After that interaction with Giorgio, I climb into bed and spend long hours staring at the ceiling in the dark. My phone is charging on the nightstand beside me, but the itch to use it is strangely absent. I’m too wrapped up in replaying everything that Giorgio said to me inside my head.
The fact that there’s only a wall between us makes everything worse. Twice, I throw off my duvet and march over to the door between our rooms, tempted to barge in and accuse him of being a liar, but both times, my bravado fails, and I crawl back under the duvet.
His cold denials hurt. His dismissal stings.
At first, I’m resolute that he’s full of shit. He knew he was kissing me. Who does he take me for? A complete idiot?
But as the darkness in the sky depletes, so does my confidence.
Maybe it’s true. After all, I have no way of knowing what was going through his head when he was on top of me.
He muttered my name, but was he thinking of me the entire time we were kissing or just when I told him to stop? And then there’s the book. Could there be another explanation for why he took it besides him being into me?
The more I ruminate, the more uncomfortable I get. A sticky film of embarrassment coats my skin. Did I make it obvious that I wanted the kiss to be intentional on his part? Ugh, probably. And if he truly has no interest in me… Well, I think I may have exposed the fact I have a crush on him.
Now what?
I untangle my legs from between the sheets and pad over to the window to see the sun rise over the horizon. It’s a new day.
I get dressed and head downstairs.
This early, only Tommaso is up. He’s prepping something in the kitchen.
“Did you make that Torta Caprese last night?” he asks, pointing a flour-covered finger at the half-eaten cake I left on the counter.
“Yeah. Did you try it?”
He grins as he picks up a whisk. “Of course, I did. Couldn’t resist how darn good it looked, and it tasted even better. Want to help me here? I’m making cornetti for breakfast. Prepped the dough yesterday.”
I’m about to say no, but then I realize I’m not even sure what I was planning on doing when I came in here. My heart bounces in my chest, lost and aimless.
Might as well do something useful.
“I can help with the lamination.”
Tommaso’s eyes widen with surprise. “You’ve made them before?”
“I used to bake and cook quite a bit,” I tell him. “At one point, I was actually thinking of going to culinary school.”
Tommaso grins and hands me an apron. “Music to my ears.”
We get to work, making envelopes of the dough around the cold butter and then rolling it out to triple the size. It doesn’t take long for my arms to ache, but I don’t mind it.
Tommaso hums in approval. “You’re good. So what happened with the culinary school?”
“Um.” I brush my hair out of my face with the back of my hand. “It just didn’t work out.”
“You don’t sound upset about it.”
The truth is, I’m not anymore. In the grand scheme of things I could be torn up about, my failed culinary ambition is a minor blip.
I shrug. “I guess I’m not sure what I want to do with my life anymore.”
“I didn’t either when I was your age,” Tommaso says easily. “Changed my mind a half-dozen times before I got serious about cooking.”
There was a time when I could see my future. Before New York, my life as a college student was something I’d visualize constantly. I saw myself experimenting in the kitchen of my small apartment, having friends over in the evenings for wine and cheese nights, going for long walks down tree-lined streets with music blasting in my ears.
One gunshot cleared away all of those images.
Ever since, there’s only been darkness. One day at a time has become my mantra.
It dawns on me I haven’t said it much since I arrived here.
I finish arranging the cornetti on a tray and lean against the counter. My gaze lands on the floor right where Giorgio kissed me, and for a moment, the darkness parts.
I see a small glimpse of the future I want.
And it involves him and me tangled on that floor again.
The realization softens my knees.
“I’m going to go for a walk,” I tell Tommaso and make my way to the front door.
As soon as I step outside, the chilly morning air makes goosebumps appear across my arms. Instead of going back in for a sweater, I move my feet quicker and quicker until I break out into a full-on jog. I pass by the garden and keep going east, toward where the sun is suspended above the hills. With each step, my thoughts become a little more focused, my feelings clearer.
I like Giorgio.
Yes, I find him wildly attractive, but it’s not just that anymore. There’s a connection a between us. A thread that’s been pulling me to him from the moment we met, and no matter how he denies it, my gut tells me he feels it too.
My skin flushes with heat as I think back to the moment he pinned my wrist above my head and ground himself into me. Beneath the thick veil of my arousal, there was something even more tantalizing, and that’s what calls to me now.
For a split second, I didn’t feel like a broken, empty shell. To be wanted like that… It made me feel powerful.
And God, I haven’t felt powerful in a long time.
My power was taken from me the night Imogen died. My confidence, my self-esteem, my self-worth—Lazaro took all of those things and left behind a crumbling husk.
Giorgio kissed me and made it right again.
He gave me a taste, and he expects me to just forget it?
The truth is, even if I wanted to forget, I don’t know if I can. What awaits me on the other side if I do? More sleepless nights with shadows lurking in the corners of my bedroom? More endless hours of scrolling through posts of condolences and grief and pain?
I come to a stop at the edge of the forest, digging my heels into the ground and bending at the waist to catch my breath. My chest heaves.
I’m stuck here in this place with Giorgio for God knows how long, and I don’t know how to turn off the feelings I have for him. They’re so alive in my chest that my heart beats with them.
I want him.
I want his body and his touch.
I want to know what it feels like to have him naked and heavy on top of me, with his hands on my bare breasts and his length pushing inside of me.
And after last night, I think he might want the very same thing.
All he needs is a little push.
Am I brave enough to give it to him?
By the time I reach the foot of the tower, my jog has slowed to a walk. I’m sweaty and in desperate need of a shower, but I remember what Polo said about the view from the top and make a spontaneous decision to check it out.
