A Taste Of Pleasure

Although her mother was still considered a supermodel, at fifty-five years old—sixty-five if you paid attention to birth certificates—Francesca Watts was rarely offered work anymore, but she still treated every night like she was waking for a photo shoot the next day.

“Well, do I have to guess what happened or are you going to tell me?”

“I quit the restaurant.”

“Good, now you can start your own. I’m sure Daddy would give you the money.” Dani noted that her mother didn’t offer. She also wasn’t sure either of them had that type of cash just lying around anymore.

Dani sniffed. “That’s not all.” Dani made it through the abbreviated story of her breakup with Andre without another wave of tears.

“He wasn’t strong enough for you, dear, I told you that. Not many men can handle women like us.”

It was the same thing she said to Dani after her father had left and moved back to Sweden. Dani began to think the call was a mistake.

“Mother, just once I’d appreciate a little sympathy. I just want a virtual hug and for you to tell me it’s going to be okay.”

“Well, if you had moved to California with me instead of choosing to be nearer to your father, then I’d be able to hug you in person and do all of that.”

“That is not the reason I stayed, Mother. I chose my career over the both of you—it just happened to be in New York.”

“And now you’re crying.”

“There is no correlation.” Dani quelled her rising voice and shook her head. “God, why can’t we have a conversation like normal people?”

“Normal people?” her mother sneered. “We are not normal. Normal people aren’t Michelin-starred chefs, Danica. I made love to David Bowie, for God’s sake.”

Dani chuckled as she cringed, feeling a little better. Her mother actually sounded proud of her. “Please, I can’t handle that story now.”

“Yes. Yes. Now stop this crying. Did you get the dress I sent you?”

“It’s too small.”

“Well, did you gain more weight?”

And that lovely feeling came crashing down. “I don’t know, Mother, I don’t weigh myself on a daily basis like you do.”

“Well, that designer runs a bit bigger, I thought it would fit.”

“I’m fat, Mother, get over it.”

“You’re not fat, you’re full figured. Lots of women would kill for your hourglass shape. Women are paying thousands of dollars to achieve your natural breast size, my dear. But now that you’re done with that backbreaking job you can go back to Pilates.”

Her mother’s personal trainer had almost killed her one summer. She’d only lost a pound.

“No, thanks.” Dani sipped a glass of wine, trying to ignore the fact that her mother still thought of her as someone who just needed to work out a little more and poof, she’d be a size four. “She called me fat.”

“Who did?”

“The hostess Andre is cheating with.”

“And did you tell that hood rat that she was just a sex toy?”

Dani laughed then. She knew her mother had issues about her weight, but she never allowed another person to say so.

“I’m glad you’re laughing. Now, pull yourself up and take one step forward. You’ll figure out what to do. I have to go.”

Dani frowned. “Early breakfast with that old Persian billionaire?”

“No, darling, that ended months ago. I’m on my way to Milan tomorrow.”

At the mention of Milan, Toni’s firm lips and lean body popped into her mind. She ran a hand over her hair and shook the vision away. “Oh. Why?”

“I’m in a campaign for Chanel. Ageless, timeless, something or other. It was a cat fight between Naomi and me, God forbid they have two African American models in the campaign, but they chose me.” She waited a beat. “I was the first black model to walk in Paris, you know.”

Dani knew. She’d heard all of her mother’s groundbreaking stories. Had seen all of the pictures of her slim, satin-skinned mother gracing magazine covers.

Her mother’s success had been a series of highs and lows, with more and more lows as the gracefully aging beauty got older.

“That’s great, Mom. Why didn’t you mention anything?”

“You know how this goes. I’ll get there and they may not even use me.”

“So it’s like a test thing?”

“Mmm...something like that.”

Dani couldn’t imagine the blow to her mother’s ego. It was a go-see. An audition.

“They’ll be idiots not to use you.”

“Yes. They would.” Her mother seemed to hesitate. “Would you like to come? It’s been a while since we were in Milan together. I can get us a suite at the Baglioni.”

“You want me to come with you?”

