Surrender To Me

CORINA

Dante has been the ultimate gentleman during the trip.

And to be fair, throughout the last week. He kept to his promise of winning me over and has so far gone above and beyond. He hasn’t even tried to have sex with me, and I am guessing he’s waiting for me to make the first move in that regard. The only problem is what he’s saying. He’s being nice and chivalrous, yes, but it all seems calculated. I don’t feel emotion coming from him, nor does he even show me that he loves me. For all the time we’ve spent together, he’s never said the all-important words. It is difficult to stay resilient though, with all the ways he’s spoiling me. I must stay on track. At the end of the week, I’ll be leaving Dante and the Grand Palazzo all together.

The car comes to a halt at the front entrance of the Villa. Even without the wedding decorations and the hubbub of that day, the villa looks amazing. The old-world beauty is even more prominent now. We’re greeted by a middle-aged man I saw last time we were here. Dante introduces him as the butler, a pleasant man called Enzo Luciano, or Luciano as he likes to be called. He introduces us to the rest of the servants and leads us inside the house. As we reach the grand staircase in the foyer, Luciano stops abruptly and whispers something in Italian to Dante. Dante responds and we continue. “Anything wrong?” I ask as we make our way up the stairs.

“He was just confirming if he should have prepared two bedrooms. And I said yes.” He looks like he wants to say something else, but then looks straight ahead.

“I hope I’m not getting in your way, me coming here.”

“Not at all. Trust me, I would love some company. I can give you a tour of the place later. If you want, that is.”

“Nico showed me the place last time we were here.”

His face falls. It’s a tiny, almost imperceptible change of emotion, but I do notice it. Was he looking forward to showing me around? That doesn’t make sense. I’m sure he would see it as more of a chore than anything else. I probably read that wrong.

Dante shows me my room, which is opposite his. It’s a sumptuous space decorated in the same mix of contemporary and classic Italian style. There’s a big bed on one end, sofas, a settee next to a window that offers a view of sprawling hills and a door that leads to a large ensuite bathroom. It’s more like a suite than a room. I have a feeling this is the second largest bedroom after the master. I take a shower, put on some clean clothes and a few minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. Dante is standing there when I

open it. His hair is wet, and he has changed his clothes as well. Looks like he’s also taken a shower. He looks fresh and irresistibly handsome. “I was just thinking that maybe you might want to eat dinner at a local restaurant.”

“Of course, but I might have to change my clothes.” I doubt my jeans and t-shirt would be great for dinner at some fancy restaurant.

“You look perfect. You don’t need to change a thing.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be the only one wearing jeans in a restaurant where everyone’s dressed to the nines.”

He bellows with laughter. “Trust me, where we are going, you’ll be the one overdressed.”

He was right. The restaurant Dante takes me to is nestled in the middle of a small town outside Tuscany and far away from the usual places most tourists visit. It’s a quaint little town that looks romantic in the orange light of the sun setting. It’s not a rich town, as I can see from some of the run-down buildings we pass by, but it is serene and picturesque. One thing I notice as soon as we enter the restaurant is how most people recognize him. Some even come up to greet him after we’re seated. Even the chef of the restaurant comes to serve us. After the burly man is gone, I lean in to say, “You should have told me that you were a local celebrity.”

“Hardly. But I guess you can say so.” He looks around the restaurant and I follow his gaze. More than a few patrons have their gazes turned towards us, some not even discreetly. “What’s your claim to fame?”

“I helped revive a chestnut factory nearby,” he shrugs. “I guess they give me the credit.”

“Is that the business you came to deal with?”

He nods. “It’s the first time in a long time they’ve been able to produce high-quality goods.”

“Wow. I would love to see the inside of a chestnut factory. What kinds of products do they make?”

He frowns. “You know, we don’t have to talk about my boring business interests if you don’t want to.”

“No, I really want to learn.”

His eyes brighten and as he launches into an explanation of how he got to learn about the town. He was eating at this restaurant and got served great sauce. It was chestnut sauce that was legendary to the town. He became a regular and learned about how it was about to run out because the factory’s previous owner wanted to destroy the factory and building a luxury tourist getaway. His face gets angry every time he speaks about the former owner and the neglect. And it shines whenever he talks about the people. I don’t think I have ever seen him this passionate about anything, not even when he’s gambling, something I’ve learned he likes so much. Even this venture of his can be seen as a risky gamble, but he seems to not take it as such. It’s clear that he’s in love with a place more than any other.

After he’s done talking about all the products they’ve made and plan on releasing next year, he launches into another talk about the employees until he’s interrupted by the chef and two servers coming with plates of food.

“I must be boring you,” he says. “You should see your face.” He frowns.

“You love this place. It’s infectious.”

“That obvious, huh?”

“How come you’ve never told me about this before?”

“I tend to keep the things I love close to my heart, or so I’ve been told.”

