I smiled.“I just want to get to know them all better.Why areyoucurious aboutmebeing curious?”
“Touché.” He leaned in and kissed me again. “My mom is a curious being. Got my old man in a lot of trouble over the years because of it.” Then he laughed, but it was like he was laughing at an inside joke. “She doesn’t mean for the trouble to happen, but it just seems to happen around her, and she somehow gets sucked into the mix. Her…special ability has attracted a lot of attention over the years.”
“You mean her ability to feel people?”
“Yeah, and not only that. Her dancing.”
Our eyes seemed to connect and hold.
“Oh,” I whispered. My dancing started all this trouble for him too. “You feel there’s a parallel there.”
“I believe there’s always a parallel when love works as strongly as it does in my family. A connection we have, or will have, to our parents’ relationship, no matter how it manifests itself.”
I broke eye contact and looked at Maestro. Like Chloe, it was like he was letting the world inspire him. I’d heard him play the piano, and his range could take you from love to hate, heart full to heartbreak. He seemed to have the ability to take emotions and turn them into music. I’d never heard anything like it before. I rubbed my arms just thinking about the song he’d composed for Matteo and me. It gave me a music frisson. It was haunting at first, then it turned into something even the stars could dance to. The thought of dancing brought me to my next comment.
“Dancing is a connection I have to my mom, but nothing more. I mean, when I was young, I wanted to go to dancing school and all that, but it seemed like fun. Not something I seriously wanted to do. Then that woman noticed me dancing, like I told you, and started to sell what I could do. But honestly, if it wasn’t for those nights…I might have truly…lost what mattered the most to me. My mom. Those nights allowed me to think of her, move closer to her, without fear of what that woman would see and steal from me.”
He took my chin in his hand and turned my face so I had to look him in the eyes. Damn, they were so gorgeous. Spellbinding, in fact.
“I learned a lot from my old man—what I’d do, wouldn’t do. You dance like you did on that stage for me only, but if dancing is what you want to do—any other type—I’d burn the world down so you could fucking do it.”
I almost whimpered at the sincerity in the words and at the iron tone of his voice. Whatever I wanted, if it didn’t cross personal parameters, this man would deliver. I’d do the same if it didn’t cross any of my personal boundaries either. For instance, if he ever suggested we have an open relationship like his aunt and uncle, I might take a knife to his heart.
He grinned at me, like he read the violence behind my eyes. Sometimes I wondered…his mom was “touched,” and I thought maybe he was too, but refused to admit it. Sometimes I wondered if I was touched too. I could read him so easily, but since it only happened with him, I thought it was an “us” thing.
He leaned around me and shook the handlebars some.“Ready to drive,la mia stella?”
I turned forward and grinned. “The real question is…are you ready to ridewithme, handsome?Vroom! Vroom! Vroom!” I twisted the handlebars back and forth, the wheel crackling against gravel.
“Fuck me,” he muttered. He looked in the distance, and a second later, one of the soldiers, Armando, came closer, holding two boxes. Armando handed Matteo one but kept the other.
Matteo opened the box, revealing a pair of sunglasses that sat inside the velvety interior. He showed them to me—real chic looking, with oversized square frames. The color reminded me of a tortoise shell, and they bore the stamp of an expensive designer. As I slipped them over my eyes, he swapped boxes with Armando and took out another pair for himself.
He reminded me of an old movie star. His were close in color to mine, but smaller and thicker.
“What are yours called?” I barely got out.
“This style?”
I expected him to say the same style Cary Grant wore, but after I nodded, he said, “Arnel with a standard bridge fit.”
I would have probably laughed at how technical he was being, but instead, all I could do was try to tame my runaway breath. He looked…I didn’t think there was a word for how he looked. He was beyond fine, beautiful, gorgeous, handsome… He was so debonair. His hair cut. How he combed and slicked it back, the sides shorter. His suit. The way he rolled up the sleeves to the white shirt that he wore underneath the jacket, which he’d left behind. How tall and fit he was. His tattoos. The way he smelled. Every dip and hollow of his face.
He was all man.
Thankfully, he turned my attention to learning how to drive. For the next hour or so, he taught me all there was to know about the fun little two-wheeler. When I was ready to go on my own, he got behind me and held on for dear life. I took off for the hills of Tuscany with a cry that could have started a war.
It was a war.
A war to claim my freedom back.
Even though this was a small battle, I was killing it, laughing and feeling as free as ever. The man behind me—he was guiding me to a place I only dreamed of going before him. This was the sweeter side of life, and it felt like I was dancing on air. Or riding on it.
It didn’t matter.
I felt like I was filled with helium and rising toward the stars.
Chapter 26