“Well...yes. Why not? You’re not working.” Dani blinked, intrigued, but unsure if that was a good idea. The last time Dani had been invited to one of her mother’s shows had been during Milan Fashion Week when she was eight. The nanny canceled and the hotel staff couldn’t watch her, so her mother had to take her along.

You do not make noise or speak, Francesca had insisted in the limo to the photo shoot. I’m going to put you in my dressing area. And if anyone asks you who you are, you do not say a word. You run and hide. They might think you’re a homeless Italian child and just leave you alone.

But I want to see the cameras.

No. Francesca had sent her a look that could melt steel.

Why?

Because your mother needs to protect her image. Dani hadn’t known what that meant, she’d just known Mom meant business.

As the pair ran unnoticed into the dressing room, Dani thought of the whole thing as a game. But when Dani had laughed a little too loud, she had seen that look on her mother’s face and shut it down. Dani didn’t know how long she had been in the dressing room by herself, but the thought of the cameras was too enticing. She’d tiptoed behind some tall equipment in her little Keds and ran into a king’s spread of food. Sandwiches, cheeses, grapes and...cookies!

Dani was stretched over the lip of the table when her mother’s makeup artist had found her with her fingers curled around a macaroon.

Bella? Dov’è tua madre? Dani had turned to run but she knocked over a microphone stand. Francesca, do you know this child? I asked her where is her mother, but I think she’s mute.

Heads swiveled between Dani and her mother. The little girl flinched when Francesca’s eyes sparked with split-second rage. Her mother turned to her makeup artist.

Robbie, do I look like I’ve had a child?

Roberto waved his brushes in the air. Of course not. I doubt your baby would be so...robust.

The room laughed.

That is just baby weight, her mother had quipped, but... I’m sure she must be with one of the production managers or something. She’d narrowed her eyes at Dani. Would you like an autograph, sweetie? How about you sit quietly in my chair over there and I’ll give you one when I’m done. Okay?

Roberto had left Dani by the table. You are so charitable, Francesca.

I try to give back whenever I can, Robbie.

Never would Dani forget that day, or ask to go to work with her mother again. But she wasn’t a kid anymore, maybe this time it would be fun.

“You’ll be able to see Marcello,” Francesca sighed. Dani heard the jealous sound of her mother’s voice. Not long after Dani’s first and last time going to a photo shoot, her mother again couldn’t find a sitter, and dropped Dani off in the hotel restaurant.

Chef Marcello Farina, her old mentor and owner of three-Michelin-star rated Via Carciofo where she trained, had found her in the corner, put her in a white coat and gave her odd jobs around the kitchen. She had loved it. Marcello was like a second father, and probably the reason she was a chef.

“Just say yes already. I have to sleep,” Dani’s mother said at the tail end of a yawn.

Maybe talking to Marcello would give her some perspective, Dani thought. What could it hurt? “Okay, I’ll go.”

Chapter 4

New York

Toni sank into the back seat of the car service and watched out the window as they sped up the West Side Highway. The call he’d gotten from Louis, the manager of his Upper West Side warehouse, had been frantic, making it necessary for him to interrupt his trip to JFK Airport. He checked his Omega timepiece and estimated that he had a little over an hour to fly standby on the next flight.

Street vendors doled out coffee to groggy workers while children were dragged by the hand into prestigious-looking school buildings. It was a sharp contrast to the slick glittering nightlife where the drinks were just as cool as the people. He sighed, disappointed that he had to cut his trip short.

He’d called his daughter yesterday to wish her a good night and found that his ex-wife had left Sophia home alone again. Yes, at thirteen years old his daughter could take care of herself, but it was the way she was taking care of herself that worried him. A boy had answered Sophia’s phone when he’d called.

Since he’d moved out over a year ago, she stayed with him every other week, which gave him limited glimpses into her life. The weeks she was with him she was an angel—if teenagers could ever be angels. She was safe and out of trouble at least. But the weeks with her mother, like this week, had become increasingly problematic. He blamed it on Ava’s new boyfriend and her penchant for going out more than staying home.

The second the call picked up he’d heard a chorus of “shhhs” followed by the lowering of music. She had been having a party. Girlfriends doing makeup and watching movies, he presumed. Then a deep voice said her name. He recalled the conversation like it was happening all over again.