My breath catches in my throat. His stare is hot and magnetic, making it hard for me to look away. There’s something in those words too that dares me to hope. “We should eat,” I blurt out.

He chuckles and picks up his fork and knife. I follow his lead. The plate is a crostini toscani as the chef called it. The first bite takes me to heaven. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything so delicious as this. My eyes shutter as the flavors burst in my mouth as I chew and I must have moaned out loud because I hear Dante say, “Great, isn’t it?”

I open my eyes; heat rises to my cheeks. “It’s really good.”

“You’re going to love the ravioli. The chef here uses a different kind of pasta that makes it that much perfect.”

Dante is right. The entree is just as full of flavor as the starter. When I finish my plate, faster than I thought I would, he encourages me to get the dessert, which is the castagnaccio and gelato, a town dish. “It’s made from chestnut flour,” he tells me as I cut into the cake. “The same one your factory will make?” He nods as I bite into the cake.

The castagnaccio is amazing. The gelato is just a cherry on top. “I might just move into this restaurant and stay here forever.” Dante laughs and so does the chef, who I hadn’t noticed standing behind me. “You can stay! We can find space for a beautiful woman such as you!” the chef says, his voice filled with mirth.

“Careful now, Flavio.”

“Eh,” he shrugs, hands in the air, “I see a beautiful woman who likes my food. I take. Whether she’s your girlfriend or not, fair is fair.”

My cheeks redden even more even after Flavio is gone. After I’m done eating the dessert, we order coffee as Dante and I talk about our lives. He’s more inquisitive than I’ve ever known him to be, and he seems genuinely interested in every topic I raise from my time with my mother to the other times I spent working in other casinos as a dealer.

After we’re done drinking coffee, we leave the restaurant. The moon is bright out and the small streets are lit in a low glow that is undeniably romantic. I don’t know when or how it happens, but as we walk down the street, we end up on what feels like a leisurely stroll. “I never knew you were that experienced,” he says after I finished telling him all about the politics at the casino tables.

“Are you not bored? Most people usually glaze over when I talk about my work.”

“Well, I am a casino owner so I guess I understand where you’re coming from. You seem to enjoy it.”

I shrug. “It’s work. It pays. I don’t think about it more than that and maybe that’s why I like it. I doubt I would have such a rosy outlook if I wasn’t working at your casino,

though. The other places I worked for were shit.”

“You don’t have any other interests.”

“I do. I hope to be a trophy wife one day.”

Dante looks a little surprised until he sees my smile. He chuckles. His hand feels warm in mine. When did that happen? We come to a stop and I realize that we’ve reached the car. We must have taken the longer route. He swings me around until I’m facing him and takes me into his arms. His head drops, my heart thumps faster as I anticipate his lips coming to touch mine, but just when he’s mere inches away from my lips, he says, “You have to be the one.”

“What do you mean?”

“The one to kiss me first.”

His eyes are burning with desire, which I’m sure is reflected in my own. Warm wind blows and he pulls me closer to him. I feel his hardening length. He wants me, that much is obvious, but is that all he wants? “Does it matter?” My voice is barely a whisper. Anyone with a brain cell can tell I want him. He searches my gaze for what I don’t know, then groans and lets his head drop down to my shoulder, “I don’t want to push you. I want to know that you want me for real.” He lifts his head, steps back and holds me at shoulders length. “When we finally get together, I don’t want you to deny it.”

We get into the car and drive back to the villa in potent silence. His words are on my mind even when we reach the house and even as I sleep. I don’t know what I expected, but the factory is an old building with brand new equipment. Courtesy of Dante, the factory manager proudly tells me in broken English. He’s taking us through a tour of the place and showing us all the new machines as well as the production process. He’s speaking mostly in Italian, while Dante interprets everything he says. At the end of the tour, he brings us the flagship products. The chestnut flour and butter as well as freshly made chestnut cookies.

“Thank you for letting me come,” I say as we head out of the factory. “The people here. They seem very grateful for you coming to save them.”

“They did all the hard work. I just gave them the money.”

“They don’t see it that way at all,” I say, thinking of one of the factory workers I was talking to who was in awe of

Dante. “You’re their savior.”

He grunts and changes the subject. “We have the rest of the day together. I thought maybe you might want to see a bit of Tuscany. I can be your tour guide. What do you want to see?”

We are in Tuscany, after all. “The Leaning Tower of Pisa.”

He rolls his eyes. “Sure.”

“What’s wrong with that? I’ve always wanted to visit.”

“No problem with being a typical tourist.”

The drive to the town of Pisa is further from the small town we were in is further than I thought and by the time we reach it I feel a little guilty for taking him this far out, but Dante’s excited demeanor seems to indicate that he does not mind. “Pisa,” he says when we reach the town, “I assume you want to see the tower itself first?” I nod.Content property of NôvelDra/ma.Org.