What Love Tastes Like Read Online Free PDF

I’ll be working, he said. It’s right across the street from—
    â€œHere we are, sir.” The driver interrupted Tiffany’s thoughts. “Safely delivered to your favorite place in Rome…”
    â€œAnticaPesa,” both he and Tiffany finished together. “You know him!” she gushed to Nick. “You know Chef Riatoli!”
    â€œGuilty as charged,” Nick said, his grin now full and unabashed.
    The door on her side opened and the chauffeur waited to help her out of the car. Tiffany, however, remained glued to her seat.
    â€œHis delicacies await us, mia bellezza, ” Nick prodded. “Shall we?”
    â€œI can’t,” Tiffany answered, feeling inadequate one minute, overwhelmed the next. “I’m here as Chef’s cook, not his customer! I can’t afford this place. I’m a student. I’m…What will he think of me walking into his establishment to eat?”
    Nick stepped out of the car, walked around to Tiffany’s side, and extended his hand. “Sweetheart, he’ll think you’re hungry. Come.”

5
    The maitre d’ smiled broadly as Nick entered the warm and cozy foyer. “Dominico, mio amico! Benvenuto di nuovo a AnticaPesa. Come lei è sono?”
    â€œBuono, grazie,” Nick answered, before switching to English for Tiffany’s benefit. “Very good, in fact. It’s been far too long since I’ve been here, but I see you are managing well without me. The place is full, as usual.”
    â€œToo many customers,” the maitre d’ admitted, his English punctuated with a lyrical accent. “But that is a good problem to have, no?”
    Nick placed a hand at the small of Tiffany’s back and guided her forward. “My friend, Ms. Matthews,” he said, his voice smoky and possessive. “Tiffany, this is Rolando.”
    The maitre d’s eyes widened in appreciation. “Bella donna,” he gushed, bringing Tiffany’s hand to his lips and kissing it gently. “It is my pleasure to feast upon such exquisite beauty.”
    Tiffany released a self-conscious giggle as Joy’s voice swam into her consciousness. “Italian men love Black women,” she’d said as Tiffany modeled the dress. “You might get ravished by a ravioli-eating—”
    â€œGrazie,” Tiffany answered softly, speaking the word she’d heard Nick say earlier, that obviously meant thank you. It was her first foray into Italian, and a blatant attempt to turn her thoughts away from the sexually oriented conversation that had preceded Joy’s comment.
    â€œPrego,” the maitre d’ responded as they reached Nick’s reserved table. “Should we start with your usual wine, sir?”
    â€œNo, I think we’ll go for something a bit more celebratory. It’s Tiffany’s first visit to Rome.”
    â€œAh, then let me send the sommelier to discuss an appropriate choice for you and the giovane donna. ” The maitre d’ smiled at Tiffany, nodded at Nick, and walked away.
    Tiffany tried not to gawk. The last thing she wanted to do was to come across like a country bumpkin who’d been nowhere. But after a few seconds, her attempt at sophistication failed her. Because the truth of the matter was that she was a bumpkin, albeit a city one, who’d never been anywhere like this before. She looked from the beautifully set tables to the beautiful people occupying them, listened to the soft sounds of classical music providing the subtlest of backdrops for erudite conversations and, she imagined, more than a few declarations of love. The place oozed romanticism as well as wealth. Tiffany felt like Cinderella, her crystal-covered sandals as close to a glass slipper as Tiffany needed. She only hoped her dress wouldn’t disintegrate at midnight, unless it was at the hands of the prince sitting across from her.
    Nick sat back and watched Tiffany. Her