The lion’s heart giver.
The damsel saver.
“I’d like to thank him for saving me,” I said. “I had no idea I wasn’t alone in that villa.”
“I am sure he will take great pleasure in that, Aria Bella.” His voice was like a comfortable blanket tucking me in and covering me up. But in the background, my heart was still overacting, and I wondered ifhewas close.
Rocco Piero Fausti.
I made a contented noise, likemmm, recalling the secondwhen I felt his arms around me and his eyes on mine. That addictive rush of warmth. His masculine scent, maybe minus the hint of blood. It was the most surreal thought, but I could have literally died in his arms and been happy that I had a second with him. That was how magnetic he felt. Like he was constantly pulling at me, and I had no control over which direction I went. Like I was a petal from a dandelion, and he was the wind.
What was even odder…I might have just heard his name, but it was like I had been saying it my entire life. It was comfortable. It fit.
Hefit.
He was the automaticclickI had always craved, wanted, needed in my life.Anything less wouldn’t do. He was the reason I had held out all those years for a feeling that was greater than…just two people being together.
The train of thought I was having wasn’t all that cognitive, but…it didn’t feel like lies to me, or something my mind was conjuring up because it had been hit and was still reverberating, but the truth. A powerful truth that satisfied me, made me feel whole, content, like a missing piece that felt like it had been gone for much too long, and the first time I spotted it, touched it, brought it close to my heart, an ancient sigh released from the depths of my soul before it whispered…there you are, missing piece of mine. Nothing can hurt us now. We’re together.
Something had hurt him though.
His eyes. I sniffed, tears streaming down my cheeks at the look in them. Even if they were voids, there was something there—pain. It was like he was dying a thousand painful deaths on repeat.
Who had turned that beast of a man into a ghost?
A warm, bony hand came out of the darkness and took mine. The old doctor. Beyond him telling me he was a retired doctor, I knew he was older because of how paper-thin his hands were. Nonna’s had become the same way, as if the sands of time had slowly thinned her.
“It will be okay,” the doctor whispered. “You are here now.”
You are here now.
Those words could have been taken two ways.
One:I was at the hospital, surrounded by people who were taking good care of me, including the retired doctor. I had nothing to be afraid of. I was there and safe.
Or…
Two:I was here, and I would take the void from his eyes, and together, we would find our way back to life.
There was no doubt I’d been brought to this island for a reason, and my heart and soul chose for me: we were going the second way.
After two days of being monitored in the hospital, I was finally going home. I’d had a nice shower, even if every so often it felt like my brain would separate and then clap back together, and I dressed in clean clothes Scarlett had brought me from my apartment. I hadn’t seen Rocco since the storm, but I knew he was close. My heart switched to a special rhythm when he was around. Like I could close my eyes and pick him out of a crowd just by the cadence of my heart alone.
My heart had created that special melody the entire time I’d been in the hospital. He must have been close for that long.
I wrapped my fingers around the necklace as I left the room, Uncle Tito and Scarlett behind me. Uncle Tito was a slight man with a humungous presence. I loved him the moment our eyes met, and I was thankful he invited me to call him uncle. He had that way about him—he was everyone’s uncle.
I took slow steps so there was less of a chance my skull would high-five my brain, but it didn’t matter if I decided to run at this point.
The air left my lungs in awhoosh,and it felt impossible to fully catch it.
Rocco Piero Fausti waited outside of my hospital door, back against the wall, arms and legs crossed, head down.
He was a lot bigger than I remembered. He was a lot more…everything than I remembered.
Or imagined.
My eyes took in all (over) six feet of him when he stood to his full height. Wide shoulders. Narrow waist. Long, strong legs. I was willing to bet he hardly had an ounce of fat on him. He was all rippling muscle, but he wasn’t overdone. It seemed so natural. Like he had been molded out of the most beautiful marble Italy had to offer and then carved into this stunning art by the hand of God.