“Papà?” Her voice was apprehensive.

“Why is a boy answering your phone?”

“He was just being stupid, Papà. It’s not what you think.”

“It better not be what I think, Sophia. Where’s your mother?”

“Um—” giggles in the background “—upstairs in the bath?”

“Go get her.”

“She’ll be mad if I interrupt.”

“Stop lying to me. I’m calling her right now.”

“No, don’t! Okay, she’s not here. She’s out with Bruno. But she’ll be back later. I’m fine.”

“Who is there watching you?”

“I don’t need a chaperone, Papà. It’s just a few friends, we’re watching a scary movie.”

“You hate scary movies.”

“Not anymore.” He bet that boy just loved scary movies.

“I want everyone out of that house and I’m sending Nonna to check on you,” he said over her whining protests. “I’m coming home tomorrow and we are going to discuss this with your mother when I get back.”

After a quick call to his mother, she agreed to drive the twenty minutes from her country home into the city. He sent a scathing text to Ava and received no response. Yeah, the three of them were going to have a serious sit-down when he got home. Toni sighed his frustration just as the car pulled into the shipping lot behind the warehouse. He jumped out and quickly crossed to the large building.

Toni heard the echo of the argument the minute he walked through the freight entrance. Skirting trucks and small forklifts, he propped his bags on a tall stack of wine crates and shouted hello to the operations manager, who stopped his crate packing and jerked his head in the direction of the commotion. Toni quickened his pace to the front of the store.

Andrea Gomez of Star restaurant group had shown up expectantly without an appointment and, by the way her voice was rising, seemingly irate. Toni stopped just at the threshold to button his suit jacket, then realized with a sigh that he wasn’t wearing it, opting for only a navy T-shirt and trousers for his trip back to Milan.

He debated running back to the town car sitting idle in the shipping lot, then thought against it. There was no time. He needed to catch that earlier flight, needed to get home to his daughter. A shrill female voice pulled him over the threshold into their show and tasting room.

“Do you hear what I’m saying? I’ll pay retail if I have to, just get me something that won’t embarrass me!” Andrea’s hair was wild and she had both of her hands on the counter as if she was going to jump over it. The wineglasses lined up on the tasting bar trembled, as did Louis, who had taken a step back and was clutching the bottle in his hand like a life raft.

“Andrea,” Toni said, his arms wide and voice jubilant, making sure to pronounce her name with extra Italian flair. “On-drea-uh,” a sexier spin on the American “Ann-dree-uh.” He kissed her on both cheeks.

“Antonio! Oh, I had no idea you were in town.” Andrea immediately straightened and jammed her fingers through her hair.

Louis visibly relaxed.

“When I heard you were here, I had to come. You look ravishing.” Andrea’s lids fluttered and she shifted nervously in her big coat, sweatpants and Uggs. It was almost 10 a.m. and Toni could only assume Andrea was not having a good morning.

Toni took her shaky hand in his, steadying her erratic behavior and demonstrating that the drunken kiss she’d laid on him several months ago at a wine conference in Verona did nothing to harm their business relationship. Not that he would have minded a night with her, but he never mixed business with pleasure. “I was only here a few days. I’m on a flight back this morning. Now, bella, what has happened that has you in such a state?” He was laying it on thick, but if he was going to get this done in ten minutes, he needed her attention.

“I’m hosting a wedding tonight for the mayor’s daughter at John-Duc and those Figgertons sent me cases of spoiled wines. They are like vinegar! This is the mayor’s daughter—it could ruin me!” Andrea’s face reddened with every word.

Toni knew the Figgertons well. A distributor of self-proclaimed “elegant” wines from smaller less known vineyards. Which appealed to a hipster sensibility of indie winemaking, but Toni knew it really meant the wines were less traceable, amateur at best and definitely not worth the price he knew Andrea had paid.

“You know I would have come to you, Toni, but she’s a vegan hippie and insisted on small vineyards, as if this woman knows anything about wine, and—”

Toni stopped her and urged her to take a deep breath. His specialty was in fine wines from more established vineyards, vintners he knew personally. All had a reputation for the highest quality grapes, rich terroir, flawless production and generations of knowledge. It was a combination you could actually taste.

