"Which anyone who knows me will immediately recognize as a complete fabrication. I'm not and have never been the lovesick type."
A fact that should comfort her, seeing as how she was now sleeping under his roof. It didn't, though. Instead, she felt a dull ache in the pit of her stomach.
"So what was yesterday? An anomaly?"
He looked away. "Yesterday I caught a man breaking into your home. I was upset for your safety. This," he said as he waved his cup over the tabloid "is entirely different."
"How? It's still an invasion of privacy. And the things they wrote about us..." As though Nico were some kind of fly trapped in her web. She shivered. "Surely you care what people think."
"I already told you, anyone who knows me will recognize it for the garbage it is."
"Why is that?" Not that she wasn't glad, but she wanted to know why he was so certain.
A strange shadow appeared behind his eyes, turning them darker than usual. "Like I said, I'm not the lovesick kind," he replied. "Now, the fact they referred to me as the 'royal vintner'? That is something I hope people will believe. You cannot buy better publicity."
"Glad you're happy." One of them should be.
She took a look around the surroundings that were to be her home away from home for the next few days. Worn out and uncomfortable last night, she'd insisted on being shown straight to her room. Nico's rust-and-green kitchen was warm but dated, like the kitchen of a man who didn't spend too many meals at home. Did that mean he didn't entertain much either? Would people notice he had company?
A sudden, horrifying thought struck her. Now that Nico had been identified, the press would start stalking him, too. For all they knew, a telephoto lens could be trained on them right now. Reflexively, she looked over her shoulder at the kitchen window.
"Relax," Nico told her. "I drew the curtains when we got home last night. No one can see you."
Sure, they couldn't see her now. But eventually... "This was a mistake. I'm better off just going to Florence."
"No one is going anywhere except to the winery." Nico's hand reached across the table and grabbed her wrist, preventing her from standing. "Trust me, everything is going to be fine. In a few days, another scandal will erupt and the press will forget all about you."
Louisa looked down at the bronzed hand gently encircling her arm. His thumb brushing her pulse point, the tiny movement as soothing as a caress. That his slightest touch could calm her was disturbing in itself.
Slipping free, Louisa reached for the newspaper and flipped it back over. The picture on the front page showed the two of them with their heads together in quiet conversation. Arm slung casually over the back of her chair, he was leaning forward as she spoke in his ear, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. She remembered the moment. The orchestra had started playing, and she'd moved closer so she could comment on the song selection. Thanks to the angle, they looked more like a couple who had eyes only for each other.
A second photo greeted her when she turned the page. The two of them dancing. No need to mess with the angle this time. Their gazes were locked; their bodies pressed together like lovers'. Must have been taken only moments before Nico had kissed her.
What if there was a photo of them kissing? Louisa's stomach dropped. The blogosphere would have a field day. Her horror must have shown on her face, because when she looked up, Nico was watching her. "If they had a photo, they would have used it," he said, reading her mind.
He was right, Louisa thought, letting out her breath. "The one they used is bad enough. Did we really look like that?" Like they couldn't get close enough.
"Considering what followed, I would have to say yes."
That's what she was afraid of. Louisa dropped her head on her arms with a groan. "It's only a couple of photographs," he said, patting the back of her head. "We'll survive."
He didn't understand. Any photograph was one photograph too many. "Believe it or not," she said, lifting her head, "there was a time when I liked having my picture taken." She remembered her first public date with Steven and how the local press surrounded them. She'd felt like someone had dropped her on a Hollywood red carpet. "I thought being featured in the paper was the coolest thing ever."
Letting out a long breath, she balanced her chin on the back of her hand. "After Steven was arrested, reporters started camping out in cars across the street. They'd call my name each time I left the house, and I would hear the cameras snapping. Click-click-click-click. It never stopped. After a while I stopped going out unless it was to go to court. I had my food delivered. I kept the curtains drawn. I swear Steven had more freedom in prison." Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Nico's gaze slide toward his windows and the green linen drapes blocking the view.
"Did you know, I couldn't even take out my garbage, because they would go through the contents?" she asked. "I had to let it pile up in the basement until after the trial was over." If she concentrated, she could smell the stench. The horrible sour smell that drifted up the stairs every time she opened the basement door. "I actually dreamt once that the bags overflowed and buried me alive."
"Bella mia..." He reached for her hand.
Louisa pulled back with a shake of her head. No more comforting touches. "I wasn't trying to make you feel sorry for me." Honestly, she didn't know why she'd told him at all. The memory had simply popped out and it had been the first time she shared the secret with anyone. She supposed it was because the situation was repeating itself again now.
"Well, I promise no garbage here."
How was it he knew the way to make her smile no matter how aggravated or sad she got? "Well, if there is," she said, "you're responsible for taking it out."
"Agreed." Nico smiled, and the warmth in his eyes was as reassuring as any embrace. For that moment, anyway, Louisa felt as if everything would be okay.
* * *
Seeing Louisa smile cheered him. It was strange how important seeing her smile was becoming to him. Nico tried to imagine what it must have been like for her during the trial, trapped inside her home while the wolves with their cameras gathered around in wait.
It made him doubly glad that he had lied about the photographs not bothering him. He would never tell Louisa, but seeing the pictures actually bothered him a great deal, although not for the reason she thought. It was his expression in the photographs, a dazed, trancelike appearance that upset him the most. He'd been photographed by the press dozens of times, but never could he remember seeing a shot where he could be seen looking so intently at his partner. Then again, he couldn't remember ever sharing a dance as memorable as the one he shared with Louisa either. Looking at the photograph had brought every detail back into focus, from the softness of her silk gown to the floral scent of her hairspray as she curled into his neck.
Unfortunately, Louisa's reaction was far different. Even though he expected her to get upset, he was surprised at the disappointment her response left in his stomach. Clearly, being the one who usually kept the emotional distance, Nico wasn't used to a woman's disinterest.
Sensing her attention about to return to the headlines, Nico gathered the newspaper and folded it in two. "No more gossip," he said, slapping the paper on the countertop. "We move on to better topics. You need to finish your breakfast. Today is a workday. If you're serious about earning your keep, then we need to get to the winery."
"Are you always this bossy with your houseguests?" she asked, the smile staying in place.
"Only the Americans," Nico countered. What would she say if she discovered she was the first woman to be one of his houseguests? Not even Floriana had been given such an honor. Since his parents had moved away, Nico had preferred the house to remain a place of peace and tranquility, something it had never been when he was a child.
And didn't Louisa, with her damp hair and bare feet, look as if she belonged to the place. The novelty of having company, he decided. Other women would look equally at home, if he ever bothered to invite them.
But would other women engender such a strong desire to protect them? Last night, he'd literally found himself patrolling the house, and again first thing this morning. Frankly, he was surprised he hadn't stood guard outside Louisa's bedroom door to keep her safe.