Izzy hesitated under the green and white awning of the quaint Italian restaurant. A pair of flickering lanterns at the door, coupled with the traditional Italian music drifting from within, created a warm, romantic atmosphere. It might have set her at ease if she hadn't been so busy second guessing her decision to come.

It wasn't that she was worried about meeting Gene alone. She instinctively knew he was harmless and wouldn't take advantage of her. She was more worried about leading him on and perhaps hurting his feelings. Although he was quite handsome, and seemed to be an extraordinarily decent man, she didn't feel drawn to him in a romantic way. The funny thing was—she hadn't sensed he had feelings for her in that regard either.

The inside of the little restaurant was just as charming. Red and white checkered tables filled the dark wooden room, each adorned with a flickering candle encapsulated in a jar. In the corner, a group of three elderly men played a lilting tune; one with an accordion and two with violins.

An older man with a long white mustache greeted her, his eyes sparkling under his wrinkled skin. "Good evening, signorina. You must be Miss Twiss."

Her eyes widened. She hadn't expected them to know her name.

The man smiled. "Come with me, my dear." He lead her through the little dining area to a set of red velvet curtains lined with gold cording. Behind them was a small private area with a table for two. The walls were adorned with beautiful paintings of a village that Izzy guessed was somewhere in Italy. "Please, please have a seat," he said, motioning to the table. "Let me bring you some wine while you wait for il tuo amore."

Before she could speak, he was gone. She blew out a nervous breath, trying to make sense of what he'd just said. She looked around the little room, wondering where Gene was and why he'd wanted to meet at such an intimate place. The room was far too romantic a setting for a meeting between friends. Perhaps he'd chosen it because it was private and secluded; less likely to draw the attention of the paparazzi. She swallowed nervously, unable to take her eyes off the curtain.

Rita and Gloria had helped her with her hair and makeup. It was twisted above her head with a few tendrils hanging down. She wore Rita's mink coat over-top a light blue evening gown.

Her heart skipped a beat as the curtain parted. The older man appeared again; two thin stemmed glasses in his hands. He set one next to her and another across the table. With practiced grace and flare, he poured the wine into her glass. "He should be here any moment, my dear," he said with a wink.

She bit her lip, her finger circling the rim of the glass as he left the room. What was she doing? She needed to let him know how she felt right away. It was beginning to seem as if he expected more than she was willing to give.

The music played in the other room and she tapped a finger on the glass wondering where he was. It was almost ten minutes past six. Getting stood up would be even worse than having to curtail his advances.

"Gene, this better be good. I had to come all the way from LA—." The curtain flew open. Wes stood in front of her, his mouth dropping open—the rest of his words trailing off.

"What—," Izzy almost spilled the glass in front of her, jolting forward to catch it. "What are you doing here?" She pushed back the chair, jumping to her feet. What was going on?

"I was going to ask you the same thing." A vein on his forehead throbbed as he looked around the little room. "Gene! That conniving bastard! Did he talk you into this?"

Something inside of her exploded. How dare he! "You can't be serious! You think I came here to see you? Gene told me to meet him here for dinner." She drew in a breath as the reality of the situation sunk in. Tears sprang to her eyes, regardless of how much she tried to hold them back. "Gene. He lied to me," she spoke mostly to herself, still not believing it. "This whole thing—it was all a game. How could he do this?"

His face softening, Wes stepped forward. "It's alright. I—uh—I didn't mean to blame you. I should have guessed Gene was up to something, begging me to come all the way here to meet him."

Humiliated, Izzy reached for her clutch, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I have to leave."

Wes reached out a hand, stopping her. "You're here alone. How'd you get here?"

She hadn't stopped to think that she didn't have a way to get back to Rita's. "I'll find a phone and ask Rita to send a driver," she said, trying to show some dignity by holding her head up and forcing herself to look him in the eyes.

She immediately wished she hadn't. His eyes held hers a little longer than they should have, they were dark—seductive—even without his trying.

The curtain parted and the old Italian man floated into the room. He stopped to eye them, a disapproving look on his face. "Please, please. Sit. Sit down," he instructed, motioning to the chairs. "Relax and enjoy my homemade recipe. It's special, just for the two of you."

When neither of them moved, the man took Izzy's hand and lead her back to the chair. He pulled it out for her. "My spaghetti will fix any lover's quarrel, signorina, just you wait and see."

Izzy opened her mouth to object but he was already hurrying off to fix the meal.

Wes hesitated, his expression torn. Finally, he pulled out the chair. "I am starving," he said. "Wouldn't hurt to eat the man's spaghetti before we leave."

In disbelief, Izzy slid into her chair, eying him. "What about the paparazzi? If they see us—."

"If they're around, they already have." Wes let out a sigh.

Izzy noticed for the first time how exhausted he looked. He was a far cry from the young man she'd met on the island—chucked full of dreams and possibilities. This revelation tugged at her heart—which scared her.

"I really should leave," she said.

Like clockwork, the man came bustling through the curtains with two steaming hot plates of spaghetti and meatballs in his hands. A woman followed after him, carrying a plate with a fresh loaf of bread in her hands.

"My name's Pietro," said the old man. "And this is my wife, Olivia. We've been wed for fifty years. Would you believe our first date was right here in this room? All that time ago. Sadly, after we married, the old man that ran this place passed away. We couldn't see it torn down or turned into something else, it meant so much to us. The very place where both our lives began. So my wife and I bought it and we've run it ever since."

"We hope that this room will foster many more love connections like ours," said his wife with an encouraging smile. "Now we'll leave you two alone. Enjoy!"

