I drop my hand from the locket so I can hold his face. The short stubble of his beard feels like sandpaper on my palms, and it stirs something deep within me.
“It’s better than all right, Damien. It’s perfect.”
The streetlight is dim here, but I know his green eyes are shining. He hesitates. “I worried you might think me too bold. Do you?”
He knows what I’m going to do before I do, I think. When I lift onto my tippy-toes, he bends toward me, then kisses my lips. His kiss…’tis soft and ’tis careful, and it changes my world.
chapterSIXTEEN
My old friend Bianca is waiting outside the door of my building, sitting in her smoke like a saint in a halo. Damien stays beside me when I tell her that Mrs. Evans has agreed to interview her at eleven the next morning. She is up quick as a flash, hugging the life out of me. I blink at Damien over her shoulder, and he’s laughing, stitching dimples into his cheeks. God help me, I want to kiss his mouth again.
“Thank you, thank you!Grazie, amica mia!” She steps back. “You won’t regret it.”
“I’d better not,” I say.
I don’t mean for it to happen, but my fingertips go to my chest, sheltering the locket. As soon as I do, Bianca spots it. I hadn’t planned to tell her about it. I fear she’ll tease us and strip the silver of its shine.
“What’s that pretty thing?”
I can’t keep quiet. I need to show her my treasure. I move in, then flip the locket over so she can see better.
“Look close,” I say, beaming, showing her our initials.
“Well! I thought you were only friends,” she singsongs. She squints at Damien, judging him. Listen, the girl has terrible taste in men, for she doesnot think he is handsome, but I don’t care. Then she shrugs. “L’amore è cieco. Whatever makes you happy, Rosie. Let me see that necklace again. Good job, Damien. I’d love to know how you paid for that.”
“That’s none of your business!” I cry, though I, too, would like to know. I am painfully aware that a waiter’s salary wouldn’t be enough, but I’m afraid to ask.
“I bet you would,” Damien says smoothly, the most charming ginger cat who ever ate a canary. His expression gives me a nervous feeling inside. Like he has a secret, and I am not sure if I want to know what it is. I think of Mrs. Evans’s warning, but before I can say another word, he cups his cool hands around my upper arms.
“Good night, sweet Rosie. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Then he hugs me, right there in front of Bianca. For a second, I’m self-conscious, then I hold him tight. I don’t care what she thinks. My life has turned a corner, and I’m following that path with Damien, not Bianca.
She and I watch him walk away, a lone figure passing under the streetlamps. He tells me he’s been on his own for years, and he seems fine with that. But when he glances over his shoulder at me, I read in his expression that he’d rather have me beside him.
“Well,” Bianca says at last, facing me.
My connection to Damien separates me from Bianca, which feels a little strange. I ignore her sly smile, but I see it out of the corner of my eye.
Now that he’s gone, I’m aware of my body’s aches and pains. My feet feel like cement after my long day, and something sharp is burning on my hand. I must have missed a sliver of glass. I hope I didn’t leave any for the guests to step on. That would be terrible. I will check closely tomorrow.
“I’m in bits, Bianca. I need to sleep.” I know she wants to talk, but I shake my head when she tries to stop me. “If you get the job tomorrow, you will understand how knackered I am right now. Besides, you need to get your own sleep so you can be at your best for Mrs. Evans.”
Granny’s in her rocking chair when I tiptoe upstairs. Her head is hangingback, her mouth slightly open as she snores. I step around her as carefully as I can, but wouldn’t you know it, a floorboard creaks. Quick as a wink, she is awake and gaping at me.
“I thought you’d be in bed,” I say to her.
“Holy Mother of God. What foolishness is this?” she demands.
She’s staring hard at my necklace. How she spotted it that fast, I’ll never know. There’s no point in lying, since she will get it out of me eventually. And, well, I don’t want to lie about Damien, either, not really. ’Tis just that she’ll scold. She’ll make me feel bad about being so happy. That’s her way.
I lift the little locket in my fingers for her to see.
Her lips purse. “Saints preserve us, a locket. So we’ve money to throw around on pretty things, do we?”
“It’s a gift.”
“Who was the divil gave it to you?”
