He repeats it, softer, like he’s tasting it. Like he already owns it. “Short for something?”
“Caitríona.” I force my eyes away, snatching back my hand. “I take it you’re not from here.”
“New York.” He shrugs. “But I’m half-Italian. Here for the summer, trying to remember how to slow down.”
“Good luck with that,” I mutter, but for some inexplicable reason my mouth curves into a smile.
He tilts his head, studying me. “And you? Not from here either clearly. Not with that accent.”
“No.” I sigh at the reminder, glancing back at the waves. One day, I vow to erase that accent for good. “Belfast. I’m working at one of the bars in town for the summer.”
“And you’re standing here looking like that, on this beach, and no one’s snatched you up yet?” He teases, stepping closer.
I’ve only been here for a week, and already I’ve been hit on by countless Italian guys. I had no problem shooting any of them down. My lips press together, but again for some reason I can’t quite explain, I don’t back away. “Maybe I’m not looking to be snatched up.”
A laugh tumbles out, warm and real. “I’m not trying to snatch you, Cat. Just... walk with you.”
“Walk with me?” I almost laugh. I don’t do romantic walks on the beach with strange men. I don’t do anything that could tether me to someone else.
“Yeah.” His voice softens, quiet and sure. “Down there.” He points to where the beach curls around a rocky bend, away from the noise, the umbrellas, and the rowdycalciogames.
I hesitate and glance back at my new friend, Noel, an American girl I’m sharing my flat with here in Taormina. She’s ankle deep in the water throwing me a thumbs up.
I snag my bottom lip between my teeth, then sigh. “Just a walk.”
“That’s all I’m asking for.” He holds out his hand again and against all better judgment, I allow him to lace his fingers with mine. “So Cat, tell me what a gorgeous lass like you is doing in Taormina?” His voice is smooth, his eyes sparkling with mirth and somehow, I’m immediately at ease.
“I already told you, I’m working at a bar.”
“But why?” Mischief glints across those jewel-toned eyes.
To run away. To escape the home that still feels too much like Ma. Because I can’t bear the sound of my little sisterSiobhan crying anymore and Da drowning in the bottle of whiskey.
“Just for fun,” I say instead.
His smirk grows downright wicked. “Well then, it’s a good thing you met me, Kitty Cat because if there’s one thing I know, it’s how to have fun.”
I barely repress a laugh.
His hand tightens around my own as he tugs me further down the beach. The sand is warm under our feet as we wander away from the bustle. The sea curls at our ankles, cool and foamy. He asks me more questions in that teasing lilt, but he never pushes too hard. And all the while, he keeps sneaking glances at me, like he can’t believe I’m real.
Neither can I.
Because for the first time in years, I’m not Caitríona McKenna, daughter of Seamus and Moira, who abandoned her family and who was forced to pick up where our mother left off. I’m just a girl with fire in her hair, walking with a boy who looks at me like I hung the sun.
The memory slices through me, cruel and sweet all at once.
Now, perched on a rooftop in Manhattan my hands sting with the ghost of his grip around my palm. I curl my fingers into fists, dragging myself back to the present. That boy is gone. That girl is dead. And that entire summer is ash.
And yet every time I see him, every time I line him up in my sights, that same boy slips through the cracks and wrecks me all over again.
CHAPTER 11
PATHETIC
Matteo
The Velvet Vault is quieter tonight which should settle my nerves, but it doesn’t. I can’t seem to stay away from the club lately. Just being here reminds me ofher… As fucked up as it is, I can’t wait for the next time Trigger shows up. I stare at one of the grainy computer screens in front of me, deviating from the task at hand for just a moment. Ale is perched at the VIP bar with a glass of bourbon, pretending to smile as he talks to the arrogant asshole of a mayor.