And as their distributor, he made sure they got the price they deserved. Discounts were for the Figgertons.

She was looking at him with doe eyes, as if she wanted to apologize for going somewhere else. It didn’t bother him that she didn’t come to him first. In fact, he was elated that he found an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Toni was personally representing his friend’s rebuilt winery in Brazil. Getting it in front of the mayor could be excellent for business.

“Louis, bring the Deschamps.”

“But, sir—”

“I know, Louis. Let’s have a taste.” Louis darted to the back and Toni watched Andrea’s gaze travel down his front. He inwardly urged Louis to hurry.

“So.” Andrea stepped forward, letting her coat fall open to reveal a white low-cut T-shirt, with a tiny coffee stain on the front. “How have you been?”

Louis had a new glass on the bar and a bottle of Deschamps Cab Franc open and poured in seconds. Andrea looked at the bottle, then at Antonio.

“This is a Deschamps. I can’t do a fine wine, the bride will never go for it.”

“This one is from the smaller biodynamic vineyard in Brazil.”

Andrea gasped. “Didn’t they have a fire?”

“Yes, but they have risen out of the ashes like a phoenix. Taste it.” Toni leaned in as she lifted the glass to her lips. “There is a story in that wine any hippie would love.”

Andrea swallowed and tried to hide her satisfaction, a tactic he knew she used for negotiation, but Toni had seen the pleasure in her eyes. She signaled for one more taste, which Toni approved by a slight nod.

“Hmm,” was all she said as she stared at the bottle. The forest green label etched in gold writing with trademarks and family seals meant...cha-ching.

Andrea was still trying to play it cool, but her Uggs were shifting. “Is this all you have to show me?”

“Of course not, but I think it’s what you need to make your bride happy.”

“How much is in the back?”

“Enough for a wedding of, say, four hundred.” Louis began to fidget, wide-eyed.

“Price?”

Toni stepped forward, his smile on full wattage. “Bella, for you? I’ll make you a deal.”

Minutes later Toni was in the back grabbing his bags. The pit stop ran later than expected, but he still might be able to just make his flight. He breezed by his operations manager. “Marco that entire palate goes to Jean-Duc on Park Avenue right now.” Marco and his staff stopped packing the crate and frowned.

Louis skidded to a halt. “But we are shipping this to Bagatelle Miami tonight! And we have none left in the other warehouses.”

“I’ll call Destin, Louis. We’ll ship straight from his cellar in Brazil. I’ll call you later.”

Toni climbed into the car and shut the door, nodding at Louis’s anxious wave. He’d just sold more than expected of his friend’s wines and made a fortune on the up-charge he slid by Andrea. He should be happy, but all he could think about was getting home.

With literally minutes to spare, Toni stepped onto the boarding dock and heard the doors close behind him. Someone upstairs was looking after him today. He found his seat in first class and then placed his laptop bag on the floor, along with the several gifts he bought for Sophia.

“Coffee?” He took the cup and thanked the stewardess, then settled into the leather seat. He was about to put in his earbuds when a gray sweatshirt landed in the empty seat and he heard a soft thank-you to his right. A woman was standing by the seat, her arms extended as she rummaged in the overhead compartment. Her generous breasts quivered under her V-neck T-shirt which was tucked into a pair of high-waisted jeans.

Toni unfolded himself carefully from his seat, about to offer his help, when the woman slammed the compartment shut. He dragged his gaze from the curve of her hips in anticipation of seeing her face. He was met with large black sunglasses and a waterfall of dark hair that fell into her face and past her shoulders.

He folded himself back into his seat, still on alert if she needed anything. He decided to mind his own business, when a light pleasant fragrance teased his nose. From the corner of his eye he could see her twisting her hair into a ponytail, lifting her torso and chest up and out, and he found himself captivated. What was it about the way a woman moved?

