Cole
I twirl the stem of my wineglass between my fingers, watching the way the ruby liquid catches the soft lighting. Anabel sips her wine, her soft lips pursed around the rim of the glass, and my balls give a pathetic little pulse.
I want her so much that I’m nearly out of my mind with it. I’d promised myself that on this trip, I was going to find the balls—ha—to tell her how I feel. To confess my feelings and see how the chips fall.
I don’t just want her. I love her. I love her sweetness and her warmth. I love how thoughtful and kind she is. She’s a loyal friend, selfless and…perfect. She’s fucking perfect.
And beautiful. Perfect and beautiful and…
It all tangles together in my chest, sitting there like a snarled knot of hope and fear and love and worry.
I keep thinking about the fountain. The way the water shimmered under the golden light, the way Anabel’s coin arced through the air before vanishing beneath the surface. The waythe wind picked up out of nowhere, carrying that strange, sweet scent with it.
For a second, I let myself believe in it. In magic. In wishes coming true.
I wished for her. Of course I did. I wished for the courage to tell her how I feel. To tell her that I want to be more than her best friend. I want to love her the way she deserves. I want to give her everything, every piece of me.
Just thinking it makes my stomach turn sickly.
God, I’m such a fucking coward.
She’s been different since the fountain. Quiet. Distant. Her fingers keep twisting around the stem of her wineglass, her knuckles going white. She seems restless. On edge. It’s not normally like this between us. Usually, it’s all jokes and laughing and easy conversation.
Maybe I’m making it weird. I do have a talent for that.
“You okay?” I ask, because I can’t stand the silence anymore.
She startles, like she’d forgotten I was here. It honestly makes my heart sink a little. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”
“About the fountain?” I mean, if I’m turning it over in my mind, chances are she is, too.
Her lips part. She hesitates. “Yeah.”
I lean forward, elbows on the table. “What’d you wish for?” I’m desperate to know. Did she wish for me, the way I wished for her?
Would knowing that give me the guts to do something about how I feel?
Her fingers tighten around the glass, and she hoists an attempt at a playful smile onto her face. “I can’t tell you, or it won’t come true. Isn’t that like, the golden rule when it comes to wishes?”
“That’s just superstition,” I say, but my pulse is hammering. “What if I told you mine?”
She shakes her head. “Don’t. Then it won’t come true.”
Our eyes meet, and the air grows thick and warm between us. I rub a hand over the back of my neck and take a sip of my wine.
I’m desperately trying to think of something else to say when a man steps up to our little booth. At first, I think he’s a waiter, but as he moves into the light, I realize he’s not.
Christ, I can’t breathe.
He’s tall and broad, roped with muscle. His dark hair falls in loose waves, just long enough to run your fingers through, and his jaw looks like it belongs on one of the marble statues we saw at the Galleria Borghese. But it’s his mouth that does me in. His lips are full and smirking, like he knows exactly what kind of thoughts are running through my head right now. I have no idea how old he is. Maybe thirty-five? He looks like he’s just stepped out of the pages of a magazine, in any case.
He’s wearing a crisp, white shirt, open at the collar just enough to show a swath of golden skin. My cock twitches, half-hard already, because fuck, I’ve never reacted to someone other than Anabel like this before. Not this fast, not this strong.
I have no idea who he is, or what he wants with us.
“Mind if I join you?” His voice is deep and polished, with only the faintest Italian accent. A tingle races down my spine at the sound of it.
Anabel and I exchange a look, and I can tell that she’s just as intrigued by this stranger as I am. She blinks once, twice, then nods. I move to her side of the booth to make room, and as I slide in, my thigh presses against hers, making heat pool low in my gut. She lets out this little laugh, breathless, and I know she’s just as thrown by this man as I am.
