He kept me in place. “I will get it.” He placed a fast kiss on the top of my head before he went back inside.
I was about to follow him, but movement from beneath the balcony caught my eye. I squinted in the murky darkness, and my heart fell into my stomach when my eyes met another set below me. The figure pointed at me, her black hair whippingin the wind, and then made a slicing motion against her throat—then she was gone.
It took me a second to catch my breath, and when I went to rush inside, Rocco was coming outside. I held on to him, and he set me away from him so he could look into my eyes, still holding onto my shoulders.
“Tell me,” he said.
“I thought—it was nothing,” I shook my head, rambling. “It was nothing. The bread?”
He set me on the sofa and then went outside, charging through the darkness just as the sun started to rise in the sky and shed light on the world. I refused to sit and do nothing. I decided to stand behind him, looking for any signs of Rosaria Caffi. It could have been a lookalike, but…what were the odds? The interaction had gotten to me though. My arms were crossed, and I trembled.
Rocco took me in his arms, his back to the balcony, and I pulled him inside, not feeling comfortable with his neck being so vulnerable.
“The bread?” I asked again to break the tension.
He took me with him into the kitchen, showing me a burnt piece of…something. That had been on fire, not the bread.
“Good,” I breathed. “Ready to eat?”
He nodded, still staring at my face, like he could figure out my mystery without having to pull it out of me. I didn’t want to talk about it. Not then. I cut him a big piece of focaccia and poured him a glass of Chianti to go with it. He ate an entire pan, and half of the other, by himself. The grapes had mostly filled me up.
By the time we were done feeding each other, we’d drank an entire bottle of wine, and with the roller coaster of emotions and all the love making…I was woozy and tired. We slipped back in bed, and he pulled me close to him. I wrapped my arms around his, wishing our bones didn’t exist so we could get even closer. His breath washed over my skin, and even though it was soothing, her ghostly pale face, her accusing finger, the slicing motion she’d made, had unnerved me.
I spun the new ring on my left finger around and around.
I should have told him the truth then, but I didn’t want it to set him back. I needed to loosen her grip on him, not bring it back to life.
Ishouldhave told him the truth then.
That was my mistake.
Chapter 24
Heart to Heart in Blinding Light
Rocco stared at my face as we made it up the hill toCastello Sul Mare. Even though we’d had a wonderful morning, rolling around in the sheets and making love until I fell back asleep again, the chilling memories of the night before haunted me, even in the face of the bright light of day. Not even that could dispel the blood-thinning creepiness of it all. It felt worse than the candelabra incident. I hadn’t seen her then. She came at me from behind. I saw her last night. Our eyes connected as they did through the mirror that night on the cliffside.
My mouth kept opening to say something to Rocco, be honest about it, but the words refused to come. He was moving toward life again. If he knew she was back…he would pull back. I felt it. How tremulous the earth felt beneath his feet, like he shouldn’t be standing on it because his heart was in the grave with hers. Not even because he couldn’t stand to live without her, but because an understanding built on truth had set barbs inside of him.
No, this was between Rosaria Caffi and me.
And I didn’t take for granted for one second that I was the most powerful fighter in this battle. I might have had physical strength, which was great if I was going against another livingwoman, but she had blood, sweat, and tears in this fight through memories. Memories I couldn’t change. A ghost who shared memories with a part of the living was powerful. It tugged at them harder than any physical touch could.
This man.
He wasn’t easily moved.
And shehadheld the power to send his heart into the grave with hers.
I’d come in at the last second and caught it before it landed and ran with it in the opposite direction. I was running.Am running.Keeping the lion’s heart dangling against my chest in my grip, refusing to open my palm, only the rays of sunshine safe enough to touch it through the spaces between my fingers. One day, I would feel confident I could open my fist, allow the different seasons to make their marks, but always,always, I would keep it safe. I’d keep it safe as if it were my own—even more diligently because it was his.
It wasours.
In that moment, I understood why this family put so much value in balancing ruthless with romance and romance with ruthless. It was a marriage. And through the romance, I discovered something about myself: I felt like such a woman next to this man. It was as if I had been created to compliment him, and him me.
I knew this way of thinking isn’t for everyone. I knew some might find this family overly traditional in a modern world. And that’s okay. Not everyone loves Italian food. I happen to love it above any other type of food. Different hearts, opposite opinions, keep the world spinning.
For me, this was my life, my world, and I understood my place in it.
