“Then I’d prefer you lie to me,” she whispered back.
His amusement vanished, replaced with an attentive curiosity that unsettled her.
“Why?” he asked.
Ravenna backed up a step. His need to puzzle through her words and actions surprised her. Trying to understand another person was the beginning of empathy. It cracked a window into a person’s mind, opened a door into the mysteries of their heart and mind.
“Why do you want me to lie to you?” he pressed.
“Because you’re using honesty to try to torment me,” Ravenna said. “And I won’t have it. So stop.”
“Then stop lying tome,” he said. “Servants ought to be invisible, but your maid engaged you in a lengthy conversation that looked heated and emotional. Tell me, what did she say to you?”
My God, he really was suspicious of everyone. As if at any moment he expected a knife in the back. “I told you it was nothing, a trifle. We spoke about my wardrobe—”
Saturnino reached her in two strides.
Ravenna didn’t have time to react, to move. He clasped her arm with a light touch, but the chill from his fingers seeped through. “I like you better when you’re honest.”
“I don’t want you to like me.” She tried to shift away but he held on to her. “I don’t want you to notice me at all.”
He smiled, a grim sort of smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Too late.”
Ravenna inhaled sharply. She expected her magic to pour out of her in defense, but it stayed dormant, quiet in the arms of the immortal. Saturnino brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. She shivered; from his touch, from his cool breath whispering across her face, from her hair standing on end at the nape of her neck.
A frightened, embarrassing squeak rushed out of her.
Saturnino stilled his movement, and something in his posture loosened. His eyes dropped to her mouth. Tension spooled between them. Slow and painful and intoxicating. She’d never felt anything like it. He wanted to kiss her. Hewouldkiss her.
He would be the first.
She always imagined it would have been done by one of the village young men. The baker’s son, or Luca, who owned an apothecary shop near the main piazza. She never expected or wished for Saturnino.
But his alpine scent swirled between them, and the smooth expanse of his face hovered above her own. His dark winged brows were furrowed, a faint line etched between them, his expression turned calculating. Lucifer’s dark twin. Ravenna held on to her dislike of him as if it were an indomitable shield. The magic within her stirred, and panic spiked her blood.
“Do not kiss me,” she said.
His hold on her softened, almost imperceptibly. He lifted his hand, brushed his finger against the curve of her cheek. Ravenna relaxed against him. Her mind told her to flee, her body demanded she stay. This was the height of idiocy, sheknewthat. But his dark eyes held her enthralled. They glittered with a suppressed emotion swirling in their depths.
And despite herself, it was that hint of emotion behind his stony exterior that ignited her imagination. What was he hiding from her? The world?Himself?
Stop it, Ravenna, she thought.
“Why resist something you want?” he whispered.
“Because I don’t,” she evenly. “Release me.”
Abruptly, he did. He took in the defiant lift of her chin, her narrow shoulders blade-straight. It felt like he was taking the measure of his sparring partner. His amusement returned in slow degrees. The tone of his voice held uncharacteristic mischief. “Keep your secrets for now, then. But I’ll warn you only once, Ravenna.” His voice dropped to a silky whisper. “I will learn them all by the end.”
Saturnino deliberately winked at her.
Capitolo Dodici
The double doors burst open, and out spilled the entire Luni famiglia. Signor Luni and his wife, Marco, and Fortuna, all dressed in yards of fabric. Sumptuous velvet, embroidered hems and cuffs and necklines. Ruffled collars, puffed sleeves, polished shoes. They looked expensive, fit for a painting.
“We heard voices,” Signora Luni exclaimed. “We’ve been waiting.”
“Hours,” Marco said. Like his brother’s, his hair was black and reached his shoulders. But where Saturnino was lean and lithe, Marco was built to carry a sword or a lance. He was broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, and while he wasn’t tall, his presence was imposing. “The food is on the table and getting cold. You know how much I hate that, Saturnino.”
