the British version, Time to Say Goodbye.

With my eyes closed, I swayed to the melody.

It wasn't until the song was finished that I realized I had been air playing along with my bow hand.

The cellist noticed. "Bella signora, you play?"

At my nod, he beckoned me closer. Stepping to the side, he gestured to his instrument. "Play for us."

"Oh no, I couldn't."

He then addressed the small crowd which had formed. "Everyone clap to encourage this beautiful woman to play a song for us."

The crowd enthusiastically clapped.

Since I usually spent several hours a day playing my cello and had barely played a few songs over the last few days, I couldn't resist the opportunity. The one time I wasn't shy around others was when I was holding my cello and playing for them.

Tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, I smiled. "Okay. I'll play."

The man held up both his hands. "Ah, it will be an honor to have my instrument held by such a beautiful woman."

Brushing off his typical Italian male praise, I shrugged out of my coat and sat on the small stool he offered. Spreading my knees, I rested the cello against my left inner thigh as I positioned the fingerboard close to my left ear. "What shall we play, gentlemen?"

"Whatever the lady wishes."

I thought for a moment, knowing they'd want me to choose something that would be popular among the residents and the tourists. So that, of course, meant something Bocelli sang. "How about Vivo per lei?"

The man clapped again. "Perfetto!"

Since Bocelli's version was a tribute to his love of music, I knew the musicians would like my choice as well.

The cellist took a position in front of the group to act as a conductor. After counting us in, we all played. When we reached the bridge and shifted the string arrangement to modulate to a different key, building tension to the first of the dramatic emotive moments, the man circled the crowd with a red plastic bucket. The audience tossed bills and spare coins inside.

At the end of the song, I rose and prepared to hand the cello back to its owner.

He folded his hands in front of him as if in prayer. "No. No. No, signora. One more song. I beg you."

Seeing the large crowd forming and knowing he enjoyed the attention a female cellist was drawing, I conceded. "You choose this time."

He raised his arms with a flourish and announced to the crowd. "Io che non vivo!"

It was a superb choice. The tourists would soon realize it was the Italian version of Elviss You Dont Have to Say You Love Me.

Usually, the lyrics were just the lyrics, and I was more concerned with the music, but it hit hard as the man sang along. The plaintive loneliness of the words as the person in the song begged their lover not to leave them caused a lump in the back of my throat.

At the final strains of the music, I opened my eyes to see Matteo watching me intently. His dark gaze seemed to miss nothing.

With a watery smile, I rose and bowed my head to the cellist as I handed him back his cello. "Thank you."

The man gestured to me. "A round of applause for our pretty cellist."

The crowd erupted into applause just as Matteo approached with a singular purpose.

Without saying a word, he wrapped his arm around my waist and swung me in an arc, just as the quartet began to play Dance Me to the End of Love.

Held close to his warm body, I clung to his upper arm as my other hand was enveloped in his firm grasp. "No one else is dancing."

His voice had a fierce edge to it. "I don't care. The music could stop, and I'd still dance with you."

As he effortlessly moved me around the small piazza, other couples joined in. "You looked magnificent up there. I could watch and listen to you play for hours and never tire of it."

He was so strong it was as if I were dancing on my tiptoes, nothing more than a leaf flitting on the breeze. "You say that now. But say that again after I've been practicing scales for three hours straight."

"As long as you do that thing with your tongue while you're playing, I couldnt care less if all you did was play Chopsticks over and over again."

My brow furrowed. "What thing with my tongue?"

He winked. "When you play, you close your eyes as you sway with the movement of your bow. While you're doing that, your lips open ever so slightly, and the cute tip of your tongue runs along the upper edge of your teeth."

"I don't do— Wait, I did do that. Usually I was aware of it and could stop it. I must have been too caught up in the music, but how did Matteo notice something so inconsequential?

As if reading my thoughts, he said, "I notice everything about you, baby. Your face is my favorite work of art."

What nonsense. Right? I meant, it was silly. And meaningless to say such things.

Yet, it was awfully nice to hear them. And to think… maybe…

Matteo leaned down and softly sang the wedding lyric in my ear as he tightened his arm around my waist.

