He snorted and forked another piece of chicken. “You named him Dale from the Disney cartoons. I think he faked that hurt leg. You set him up in the shed with his own man cave. No wonder the rodent didn’t want to leave.”
“Don’t call him a rodent. He was sweet. He didn’t stay long.”
“He was damn mean. Bit me and Michael all the time when we tried to play with him. Then he brought all his rodent friends to party and we were afraid to even go in and get our bikes.”
Her dark eyes glowed and the lines in her beautiful face softened. “Papa got so mad. They chewed holes in the wall and stored towers of nuts. He forced me to get rid of Dale.”
“You cried for days.”
“I have trouble letting go of those I love.”
The startling confession burst through the room. She jerked back, obviously regretting her words, and concentrated on her plate. Max spoke softly. “I know. They always seem to come back to you, though. “
Carina refused to look up. He fought the urge to caress her cheek and kiss the sadness away. Instead, he poured more wine and changed the subject. “How’s your work coming? Are you still doing portraits?”
A strange expression flickered over her face. “Kind of. I’m trying something new.”
“I have a lot of contacts in the art world, Carina. I’d love to set you up with a consultant. If they like it, maybe a show can be arranged?”
She shook her head in between bites. “No, thanks. I’m handling this on my own.”
He bit back his frustration and reminded himself she needed to prove her own success. He already believed in her. She just needed to believe in herself. “Fine, I respect that. You don’t have to work such long hours at BookCrazy, you know. Alexa told Michael you were amazing, but you take double shifts all the time. I never see you anymore.”
“I need the money.”
He cocked his head. “You’re from one of the richest families in Italy. I don’t do too poorly myself, and you’re my wife. Why the hell would you need to work for money?”
She lifted her chin in that stubborn tilt that drove him crazy. “Michael’s rich. You’re rich. I’m not rich. I may have a fat trust fund, but I’m going to make my own way, just like everyone else. If that means working extra shifts, I’m not complaining.”
He bit back a curse. “Family takes care of their own. What’s theirs is yours. Why can’t you understand that?”
She gave an unladylike snort. “Same way you can’t understand how it feels to have failed at everything you’ve done.”
His mouth dropped open. “Failed? You succeed at everything you touch.”
Her voice turned to ice. “I’m not stupid, Max. You may want to get me back in bed, but lying doesn’t cut it. I sucked at being a chef like Mama. I wasn’t good at business like Julietta and Michael. And I sucked at anything to do with personal fashion, beauty, or looks like Venezia. Don’t insult me.”
His heart broke. This beautiful, spirited, giving woman believed she wasn’t worthy. The urge to strangle her or kiss her warred inside him. Instead, he swallowed past the tightness in his throat and told the truth.
“You succeeded at everything precious in this world, Carina. People. Animals. Love. Nothing else matters, you know. But you just don’t see it.”
She stilled. Those soulful dark eyes grew wide with astonishment. A connection blazed between them, hot and bright, and the air grew clogged with emotion. He put down his fork to reach for her.
Carina jumped off the seat and took a few steps back. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for dinner.”
She flew out of the kitchen and left him alone and empty.
• • •
A few days later, Carina studied the paintings in front of her with a critical eye. The class had helped with form and taught her a few techniques that took her to the next level. Her teacher even commented on getting in contact with someone for representation, especially if she completed a cohesive series. A tiny trickle of alarm slid down her spine. A public showing would mean more than coming out of the closet as a hopeful artist. It would mean stripping naked and screaming “Look at me!” in the middle of Times Square.
The real problem, of course, was her family. Her supportive, well-meaning core group who believed she had talent but painted as a hobby. Not once had she expressed her soul screaming for the opportunity to be a professional artist. Art was well respected in Bergamo, but business was revered, especially with the famous La Dolce Famiglia bakeries in the Conte name.
Carina nibbled at her bottom lip and scrawled her name at the bottom.