“You do not get to invade my set,” Katrina said, but I saw her eye the food ravenously. It was peasant food—meaty, saucy deliciousness that would satiate everyone for another four or five hours.
“Mea culpa,” he said. “Your script supervisor accepted a dinner invitation, and Zia Giovanna thought it would be rude to bring only for us.”
“It’s my fault,” I said. “I forgot to tell you.”
She spun and gave a smirk just for me. “You lie.”
“If it means you can just eat, I’m guilty as charged.” I pointed at Antonio. “You, sir, are pushy.”
“As charged,” he said. “Let me make it up to you.”
“I think you just did.” A plate of lasagna was pushed into my hands, but Antonio took it from me and passed it to the person behind me.
“Come on. I’m not feeding you outside a trailer.”
He pulled me, but I yanked back. “I have to work.”
Katrina didn’t even look up from her food. “We have to set up the next shot. I’ll text you when I need you. Get out of here.”
I let Antonio put his arm around me and lead me onto the sidewalk. He held the wine bottle by the neck with his free hand. The neighborhood was light-industrial hip, with factories being converted into lofts and warehouses housing upscale restaurants.
“There’s a place around the corner,” he said. “No liquor license yet, so you bring your own.”
“Let me see.” I held my hand out for the bottle and inspected the label. “Napa? You brought a California wine?”
“It’s not good?”
“It’s a great wine, but I figured, you know, Italian?”
He laughed. “I was trying to not be pushy. Meet you halfway.”
“This is how you say ‘not pushy’?”
“You can run. I won’t chase you.”
“You won’t?” I handed him the bottle.
He smiled. “Yeah. I will.”
“Has it occurred to you that the chasing might be what you like about me, and that if I stop running, you might get bored?”
“I don’t get bored. There’s too much to do.”
“It’s funny,” I said. “That’s kind of what I find most boring. Everything to do.”
“You’re doing the wrong things, no? What do you love?”
We crossed onto a block of restaurants. The cobblestone streets were crowded. Tables were set on the sidewalks. Heat lamps kept the chill at bay.
“I don’t love anything, really.”
“Come on. The last thing you enjoyed, that made you feel alive.”
I stopped walking, feeling disproportional frustration with his questions.
He turned to face me and walk backward. “Kissing me doesn’t count.”
“Funny guy.”
A parking valet in a white shirt and black bowtie nearly ran into me, dodged, and opened a car door.
“Think hard,” Antonio said. “The last thing that made you love life.”
“Saying it would be inappropriate.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I could learn to love this thing too, I think.”
My annoyance turned into cruelty. “The last thing I loved doing? Working with Daniel on his campaign. I miss it.”
Still walking backward, arms out to express complete surrender, he said, “Then, to make you happy, I announce that I will run for mayor.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. He laughed with me, and I noticed how reserved it was for a man who claimed to enjoy life.
He was on me before I could take in another second of his smile. He pushed his mouth on mine, his arms enveloping me, his hands in my hair. My world revolved around the sensations of him, his powerful body and sweet tongue, his crisp smell, the scratch of the scruff on his chin, and the way he paid attention to his kiss.
I matched his attention so carefully that when we got knocked into by a valet, I gasped. Antonio pulled me close, holding me up and protecting me at the same time.
The valet held up his hands. “I’m so sorry.” He backed away toward a waiting car, reaching for the handle.
“You’re sorry?” Antonio asked. “You don’t look sorry.”
I’d be the first to admit he didn’t look sorry. He looked interested in opening the car door.
“It’s okay, Antonio. He didn’t do it on purpose.”
He looked down at me for a second before looking back at the valet. “He could have knocked you over.”
“But he didn’t.”
The valet opened the door with one hand and with the other, in a slight movement that could be denied later, flicked his hand, as if dismissing Antonio. Quick as a predator, Antonio took two steps toward the valet and pushed him against the car. I stepped into the street, heel bending on the cobblestone, and got between them. The valet’s face was awash in fear, and Antonio’s had an intensity that scared me.
“Antonio. Let’s go, before I have to go back to work,” I said.
He held his finger up to the valet’s face. “You’re going to be careful. Right?”
“Yeah, yeah.” The man looked as though he wanted to be anywhere else.
He stepped back, and I put my hand on his arm. He looked at me with an unexpected tenderness, as if grateful I’d pulled him from oncoming traffic.
“Is there a problem here?”
The authoritative voice cut our moment short. Antonio and I looked to its source.
A short man in a zip-up black jacket and black tie, with a moustache and comb-over, appeared to recognize Antonio when we turned toward him. “Spin.”
“Vito.” Antonio looked the man up and down, pausing on his tag for Veetah Valet Service – Proprietor. He touched it. “Really?”
“I can explain.”
“Yes, you can. After I bring the lady to our table. You’ll be here.”
“Yes, boss.”
Antonio put his arm around me and walked toward an Italian restaurant with tables outside.
“What was that about?” I asked.
“He works for me. I’m going to have to talk to him for a minute.”
“It wasn’t a big deal about the valet.”
“It’s not about the valet.”
I dropped my arm from his waist. He’d closed himself off so suddenly that touching him seemed out of place.
A young man with menus approached. “Outside or inside?”
“In,” Antonio answered, giving the waiter his bottle.
He brought us to a table inside. Antonio held my chair for me and sat across the table, looking a million miles away.
“What happened?” I asked. “You look really annoyed.”
He took my hand. “Trust me, it’s not you.”
“I know it’s not me. What did that guy do?”
“He’s not supposed to run other businesses while he works for me. That’s the rule.”
“That’s a weird rule.”
He smiled but looked distracted. “Let me go talk to him. Then you’ll have my full attention.”
I tapped my watch. “Quickly. I could turn into a pumpkin at any moment.”
After Antonio walked away, the waiter returned with two glasses and our bottle of Napa wine. He poured a touch in my glass, made small talk, filled both glasses, and left.
I waited dutifully, tapping on my phone and watching people. I was walking distance from home and a few blocks from the set, but I wanted to be at that table. I was hungry, and I liked the Antonio I’d walked there with.
The wall facing the street was all windows. Past the rows of outdoor tables, I saw the lights change and cars roll by. Valets ran back and forth with keys and tickets. Antonio came into view, pinching a cigarette to his mouth and letting the smoke drift from out casually. What a stunning man he was. Maybe not in the same affable mood as he had been on the walk to the restaurant, but the intensity that condensed around him made me unable to look away.