At that moment, I let myself believe in the fairy tale.

Maybe, just maybe… was it possible?

Could the tiny spark between us be sheltered through the coming storm?

Could it survive the raging winds which were sure to come from Sicily the moment my father learned of my sisters and my subterfuge?

If any man was strong enough to hold me through the rain, it would be Matteo Cavalieri.

Tilting my head back, I stared up at him, losing myself in the comforting darkness of his gaze.

And that was when I saw him…

His long sallow face and his small beady eyes fixed on me.

Fino Buratti had followed me to Abruzzo.

At the sight of him, I stumbled.

Matteo lifted me off my feet to press my body harder against his body. "Are you all right?"

"I'm… I'm fine," I stammered as I tried not to stare at Fino, worried Matteo would follow my gaze and ask if I knew him. Or worse, recognize him from Carnevale in Palermo.

"You're tired. Let me get you home."

As Matteo turned to retrieve my coat, Fino came toward me as the crowd surged forward to request more songs. As his shoulder connected with mine, he pressed a folded piece of white paper into my hand.

Matteo stormed back, calling after Fino's retreating form as he placed the coat over my shoulders. "Who was that man? Did he hurt you?"

I slipped my arms into the coat sleeves before sliding my hand into the pocket to conceal the note. "No. I don't know him. I'm sure he meant nothing by it."

Matteo's eyes narrowed as he squared off in front of me. "Then why did he pass something along to you?"

The blood in my veins froze. Not knowing what the note said, I at least knew it would be disastrous for Matteo to read it. "He passed nothing on to me."

"I saw a piece of white paper in your hand, Ella. Don't lie to me."

The crowd cheered and danced as the musicians played a rousing rendition of Tu vou fa l'Americano.

Matteo grabbed my upper arm and dragged me across the piazza back to the car. "I want an answer, Ella. Show me the note."

My fingers closed around a piece of white cardstock inside my pocket. I pulled it free and handed it to him. "Here. This is what you saw."

He stared down at the coat's price tag.

I shrugged. "It was in my pants pocket. I pulled it out intending to toss it."

His jaw shifted to the side as he focused his gaze on me.

I crossed an arm over my middle. "You can apologize any time now for being an overbearing boor."

Giving me no warning, he pinned me against the side of the car. With his forearm on one side of my head and his hand at my throat, he leaned in. "It will be a cold day in hell when I apologize for being overprotective of you. You're marrying a jealous man, colomba mia. Get used to it."

His mouth claimed mine.

There was no stopping his tongue as it swept past my lips to taste and plunder. The insistent press of his hips pushed his hard cock against my stomach as I rose on my toes to try to escape the onslaught, to no avail.

He only deepened the kiss. Crushing my lips against my teeth as he tightened his fingers around my throat, holding me still and under his command.

When he finally lifted his head, I was breathless and dizzy, but it did not stop me from shooting daggers at him with my gaze.

Matteo chuckled as he cupped my cheek. "Save your poison looks for someone else, babygirl. And before you try to object one more time to us marrying, I'll remind you I'd have no qualms about bending you over the hood of this car, flipping up your coat, and fucking you right here in the street."

The air I was sucking in became a gasp. "You wouldn't?—"

"Dare? Trust me, I would." With both palms rested against the top of the car, he once more leaned over me. "And there isn't a damn person in this entire village who would stop me. You know why?"

I slowly shook my head as I stared back at him, mesmerized by the fierce threat of his words.

"Because I'm a goddamn Cavalieri. And that's why my name is going to protect you from your father's retribution and why—he kissed my forehead—"you're marrying me whether or not you like it."

Keeping his gaze trained on me, he reached over and swung open the passenger-side car door. "Get in."

I hesitated for just the barest of seconds.

Matteo reached for his belt buckle.

With a cry, I dipped my head and dove inside the car.

Heat radiated off my cheeks at his amused chuckle which carried into the car's interior as he circled around and got in behind the wheel.

I crossed my arms over my middle. "I hate you."

"Keeping telling yourself that, babygirl, and I'll keep enjoying proving you wrong."

As we drove back to the winery, I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I slipped my hand back into my coat pocket and touched the traitorous note from Fino.