“I promise I won’t! But you have to promise if I have to throw you over my shoulder like I did before, you won’t kick me in the balls!”
She laughed, but it sounded forced to his ears.
“I won’t!”
He wanted to look into her eyes. See what was wrong. He felt sure something was. But there wasn’t time.
They ran through the cobblestone streets, weaving their way through the crowd until finally Rocco ducked into a quiet alleyway and pulled her in after him.
She looked down at their hands, and he released his hold.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked. “I didn’t want to lose you again.”
She had her back up against a building. She looked … scared.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. It was one of those Mascher, I think. Someone grabbed my other hand and … I tried to pull away, but then you were gone.”
“I’m sorry if they frightened you. You don’t have to worry. Nothing bad will happen. It’s all a part of it. I told you it was crazy. But you’re okay, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”
“It’s my fault. I should have held on tighter. But your hands.”
He picked one up and stared at it.
She flinched, but she didn’t pull away.
He suddenly realized hers had not been the only hand held above the heads in the crowd. But he’d known instantly which one was hers.
“I should have held on tighter,” he said, still gazing at her hand as if he were speaking to it. “But I’m afraid I might crush them. They’re so small. And delicate.” He looked up at her. “Did you know that?”
She smiled. “So I’ve heard.”
He sighed—relieved. She was okay.
She glanced down at the hand he was still holding. He let go.
Staring back at him, she suddenly smiled. “You look ridiculous!”
He grinned. “Well, if I do, then you do.”
They burst out laughing until they were nearly breathless.
But not quite.
He felt a sudden overwhelming urge to take what little breath she had left from her.
He wanted to kiss her.
He blinked. It was absurd. He was staring at the mirror image of himself. And what a mirror image. She had on that ridiculous wig and that outlandish moustache.
I don’t care. I want to kiss her.
Real. Bad.
It’s those eyes, he thought, staring into them.