Feeling like a pervert, he grabbed his coffee, only to glance back when he noticed her looking his way. She smiled. He smiled back, and then the pilot began to speak and the cabin readied for takeoff. The woman was lovely, but his thoughts had traveled to mocha-colored skin and floral tattoos. An occurrence that happened randomly and more frequently as the months went by. He assumed it was because his personal life had become a source of frustration. Dating wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped. He mused that he was no longer just looking for love; he was looking for a life partner. Stability. One who could also love his daughter and deal with his ex. It raised the stakes, and kind of killed the romance of it all.

When had love gotten so complicated? And when had he become so jaded? The old him would be flirting with his flight companion, instead he was avoiding her eyes.

The small cries of Dani’s orgasm rang in his ear and he downed another sip of his coffee He wished he could have seen her during this trip to New York City. He’d gotten in three days of work and a few visits to his favorite haunts, but today had been the day he looking forward to the most. He’d made his reservation at Via L’Italy months ago. Yes, it was one of the best restaurants in the city, but he was more interested in seeing Danica again and that was where she worked. He smiled as his thoughts drifted to their delicious night of champagne and sex almost a year ago. Waking up alone the next morning had been a jolt to his ego, but he wouldn’t change a thing about that night.

There’d been no rhyme or reason for his planned visit. He understood that she could be seeing someone, hell, he’d been dating quite a bit, but his intentions were not to have another one-night stand. He just wanted to see her.

Unfortunately he had to skip that reservation.

Toni began to feel very tired then. He didn’t know what he was going to say to Ava when he got home, not that she’d listen, but he had hours to figure it out.

Toni fished his phone from his pocket to turn it off and found three messages from his mother. Each was an update on their new restaurant project Via Olivia, a farm-to-table dining experience just outside of Milan, along with a list of things he needed to accomplish when he got back.

For generations, his family has been in the wine and restaurant business. There were no titles or job descriptions, just his mother, the matriarch of their large family, telling everyone what to do. If you were in the family, you worked for the family. Strangely enough it was successful. Lorenzetti restaurant group owned several restaurants throughout Italy, including a three-Michelin-starred restaurant in the center of Milan run by his uncle.

Although Toni had his wine business, he was also an active partner in the restaurant group. While he had a small stake in all of the restaurants, this new venture had been his idea. Five years of landscaping, gardening, designing the perfect villa, he had invested a lot of time and money into making it a success. And with his uncle overseeing the menu, Toni knew it would be fantastico. Just a week or two now and they would be open.

He quickly texted his mother back, then balked at the last text that came through.

Ava still hadn’t arrived home.

Toni turned off his phone and pinched his nose, praying the plane could make warp speed.

Chapter 5

Milan

Dani arrived at the Baglioni Hotel Carlton in the early morning but her mother had already left for work. A little jet-lagged, she ordered up a sizable pot of coffee and some pastries to the two-bedroom suite, then unpacked her toiletries and an outfit for the day. After some digging in her bursting bag, she hung up a dress in the closet for later, then decided that unpacking the rest of her bag could wait.

The rainfall shower in the black marble spa bathroom made her seven-hour red-eye worth it. She began to feel like a human again as the water slid over her skin. Milan. She hadn’t been back in years, not because she didn’t want to, but because running a kitchen in New York had proven as consuming as Chef Marcello had promised. Knowing Marcello was working, she planned to surprise him later that night and maybe get some life advice too.

Dani toweled off and let the high-thread-count towels caress her skin, lingering over her sensitive breasts as images of Toni Lorenzetti naked and thrusting into her took over her thoughts. Even as she and Andre had committed to each other—she’d thought—flashbacks of Toni were a spontaneous occurrence that she couldn’t help. Someone would smile and she’d see Toni. A tall man would walk through the door at the restaurant, she’d see Toni. She’d hear an accent, any accent. Toni. She chalked it up to the great sex because what other explanation could there possibly be?

He was here in Milan, she thought. She exited the bathroom and sat on the bed, running complimentary lotion over her legs. The soft duvet reminded her of the duvet they’d had no use for in Brazil. She’d woken up groggy from the champagne, her body aching from the high-octane sex, and warm from the humidity of the air and the heat of his body. She had slid from underneath his heavy arm, almost tripped over the pile of sheets on the floor, found her clothes and tiptoed out the door, and back to reality.