My eyes rose even higher. He had a strong chin, a pronounced jaw, and an extremely angular face. His skin was taut over every strong bone, giving his face so much dimension. He had a prominent nasal bridge, but his nose was narrow and sharp. He had dark, heavy eyebrows over those hypnotizing sea green eyes. The color seemed like it was taken straight from the Mediterranean, maybe a sample color God had been trying out on the water before He decided to use it. As if to keep the wildness of the sea contained, black rings encircled Rocco’s irises. His lids drooped slightly. His eyelashes were black and full. His skin was that beautiful olive color—undertones of green and gold that complimented the color of his eyes. His hair was black—the color of the night sky—but it seemed like it was made from the finest silk and silver. A few streaks of the latter color mixed in around his temples.
The overall effect of him was masculine and intense and passionate.
He was perfect.
Perfect, but with faults, which made him even more stunning in my opinion.
There was no doubt that even the most skilled artist couldn’t replicate that type of…masculinity, handsomeness, fineness, passion, beauty…in any kind of medium. Paint on canvas wouldn’t do. Words wouldn’t do. Clay or marble wouldn’t do. It almost seemed like God wanted to remind artists that none of them could replicate His hand, and Rocco Piero Fausti was that reminder. Even out of all the Fausti men I’d seen on this island, none of them hadanythingon him, and that was saying something, since I hadn’t seen an unattractive one yet.
My eyes needed more time to feast on him. I was sure forever wouldn’t do. He would never get old to me. But I was determined to seize this moment,carpe diem, in case this was the last time I’d ever see him.
Why that thought made a deep blue feeling encase me inside of it, a fear like I’d never known at the core of it, I wasn’t sure, but the thought literally hurt. It made my chest ache, like just the thought of walking away from him or him walking away from me would tear my heart out. Because my soul,my soul, was sighing, whispering between relieved breaths,There you are, missing piece of mine. Nothing can hurt us now. We’re together.
My eyes stilled on his chest, imagining the beat of his heart underneath his expensive suit. I clutched the pendant even harder, wishing it had the magic to mimic the beat of his right in that moment, confirmation that his was beating as wildly as mine was.
All that stunning physical beauty, and even though I hadn’t spoken to him before or spent any real time with him, my feelings were telling me his heart was the most stunning thing about him. I held his heart in my hand, a physical representation of it, and I needed to know all there was about it so I could create a map. Every direction of every vein and vessel and where they led more than I needed to know my own.
I blinked and realized he was staring at me too.
It didn’t even feel uncomfortable. It felt like I was finally home.
His eyes flicked to my hand, the way I was holding the lion’s heart protectively in it, and stilled. It was as if the sight of it had hooked him. He set his hand over his heart. I didn’t think it was aconscious reaction, judging by how entranced his eyes seemed, but he did.
Rocco Piero Fausti might have had one foot in the grave, but he wasn’t dead, and I was going to prove it to him by pulling him back to life with me.
Once he was able to tear his eyes away from the way my hand held the pendant, they stilled on my eyes.
“Tell me you are okay.” His voice was deep and melodic, but it had a rough edge to it, like he had been roaring and his throat was sore.
“Yeah.” I whispered. “My Nonna always said I was hardheaded. Lucky for me she was right.”
We stared at each other for another few seconds.
Scarlett walked ahead, going to meet Brando, who I didn’t realize was standing further down the hallway, standing like Rocco had been—back to the wall, arms and legs crossed. When Scarlett started toward him, though, he stood taller and met her more than halfway, his hand going straight to her lower back, like she was his center. Uncle Tito went to follow her, but Rocco took him by the shoulder and stopped him. The old man slapped at him and snapped something at him in Italian. Rocco didn’t seem to care.
I grinned. “Thank you for this.” I lifted the pendant. “I…love it and will…take care of it forever.”
His hand went back to his heart again, and he said in gruff Italian, “You misplaced it.”
My initial reaction was to say,no, I’d never had one like it, but I read more into his simple comment. And the way he’d said the words, like the gift of his heart was so inconsequential, someone could just lose it. It made my heart break in a way that I couldn’t even put into words.
How could anyone hurt this man? Or make him feel like any part of him was insignificant? It was like telling the Mediterranean it should have never been named—it wasn’t worth that right.
“No,” I said. “I didn’t. I would never. I love it too much. Itmight have been created for me by some artist who had me in mind, but I had to find where he left it first, which was exactly what happened. I found it dangling on the handlebar of the Vespa. You had given it to me. If I could have ordered a custom one just like it—I would have, years and years ago. Maybe before I was born, my grandmother would have, thinking of a future generation. That’s how perfect it is for me.Grazie mille, Rocco. I’ll always wear it so I can keep it safe.”
Maybe to the rest of the world, it seemed like he only nodded to accept my words and move on, but what I felt deep inside…he was too overwhelmed by the truth in my words to speak. He cleared his throat, and as if he had touched my back, we started to move, Uncle Tito leading us out of the hospital.
My eyes squinted against the sun. I almost wanted to hiss like Pisolino. Rocco offered me my crossbody, and I dug inside of it, pulling out my sunglasses. The same sunglasses I’d been wearing when the sense got knocked out of me. The frames still smelled of coconut and mango suntan lotion and salt. I looked at Rocco from beneath the shades. I didn’t believe he had left the hospital, so someone had to have gone back for them.
This man…he cared about the small details.
A fast-looking convertible car that could fit on the narrow streets was waiting, still running. It was black with chrome details, and it had a small Italian flag on the back, whipping in the wind. After I said goodbye to Scarlett, Brando, and Uncle Tito, Rocco opened my door and I slid in, holding the crossbody close to my chest. He almost seemed too big for the car, but then again, I wasn’t sure if anything couldnotfit him if he wanted it to.
Usually, my eyes were on the island as I traveled it, always something new to discover, but the only view I couldn’t pry my eyes away from was him. His eyes kept coming to me, too, and it seemed like the entire ride, we couldn’t tear our eyes away from each other.
When he pulled in front of the apartment, I almost started to cry. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to him yet. He parked, though,and opened my door. He gave me his hand and I took it, my heart sighing before it melted. His hand engulfed mine. My bones were so much smaller than his. Even the swollen veins, running from his hands to his forearms, seemed triple the size of mine.
He unlocked the door for me and kept one hand on me as I climbed up the steps before him. Once inside the apartment, it didn’t seem like either of us knew what to say. Or maybe the tension between us was so thick, neither of us could speak.
