“I grew up all over the world,” she said finally, tipping her head back to look up at the night sky, dazzled with stars. “Our home was in Italy, but we were rarely there.”
“I wondered why I have more of an accent than you do.”
She shrugged as if it didn’t matter, when the truth was all of her life she had longed for a place to call home. Even her own apartment in Naples wasn’t home. Just another temporary refuge.
“Hard to adopt a particular accent when you’re never in one place long enough to pick up the rhythms of the local speech.”
“Hmm…”
His noncommittal answer told her that he was thinking about the Coretti family and their tradition of thievery keeping them on the move. But she wasn’t going to talk about her family now and ruin this momentary truce.
“Anyway, we were living in New York and my mother’s sister was having a baby. I was about sixteen, I guess.”
“And you waited as we are now?”
“We waited. For hours.” She sighed and shifted her gaze from the skies to him. “It seemed to take forever.”
“And did your father fill his time by stealing from the patients and doctors?”
She stopped dead and turned to face him. Her gaze met his and she was sorry to see the stony glint in his eyes again. “Can you never let it go, Rico? Not even for a while?”
“Why should I?” he demanded.
“Because I’m not my father.” Her voice was quiet but strong. Her gaze never left his as she added, “I’ve never stolen anything in my life. I’m not a thief.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw as if he were fighting an internal battle over what to say and what to hold back. Then he blurted, “So just a liar, then?”
The verbal slap hit home and she winced. It seemed that their momentary truce had ended and her sorrow was quickly swallowed by impatience. He was determined to see her only as treacherous and Teresa had no idea how to change his mind.
“And you’ve never lied? Are you that perfect, Rico?”
“Not perfect,” he countered. “But I don’t lie to the people who matter to me.”
“Ah,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him a sharp nod. “So you’re a picky liar. Only a select few. I’m guessing women?”
“Mostly,” he admitted and didn’t look bothered by the admission at all.
“And that’s okay?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” She shook her head and asked, “What about me? Did you tell me pretty lies when we met?”
His jaw clenched and it looked as though he were grinding his teeth into powder. “You’re the one who lied to me, remember?”
“So you were honest with me, but not with other women.” She laughed shortly. “Well, hell, Rico. You’re wasting your time being a hotelier when you should be a saint.”
Furious now, she let her temper reign because that was so much easier than dealing with the disappointment and regret threatening to choke her. Teresa spun around and took two steps away from him before he caught her with one strong hand and whipped her back around to face him.