Out of the corner of my eye I see a black shape slinking over the sun-bleached gravel—Nero. The cat pauses at the door, tail twitching, and without a glance in my direction he goes into Derio’s office.
Oh no you don’t. If Derio’s not in there, he’s going to lose his mind. If I’m not allowed in there, the damn feral feline isn’t allowed in there either.
“Hey,” I whisper harshly to it but it’s already inside. I get out of my chair and hurry over to the door.
The office is empty. I see the cat has jumped up onto the desk.
“Get away from there!” I yell at the cat, trying to shoo him away. The cat looks at me with disdain and then jumps off, knocking over a stack of papers that were lying on the desk. They scatter across the tiles and the cat runs for the bookshelves.
I swear under my breath and am about to pick up the papers when something on the desk catches my eye. It’s a printed manuscript, about two inches thick and held together in the corner by a heavy-duty binder clip. The typewritten pages are marked up with red pencil; I can see scrawled handwriting in the margins and between the double-spaced sentences. The header says Correre il Sole—Sophie Larosa.
Don’t snoop, I tell myself, though it seems to me like Derio is editing something of his late mother’s, or at least reading something she may have edited herself.
I tear my eyes away from it, putting a stop to my curiosity, and then stoop down to pick up the papers. I try not to look at them either to protect his privacy.
But these aren’t related to his mother’s books.
They’re résumés. All in Italian. All dated within the last few weeks. I see the words bambini and bambinaia in bold letters. I flip through them and then realize there are a lot more in the trash can beside his desk.
I start picking them out, poring over them. Even with my limited Italian, it’s pretty obvious what they’re all applying for.
“What are you doing?”
I jerk my head up to see Derio standing in the doorway, shock and anger rippling across his features. But I don’t even remember that I shouldn’t be in here.
I stand up and wave the papers at him as he strides toward me. “What are these? Résumés? Are these résumés for the nanny position?”
“I told you not to come in here,” he spits out, looming over me.
“No,” I tell him, shoving the résumés into his chest. “Felisa told me to never come in here. You know, the woman you said you can’t replace for a job you said no one has applied for. Well, what the fuck is all of this? You lied to me!”
His nostrils flare and he closes his eyes. “It’s not like that.”
“Then explain it.”
He tears the résumés from my hand and flings them into the garbage. “They are no good.”
“You said no one applied. Why did you lie?”
“Because what is the point? They are not good enough for the position.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re good enough. And they aren’t as good as you.”
My mouth drops open. “What? What are you saying?”
“I’m saying . . .” he says and then growls in frustration, turning away. But I don’t want him to turn away anymore. I’m sick of him disappearing when things get rough.
I reach out and grab his arm, my fingers digging into his flesh. I’m surprised at how angry I am. I pull him toward me, not afraid.
“What are you saying?” I repeat. “You know this isn’t my job. This wasn’t what I was hired for.”
“I know,” he says through gritted teeth. “You make that perfectly clear.”
“Because it isn’t!” I yell. “I’m not cut out for this. I came here to teach the kids English, not become a substitute mother.”
“Even though they need you?” he asks, his voice lowering. He’s breathing hard, his jaw set in a stubborn line.
“They don’t need me,” I tell him. “They need someone who can really take care of them, someone who knows what they’re doing.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. He licks his lips and a look of sincerity washes across his face. “What if I need you?”
I blink at him, afraid to think about what he means. “You can easily find someone who will fill those needs.”
“Those aren’t the needs I’m talking about,” he says, turning in to me and sliding an arm around my waist. He cups my face with the other hand and runs his rough thumb across my lips. He gazes down at me through hooded lids, simmering with lust. “Mia leonessa. Ti voglio, voglio far l’amore con te, voglio la tua dolce bocca. Baciami.”
He kisses me hard, hurriedly. I have no idea what he just said but I’m agreeing to all of it and melting in his hands. I’m still angry at being somewhat deceived but a different fire burns brighter now, hotter, stoked by his desperate tongue and greedy lips.
He pushes me back until my ass is pressed up against the edge of the desk and I can feel his urgency. His mouth is on my neck, on my shoulder, his lips wanting and searching, and I’m not sure what to do with my hands. I want to grab him, feel him, every beautiful inch. I want to do more than we did last night.
Of course, somewhere in the back of my head, amid the heat from his body and the haze of summer and the dreamy lust, I wonder if this is a good idea. I’m the nanny. More than that, it seems like he’s intent on keeping me as his nanny. I should be mad about that. I should be cautious. I should realize that having sex with Derio is a big, big step, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for it.