Slowly, I angle my head and slide my wide gaze over my shoulder. A familiar face in the distance catches my breath halfway between my throat and lungs. The stranger who rescued me weeks ago is getting out of a stylish black SUV that closely resembles the vehicle he pinned me against that morning in Carlisle.
Since I thought he was a local, I looked for him there and wandered through its twisting streets at all times of the day and night, hopeful for a glimpse of his ridiculously handsome face.
All avenues were fruitless. No one had any information. Yet, now he’s here, in Palermo, as if destiny is giving me a second shot.
Excitement ignites in my chest. I desperately want to ask him why he’s here and to confess that he hasn’t left my thoughts for a single second, but just as I’m about to make my move, I notice he isn’t alone.
A beautiful woman with long, glossy locks and a petite frame slips out of the SUV beside him. Every inch of her is flawless, and I shrink away, suddenly aware of my rumpled clothes, my tired eyes, and the anxiety of my sudden weight gain.
Compared to her picture of perfection, I look like a slob.
My heart sinks as I watch the dark-haired stranger take the brunette’s hand in his. His fingers lace with hers with easy familiarity, like it’s something they do regularly.
As they walk hand in hand toward the clinic, a million questions fire through my head.
Two stand out more clearly than the rest.
Is she his wife?
His girlfriend?
Looking for a ring never crossed my mind, and I didn’t have time to ask the right questions. I was too frazzled from the nearmiss and, if I were honest, my body’s particular reaction to the stranger.
I’ve met many handsome men in my life, but there was something about him, something unique, that made me curious about the sparks that fired between us that morning.
Now, watching them, I feel foolish for even pondering more.
The stranger doesn’t enter the clinic with the beautiful brunette. He guards the door protectively—or is it aggressively?—and his aviator sunglasses covering his dark eyes reflect the screen of text he reads while waiting for her to return to his side.
Suddenly, his head jerks up from his phone, and he scans the crowd wedged between us. Afraid he might see me, I duck behind a pillar and watch him from afar.
War wages inside me for several long seconds. I want him to see me so I can prove that the chemistry I felt that morning wasn’t a lie, but I shouldn’t want that from a taken man.
I am the result of an extramarital relationship, so I’dnevervolunteer to be the other woman.
As that mantra rings on repeat through my head, I slip around the side of the building and find the secondary entrance I used during my last visit. It’s quieter here and hidden from any eyes that might recognize me.
After letting myself in, I lean against the wall of one of many examination rooms off this corridor and steady my breathing. Inside, the clinic is bright and sterile, and cleaning products are acute in the air.
Once my lungs are functioning close to normal, I head to the receptionist area. I check in at the desk and hand over my paperwork before answering the secretary’s questions with automatic precision.
The receptionist is kind and her smile is gentle, but I barely register her words. My mind is still outside, with the dark-haired stranger and the woman beside me who is impossible to ignore.
She’s the woman I saw outside, and up close, she’s even more intimidating.
When she eyes my paperwork as if privacy is merely suggestive, a dazzling grin doubles her beauty. “I hope they don’t get us mixed up.”
Confused, I peer at her with a screwed-up nose. Her glossy dark locks cascade flawlessly down her slim shoulders, and her handbag costs more than my entire wardrobe. We couldn’t be more different if we tried.
It dawns that I’m the only one comparing us when she says, “Our names are so similar it’s scary.”
I lower my eyes to her paperwork, stomping on her privacy as she did mine, before gasping.
Her name is Valeria Raimondo.
“Were you born in Palermo?” Even though she’s asking a question, she doesn’t pause for an answer. “Your accent reveals you’re not from around here, but you look familiar. Have we met before?”
“Um. No… I don’t think we have.”
