Gaining Visibility by Pamela Hearon Page A

Papà, Maria, Giovanni, Rachele, Paolo, Adrianna, Antonio, Giada, Michele, Celeste, Piero, Lia, Enrico, Orabella, Cesare, Chiara, Elia.”
    â€œOh, for heaven’s sakes. You don’t consider that large? I mean, you’re talking to an only child who was married to an only child and produced an only child. How many siblings do you have?”
    His brows drew together in confusion. “Ceilings? In the house? I never count them. One for each room.”
    Julia tried to suppress a giggle. “Not ceilings. Siblings. Brothers and sisters.”
    â€œSeeblings.” He tried out the new word. “Five see-blings. No brothers. Five sisters.”
    Aha. That explained a few things. The only boy and five sisters. No wonder he was used to getting his own way. Articles she’d read about Italian culture painted Italian men as quite spoiled by their families. It would be interesting to see if that was actually true in Vitale’s case. “Are your sisters older than you? Younger?”
    â€œThree older. Maria, Giada, Celeste. Adrianna and Orabella younger.”
    â€œThey are married?”
    â€œ Sì .”
    â€œAll of them?”
    â€œ Sì .”
    â€œI assume you’re not married?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œGirlfriend?”
    â€œNo girlfriend.”
    So, unless his family gets the wrong idea, I won’t have some hotheaded Italian mistress putting out a contract on me.
    â€œOh, that reminds me.” Julia pulled the small parcel from her tote. “This is from Rosa at the café in the village. She tells me all the women love Vitale.”
    Vitale laughed, and Julia realized it was the first time she’d heard him really laugh. The sound originated from somewhere deep, and it made her feel like she was sharing something intimate with him, warming her from the inside out.
    â€œRosa, she talk too much, and she think all the world is like Rosa.” He chuckled again and shook his head. “But sua nonna, she make biscotto deliziosa .”
    He started to tear open the parchment package, but that required him to let go of the steering wheel. Julia grabbed the parcel out of his hands. “Here. Let me do that.”
    Inside the paper were four pastry pinwheels.
    â€œEat,” Vitale insisted. “You understand.” He slowed the car and reached over to hold one up to her mouth. She bit into it and the buttery crust seemed to dissolve away, leaving a tangy concoction of apricot and chopped chestnuts.
    â€œMmmm. Yum.” She closed her eyes and savored the taste. When she opened them, Vitale was watching her with a look that made her feel like she was being devoured. She smiled and he laughed again.
    â€œYou like biscotto, yes?”
    She nodded.
    â€œEat.” He pushed it toward her mouth. She took another bite and caught the pastry in her hands as it started buckling under the assault.
    A crumb hung on her bottom lip, and she slipped her tongue out to catch it just as Vitale’s thumb brushed it away. When her tongue grazed him, she quickly sucked it back into her mouth, drawing another smile from him. He responded by stroking his thumb slowly across her lip.
    Her breath caught in her throat.
    Then he helped himself to a biscotto, shifted in his seat, and lay down on the accelerator again.
    They drove in silence for a while, seeming to understand any conversation while eating such a treasure would amount to sacrilege.
    Julia’s stomach adapted to the lurching of the car, though she concentrated on keeping her eyes glued to the road to aid her backseat driving—on anything that would shift her focus from the flirtation this man inspired. “Your English is good, Vitale.” She broke the silence. “How did you learn?”
    She saw his shrug in her peripheral vision.
    â€œI do not learn. I just do.”
    â€œIs that your answer for everything?”
    She cast a quick glance his way and caught the hint of a