“You have no idea how happy this makes me, Cecilia,” I say, my voice roughened by something I don’t bother masking.
I lower her hand back to the table, but I don’t let go.
Just like she always does when I call her Cecilia, she gives that amused smile… the one that starts at her mouth but reaches her eyes too.
A few days ago, she asked what the Italian version of my name would be, so she could call me that. I remember the look on her face when I told her no.“I like how you say my name,”I’d said.“I like that you don’t shorten it or use nicknames. And the way you say it, with that unique tone... it’s you. In a way only you can be.”
She had smiled then and kissed my cheek before getting into her car.
Just the thought of it makes me smile and say now:
“How would you feel about visiting the Santoro Marmo New York headquarters on Monday?”
Chapter 12
August
ghosts of my past
Cecily
I catch my reflection in the glass doors.
I’m wearing a silky sage-green blouse, tucked into dove-gray, high-waisted trousers that fall just right. The lightweight blazer and my taupe block-heeled sandals are the same tone as the structured tote hanging from my shoulder. I gathered my hair into a low ponytail, kept my makeup light, and chose only tiny stud earrings and a slim gold necklace.
I don’t even know what went through my head when I said yes to Alexander. Maybe that’s what happens when you speak from instinct—you end up stepping into things you’re not entirely sure you’re ready to handle.
I draw in a breath and move toward the revolving door.
At the reception desk, the moment I give my name, the receptionist smiles and rises as she rounds the counter. “This way, Ms. Sterling. Mr. Santoro instructed me to take you to the private elevator. You’ll go straight up to the executive floor.”
She taps a card to unlock the elevator, then presses it into my hand. I thank her and step inside.
The ride up feels endless—and somehow much too fast. When I notice I’m nearing the top floor, I turn toward the mirrored wall, adjusting my ponytail and makeup. The doors slide open faster than I expect, and my eyes catch Alexander’s reflection in the mirror.
I take him in.
A navy suit, perfectly cut, defines his broad shoulders. His light-blue dress shirt and darker blue tie add to his imposing figure, and his hair is neatly styled.
He looks every bit the man who belongs on the top floor of a building like this. Self-assured. Controlled. And yet, when his amber eyes meet mine through the glass, something much more tender crosses his expression. I watch his reflection as he extends a hand. I turn toward him, taking it as I step out of the elevator.
When he leans in to kiss my cheek, it’s impossible not to breathe him in. By now, I know his fragrance by heart.
We step back, and he says,“Benvenuta alla Santoro Marmo, Cecilia.”[XXXVII]
The way he saysCeciliahits me like it did the very first time—and every time since.
“Good morning, Alexander. Thank you,” I say belatedly.
“You look beautiful. As always.”
A laugh escapes me. “And you,” I tease, “are charming. As always.”
“Come,” he says. “Let’s start in my office.”
He takes my hand. As much as I try to prepare myself for the shiver that runs through me whenever he touches me, the effect seems stronger every time.
When we step into his office, I take the place in.
