A little too curvy, a little too bookish, never quite certain of my place in the world. But then, I guess that’s what happens to people who are orphaned at an early age. They never feel like they belong. And no matter how much Mercy says he doesn’t blame me for his having to drop out of college to take care of me when our parents died, I never believed him, which meant I was never comfortable with my role in our family.
I was a burden. I’d known it then, and I’d hated it. At first, I’d taken my frustration out on him, but after a while, I’d realized he was doing the best he could, and I feared what might happen to me if he gave up and let them put me into the foster care system. So I did everything I could to make myself less of a problem. I rarely went out with friends. I did the chores, submitted my homework on time, and got straight As in everything except gym class. Being unobtrusive is something I’ve made myself good at.
Perhaps too good.
I glance back at Tony, who is pacing through the water behind me. For a second, I think I catch a glimpse of heat in his eyes, but it’s gone in a flash. Shocked, I stop, and he plows into me, cursing as the movement jars his shoulder. But then our gazes lock, and we both freeze. Now, there’s no mistaking his expression.
He wants me.
I shiver, both excited and intimidated by the way his dark eyes prowl over my features. I wet my lips, and he stares at them, apparently fascinated. I can hardly breathe. I sense we’re poised on the edge of a massive change, but I’m not sure I want to make the jump. After all, he’s a player, and I’m the girl voted most likely to have a white picket fence.
No, seriously. That was a thing in high school.
I gather a palm full of water and spray it in his face. His mouth drops open, and the heat fades from his eyes, defusing the tension.
“Oh, you’re going to get it now,” he warns, preparing to retaliate.
I stumble away, tripping over my feet in my haste to escape him. But instead of splashing me, he makes a sudden movement and cries out in pain.
Oh shit.
That’s not good.
“Is it your shoulder?”
He nods and grimaces.
“Do we need to get out of the water?” I ask, cursing myself for not being more considerate of his injury. The last thing he needs is to make it worse by playing the fool. “I’m so sorry. I should have thought—”
“It’s fine,” he growls a little too harshly. “Stop treating me like I’m an invalid. It twinged, that’s all.”
I glare at him for a moment, understanding he’s lashing out because he’s feeling vulnerable, but honestly, I don’t care what his reasons are. He needs to stop using me as a verbal punching bag when he’s upset.
“If you’re going to be an ass, we may as well head in.” I paddle toward the shore. As soon as I feel sand beneath my toes, I start marching up the beach, shaking water off as I go.
“Sorry!” he calls out from behind me.
I know I’m probably moving too quickly for him to keep up, but perhaps that’s a good thing. I don’t feel like listening to him right now.
“Wait, Luce. Hold on.”
I can hear him chasing me with all the grace of a lumbering bull, but I don’t look back until I feel his hand on my arm. My eyes fly up to his, and they’re full of regret. His mouth twists.
“I did it again.” He sounds disappointed in himself. “Acted like I was mad at you when I’m really mad at myself. I’m sorry. I’m not used to being anything other than completely in control of myself around beautiful women, and it’s bothering me more than I’d like for you to see me this way.”
Wait, what?
“Are you trying to butter me up?” I ask skeptically. He looks sincere, but he called me beautiful, and he’s never given any indication he thinks that before. Why should I believe him now?
“No. God no.” He drags a hand down his face. “Christ, I’m getting this all wrong.” He places his hands on my waist. I flinch, tempted to suck in my stomach, but he hardly seems to notice the fact he’s touching me. His attention is on our conversation. “Youarebeautiful, Luce.” Water drips from his hair over his forehead. “I mean it. I’m not just trying to make you forgive me, okay?”
I shrug, but his grip on my waist tightens.
“Do you believe me?” he demands. “Sei bella. Sei dolce e gentile. Hai dei begli occhi.”
You’re beautiful. You’re sweet and kind. You have beautiful eyes.
I laugh. “Pensi che dirlo in Italiano lo renda più vero?”