"When I get back I will personally kill Gene for the both of us," said Wes when the two had left, casting her a helpless expression that instantly made her heart melt.

She quickly pulled her eyes away, focusing on the plate in front of her. Despite how delicious it looked and smelled, she had no appetite at all. Her stomach nothing but a bundle of nerves.

Wes twirled the spaghetti around on his fork, his eyes closing as he lifted it into his mouth. "Al dente. This reminds me of home," he said, a glimmer in his dark eyes. "Boy, do I miss my mother's cooking. All the money in the world can't buy it."

Izzy looked down at her lap, not sure how to respond. She should leave. She should be furious and humiliated as well. But instead, she was feeling things that didn't match with her current predicament at all.

"So, how did you end up staying with Warren Stone?" he asked, causing her to meet his gaze.

"His fiancé, Rita is one of my good friends," said Izzy, giving him as few details as possible. "I'm staying until her wedding, then I'll be going home."

"To the island?"

"No—well—yes, the island." Had she told him she lived on the island? She couldn't remember.

It was silent for a moment. Izzy pushed the food around with her fork, hoping he wouldn't ask anymore questions that required her to recall a lie she'd told in the past.

"I want you to know that I didn't intentionally push Patsy into the pool," she said after a few minutes. "I was running away from—well—something I saw in the pool house when I bumped into her. I feel awful about it, I really do."

Wes set his fork down. His eyes lingered on hers. "What were you running away from in the pool house?"

Izzy blushed, wishing she hadn't divulged so much. Before she could think of a lie, the words were already flowing out. "It was Warren. He was with another woman. I didn't want him to know that I saw him, but in the end, he found out." She looked down. "I haven't told Rita. I fear it'd break her heart."

Wes frowned as he sipped his wine. "Frankly, I was surprised to hear that Warren was getting hitched. He's well known for his affairs with women on his set."

"Rita deserves better than that." Izzy caught herself. She was talking to this man like he was a long time confidante. She wasn't even sure if she could trust him.

The expression on Wes' face was hard to read. "You haven't eaten anything," he said finally, then with a crooked smile that sent electric pulses through her chest, "You don't want Pietro and Olivia to be disappointed when they see your plate untouched, do you?"

She gave him a small smile. "I'm afraid we'll disappoint them even if we eat all of the food."

He leaned forward, twisting the pasta with his fork. "True."

She picked up her fork, twisting the spaghetti with it to match his. Her movements were sloppy and the spaghetti fell before she could lift it to her mouth.

Wes chuckled. "You are definitely not Italian."

"No, Irish, mostly," she said, a laugh escaping her lips. Careful, she chastised herself. Clearly, there was something about Wes that drew her to him. She'd be entering a dangerous territory should she let her emotions show.

"After the island, I never thought we'd meet again," said Wes.

Izzy smiled. "I'm glad to see that your dreams came true. Here you are, a huge star, almost bigger than Elvis."

"Almost?" Wes pretended to be offended. "You'd still choose Elvis over me?" He stopped, catching himself.

Izzy waved it off, but she couldn't disguise the blush that spread across her face or the thundering of her heart in her chest.

As if on cue the little band in the other room struck up a lilting version of Dean Martin's That's Amore'.

Wes chuckled, rolling his eyes. "They are really on a mission here. Gene's gone all out on this one."

"Why would he do this?" asked Izzy.

"Because the boys don't like Patsy," said Wes flatly. "They're jealous of her and what she's done for me."

"Perhaps they just miss how it used to be," said Izzy, thinking back to what Hank and Gene said. "How the three of you were when you were on the island."

"A guy can't marry his band," said Wes. "Once they find a steady girl they'll understand."

Izzy tried to hide the wave of disappointment that swept over her at the reminder that he was getting married soon. "You're right." It was painful to force out the words. "When you find someone you love, you should put them first—before anyone or anything else."

"Right." Wes finished the rest of his food, his expression solemn. He grabbed his glass of wine and finished it off.

For a man about to be married, he doesn't seem very happy, Izzy thought, eying his troubled expression. Perhaps he was more frustrated with Hank and Gene than anything else. She shook the thoughts away. Once again, she was inching down a deep crevice that had warning signs all over it. Hadn't life taught her anything by now?

"I remember the last thing I asked you on the island before I left," said Wes suddenly, causing her to straighten and raise her eyes. "I asked if you happened to have a boyfriend. You practically ran away from me after that. Was it because you did?"

"No, I didn't," said Izzy slowly, wondering about the meaning behind his question. "At least not at the time. I had a boyfriend before then. We'd been together for a long time. I thought I'd marry him and raise a family. But, it turned out everything he said was a lie. I was still hurting when you met me. It was hard to talk about."

"Is that what you want? To marry and raise a family?"

Izzy studied him. "I'm not sure what I want right now." She focused on her hands. "I think it'll be a long time before I love again."

Wes pulled himself from his chair. "I'll bring you home. No need to call Rita. It's the least I can do to make up for Gene's idiotic attempt at matchmaker." He stepped around the table to help her with her coat.

Pietro walked in through the curtain, a disappointed look on his face. "Leaving so soon, signore? Is everything alright?"

"The spaghetti was delicious," said Wes. "It reminded me of my mama. Thank you." He handed the man a stack of bills. Much more, Izzy suspected, than the food cost.

"Oh no, no signore," said Pietro, trying to hand the money back. "It's already been paid for."

Wes laughed dryly. "Well then, consider it a tip."