Henry turned on his side so he was facing her profile. Ellie’s gray eyes darted over to meet his gaze before she rotated, catching his shoulder with her free hand to steady herself. “We’re not talking about art anymore, are we?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” Ellie responded, her voice so soft it was nearly a whisper. The warmth of her breath ghosted on his skin, the swell of her chest brushing his with each inhale and exhale.
Just one taste,he thought,just to see—
Henry leaned his head down the slightest bit and brushed his nose against hers, bumping her spectacles. “Ellie,” he murmured.
“Ehi! Cosa state facendo?” Henry sat up with a start to see a curate bustling down the central aisle, waving his arms at them. He jumped to his feet and pulled a blushing Ellie up beside him.
“Mi scusi,” Henry said. He realized he was gripping Ellie’s hand and dropped it. Henry placed his palm on Ellie’s lower back, guiding her towards the front door of the church, the curate chiding them until they had burst back into the square.
Heavy clouds the color of bruises had covered the early evening sky in the short time they were inside, and as Henry pulled his hat low over his brow, he noticed Ellie staring vacantly across the plaza. “El, what—”
“Were you going to kiss me?” Her gaze tracked a man scurrying across the square with a basket overloaded with produce.
His breath caught. “I—no, not at all.”
“Then what was it?”
His heart thrummed so hard he was certain she could hear it. Panic rushed through him. Why had he denied his intent so quickly? He was foolish to make such a move without thinking of the consequences. She must not have wanted the kiss, not when she reacted this way.
“We were close,” he stammered. “It seemed natural, but I didn’t mean it.”
Ellie took off without a word, lifting her skirt and striding towards their hotel. “Ellie,” he called. The wind had picked up, whipping through the ancient buildings andgrabbing the brim of his hat.Smacking it back in place, he hastened his pace and made it to her side just as raindrops began slapping the pavement at their feet. “Ellie,” he repeated, breathless from the exertion. “Slow down, I’m sorry—”
She stopped her frenzied steps and turned to face him. “Why are you sorry?”
Henry froze. The rain was falling heavier now, sticking a loose curl to her cheek and causing the brim of her hat to droop. “I—I’m not sure…”
She released a gutturalhumphand spun around again, continuing to march forward, her boots stomping in the puddles between the cobblestones. Henry trailed for half a block before he was back by her side, waiting to cross a busy street.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he begged.
She spun to face him and huffed out a breath. “Nothing is wrong. A kiss means nothing to you, after all.” He cocked his head to the side. “That’s what you said, remember? When you kissed me goodnight all those years ago? A kiss means nothing.”
Henry’s cheeks burned.That kiss meant everything. He had replayed the moment a million times, the feel of her soft lips beneath his, the taste of her, like mint and chocolate, the smell of pine and spice in her hair. After that night, he had wanted to call on her the next day, take her to the theater and court her properly. But he hadn’t been courageous enough to take the risk until it was too late.
And then she married Ashby, and Henry asked another woman to be his wife, thoroughly destroying any chance they could have had together.
Planting his hands on his hips, he shook his head. “Ellie, I’m confused. What do you want from me?”
“You’re the only person who has ever kissed me,” she said softly, but she was strong enough to never break eye contact. God, he loved how brave she was. “Even Ashby never…” She shuddered, then lifted her chin. “And I wondered… In that moment, it felt as though your kiss would mean something. Was I wrong?”
His knees wobbled as he scrambled for a response, the words sitting heavy on his tongue.
You weren’t wrong, Ellie.
I’ve wanted you for so long, but I didn’t even realize it—
A crack of thunder startled them both, obliterating whatever bravery Henry possessed. “I don’t want to fight with you. Can we forget this happened?”
Her lips parted as though she wanted to argue, but then snapped shut, and Henry felt a flash of annoyance. Hewantedher to fight, to argue and force his hand.
Perhaps he wasn’t worth the effort.
He took her hand once more, reveling in the sensation of her skin against his as he led her through the narrow streets. “Let’s go back to the hotel and dry off.”
Chapter 16