There’s a small door cut into a larger gate. I slip through it and use my phone’s flashlight to illuminate the dark space. It’s not hard to spot the spiral staircase, and after what feels like a century, I finally emerge at the top.
I don’t know how tall the tower is, but it seems to me about the same height as a five-story building. Using my hand to shield my eyes from the sun, I spin around and take it all in.
Wow. The view is breathtaking.
I take in the vibrant green forest, the windy road at the bottom of the hill, and patches of purple and yellow wildflowers. Leaves rustle in the distance. Birds sing, their songs overlapping and weaving together.
From up here, I can see what looks like a small settlement in a valley in the distance. Perugia is too far, probably hidden behind one of the hills.
I focus back on the forest, raking my gaze over the pines until I spot a gap in the foliage.
Is that a small house?
My chest presses against the top of the wall as I lean forward, trying to get a better look.
There it is. A sloped roof with a chimney. The lines aren’t straight. I believe it’s sagging in some parts.
Is that a part of the property? Why would someone build a tiny little house all the way over there? I don’t see a road to it. It’s got to be at least a twenty-minute hike from here.
My stomach growls. With one final look at the mysterious house, I turn and head back down.
I use the side door to get back into the kitchen and find Tommaso scrambling some eggs, humming a tune to himself.
“Isn’t it still too early for breakfast?” I ask.
He glances at me over his shoulder. “Not at all. Giorgio is up already. Want me to make you a plate too?”
My heart cartwheels. Giorgio couldn’t sleep either.
“Yes, please.”
“Go ahead, I’ll bring it out to the dining room.”
I fix my ponytail and wipe a few damp strands from my face before I make my way over, my nerves ratcheting up with each step.
When I see him sitting at the head of the table, his broad back to me, I gulp down a steadying breath. His shoulders square, making me think he’s sensed my presence.
“You’re up early,” I say as I round the table and take a seat to his right.
He moves his attention from his phone and gives me a once over, his eyes halting on the low neckline of my tank top. When they lift to my face, darkness swirls within them. “Good morning.”
Messy hair. Plain black T-shirt. A pair of dark-navy jeans. Tiredness crisscrosses his face, but there are no other clues as to what’s running through his head.
That is until I notice the way he’s gripping his phone.
There’s one thing I’ve realized about Giorgio over the past week—the man doesn’t fidget. The most he’ll do is run a hand over his tie or smooth his hair out of his face. Otherwise, his hands are as steady and controlled as a surgeon’s.
But right now, his thumb is anxiously rubbing back and forth against the edge of his device.
Something wicked sparks inside of me. Unsettled from last night?
It’s possible he’s worried about me telling Damiano about the kiss, but by now, he has to know I wouldn’t do that.
No. I’d bet anything the unease radiating from his stiff posture is there because he’s worried he didn’t fool me.
When he notices my gaze, his movements stop. He clears his throat and leans back into his seat. “You were at the gym?”
“No, I went running. To the edge of the forest and back. I also went to the top of the tower to check out the view. I thought I saw a small house in the woods? Do you know what that is?”
He flicks his hand dismissively. “Just an old ruin.”
“A ruin?” It didn’t look that bad.
Something tense passes over his expression. “There was a fire. The roof can collapse at any time. I’ve been meaning to get the thing torn down, but it’s not bothering anyone over there.”
We’re interrupted by Tommaso bringing out two cappuccinos and a basket of the cornetti. When he retreats, Giorgio folds his hands on the table and pierces me with a serious gaze.
“How do you feel?”
I glance down at myself. “Sweaty. I need a shower.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“What do you mean then?”
His gaze darkens. “You know what. The incident last night.”
Under the tablecloth, I press my fingernails into my palms.
This is it. Can I find it in myself to be brave? Enough to show him that I want him? Enough to push past his attempts to pretend like what happened last night wasn’t real?
At worst, I’m totally wrong about him, and I’ll embarrass myself. But haven’t I already been doing that since I got here?
Really, I have nothing to lose besides my ego.
And who gives a crap about that?
I arch a brow at him. “You mean when you kissed me, and sucked on my neck, and dragged your mouth all over my breasts until I begged you to take off my shirt?”
He nearly chokes. “You did wha—”
“I begged you to take off my shirt.”
He rakes his fingers through his hair, messing it up even more. “You were in shock.”
“Maybe in the beginning, but I got up to speed pretty quickly.”
“What I did was completely inappropriate. I apologize.”
Nerves dancing inside my gut, I force my next words out. “No need.” Our eyes clash together. “I liked the way you kissed me.”
He hisses through his teeth and whips his head to look at the wall, as if he can’t stand the sight of me.
The thick vein in his neck pulses.
“Do. Not. Say. That,” he grinds out, his words underscored with exasperated warning. “It was a mistake.”
“So you keep saying, but I don’t believe you.”
He still won’t look at me.
Frustration coils inside of me, tight and ready to spring. I lean over the table into his space. “Did you take my book by mistake too?”
He presses his fist to his mouth. I think I hear him curse under his breath before he turns his head with a snap. Eyes blazing, he growls, “Do not push me, Martina. You’re young. You don’t know what happens when grown men are pushed past their limits.”
My nipples tighten at the fire in his eyes and the implication behind his words.
A slow smile pulls at my lips. I was right. It’s not just me. He wants this too, but he’s fighting against it. If he wants to scare me off, he’s going to have to do a lot more than that.
“You’re right. I don’t,” I say, easing back into my chair. “Show me.”
Giorgio bolts out of his seat. His hands are fisted, and they’re…shaking.
A thrill runs down my spine. Is that what I do to him?
“I don’t want to see you for the rest of the day,” he barks in a tone that no one in their right mind would disobey.
And then he walks out of the room.
