“Keep deluding yourself,” Troy taunts.
I shudder as Bryce swings at Troy blindly in his inebriated state. Troy deftly avoids the punch before delivering a quick one-two directly to Bryce’s stomach.
Bryce vomits all over the patio. I hit pause before murmuring, “Considering how much I threw up listening to that conversation, I can’t say I’m sorry to see that.”
Troy’s eyes bore into mine. “Do you now question whether I supported any of the bullshit Bryce spewed that night?”
I study the intensity of his face before answering, “No, I don’t.” How could I when I’m looking at the live footage of his defense of me?
“Are you going to stay atTenuta delle Ombre?” he pushes.
I hesitate on that question because seeing Troy, even knowing he stood up for me, is bringing up things I’m trying to shove into my past. “Let me sleep on it.”
He nods, his eyes not once leaving mine. “Then maybe it’s time for you to find your bed.”
Something flickers in the depths of his eyes. Something I can’t name. Handing him his phone back, I make my way to the door of the kitchen before turning around. He’s leaning against the counter, ankles crossed. His handsome face, my photographer’s eye now easily discerns his thicker brows and more pronounced chin denouncing his Italian heritage, is staring at me intensely. I feel my cheeks flush but attribute it to the warm sweater I’m wearing plus the wine I had with dinner. “Good night, Troy. Sleep well.”
“Buonanotte, Maya. You as well.”
Making my way through the villa, I head straight up to my room. Once I close the door, I lean against it with my forehead touching the smooth wood, my palm clasping the lock as if it can hold more than just my privacy but maybe it can keep me from reeling over what I learned tonight.
Troy said my ex was wrong. No, he did more than that. He defended me. Said I didn’t deserve what was happening. He cared about what I thought about him.
Then there is the way his low voice said“buonanotte,” that sounded like smoky whisky. I shake my head back and forth. No, while I might be open to eventually exploring something new now that my relationship with Bryce is dead and buried, this is Troy. He’s not just some random man I happened to meet. He was once a legendary football player in his own right who stillmaintains many ties to the same world Bryce tried to break me with.
No, he didn’t succeed, but I learned my lesson. Shaking my head, I shove thoughts of Troy to the side and cross the room to the window. Outside, the hills of theTenuta delle Ombrevineyard lay shrouded in darkness. The castle ruins are barely visible against the inky night sky.
Drawing the curtains shut, I murmur, “Tomorrow will come soon enough. There’s enough time to decide whether to stay or go.”
But after I complete my nighttime routine and slip beneath the covers, I can’t stop hearing Troy’s “Buonanotte, Maya,” over and over like a blessing.
And for reasons I don’t comprehend, that helps me slip easier into sleep than I have in months.
10
EXTRA POINT – KICK AFTER TOUCHDOWN.
Sleep was futile. All I could think about was that if I closed my eyes, I’d wake to find Maya had left the vineyard and in doing so would lump me in with her pathetic excuse for an ex-fiancé.
Rolling over, I face the window where the first rays of the sun trickle through. The vines my family has cultivated for hundreds of years stand in dark silhouettes, the rows remindingme of Maya—strong, frighteningly determined, yet somehow hauntingly fragile. My chest tightens. From the moment we met when Bryce told me he was getting married, she intrigued me.
Rolling onto my back, I think back to our first meeting.
I make my way onto the rooftop balcony of the club where the team owners of the Oklahoma Lightning host a party after the NFL filmed a retrospective about the Oklahoma Lightning. With a sigh, I murmur, “At least it’s quiet up here.”
A husky feminine voice in the shadows laughs. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
I take a step back on my right leg before I realize I didn’t brace my thigh muscles. My knee gives way. My ACL never truly recovered after someone brutally tackled me, shredding it while I attempted an extra point. I let out a string of curses, even as I tried to catch the metal bar to avoid going down.
That’s when she bounded out of the shadows, aiming right for me. “Hey, hey! Are you okay?”
Without hesitation, she notched her shoulder under my armpit to prevent me from meeting the concrete. I felt the heat of my embarrassment crawl up my neck, so my voice was gruff when I said, “I’m okay.”
She remained tucked beneath my arm for a moment until she was certain I was steady before moving away slowly. That’s when I noticed she wasn’t wearing heels, but sparkling Converse Chucks along with a form-fitting dress. She glances down at my custom-made dress shoes and remarks candidly, “Maybe the Tricker’s weren’t a good choice.”
My brows skyrocket. “I’m impressed.”
“That I know what shoes you’re wearing?” She shrugs as if knowing the United Kingdom’s oldest shoemaker is something everyone would know. “I apparently know a lot of odd knowledge since I travel a lot for my work.”
