“We can talk more after we eat,” I say gently. “About whatever you want. Or nothing at all.”
She holds my eyes for a beat, then lets out a breath. “Let’s start with this,” she says, touching the edge of her bowl. “And the nothing. I want a little nothing.”
“As you wish.” I lean back, and a small smile spreads over my face. “We have time.”
Chapter Twenty Four
Elena
We linger at the table until the sun shifts and the shade slides off my knees.
I’m full but not weighed down, warm from the broth and the branzino, the warm apple tartlet served with a scoop of ice cream. When Luca suggests a walk, I realize my body was already craving one.
“Show me your kingdom,” I say, trying for light.
He rises and offers his hand. I ignore it and push up on my own, because I’m contrary and because if I put my hand in his, I might not want it back.
We take the steps down from the terrace. The pool gives way to a lawn clipped so precisely it looks ironed. Beyond that, the garden opens like a surprise with paths of pale gravel, beds bordered by low boxwood, tall spires of foxglove, and delphinium punctuating drifts of lavender. Bees work the purple, flitting from flower to flower.
He slows when I do, letting me set the pace. The gravel crunches under our shoes, and a breeze carries rosemary and something sweet I can’t name. Two olive trees stand like guards over a stone bench. Beyond it, there’s a small creek with the water tinkling musically over the rocks.
I stop dead.
“This is ridiculous, Luca,” I say, but I’m smiling. “You have a creek in your backyard?”
“It’s not a creek,” he says, amused. “More like a water feature.”
“Oh, and that’s nothing, I suppose,” I say dryly.
We stop next to it and watch the water sheet over a flat slate stone and split into two silver threads. Sunlight catches it and throws coins of light on my arms.
I crouch and trail a fingertip along the surface. It’s cold enough to make me hiss. “Show-off.”
“I enjoy my comforts.’” He’s closer than he was a second ago; his voice drifts down over my shoulder. Heat ghosts along the back of my neck that has nothing to do with the sun.
I straighten. A curl has glued itself to my cheek. Before I can reach for it, he does. His knuckles graze my skin as he tucks it behind my ear. The touch is barely anything. It detonates anyway.
“Luca,” I say, warning threading my voice.
“Elena.” He says my name like he’s tasting it. His hand doesn’t linger, but I feel the heat of it long after it’s gone.
We fall in beside each other again, and the path narrows so our arms brush every couple of steps. The contact is accidental. Until it isn’t. The jasmine on the pergola ahead is in wild bloom, sweet and indecent in daylight, and I swear the scent is doing something to me, making me dizzy with need.
“Better than court?” he asks lightly.
“Marginally,” I say, then ruin my aloof act by glancing up. The gray at his temples has caught a sliver of light. It makes him look like someone who’s lived through a storm and stepped out the other side. Something catches in my chest, and I force myself to let it go.
He gestures to a small alcove along a gentle section of the creek. It’s just a stone bench surrounded by small trees, but it looks dangerous. I go anyway.
He stands back to let me enter first. I do, and the air cools a degree.
It doesn’t help.
We sit at the edge of the water. Our reflections shiver next to each other, touching and not touching. His hand comes to rest on the stone ledge between us, mine finds the same spot, and our little fingers flirt.
“Tell me to stop,” he says quietly.
“Stop,” I whisper.
