It was her turn to wait.
Her turn to hope.
Her turn to have faith for both of them.
Chapter Six
WHEN GIANCARLO RETURNEDthe next day, they fell into an unspoken truce. She didn't speak of her feelings, he didn't ask her to leave. Every second was precious...because neither of them knew how long it would last.
Sarica couldn't help but notice how thoroughly she still had him wrapped around her finger. She would absently mention something she craved, and it would be handed to her on a silver platter,literally.He would notice her shiver, and she didn't have to say a word after that. He would pull her into his arms and warm her up in the way only he could do so. Maybe one day he would figure out that she was not as sensitive to the cold as she used to?
But the thing that gave Sarica the most hope was how he kept finding excuses to touch her—-which was the exact opposite of the old Giancarlo, who had taken pains not to even be alone in the same room with her for years.
From the moment he enteredtheirroom, he would be holding and touching her in some way. Not a second would pass that they were not in contact. If she were to read a book, he wanted her to do so while curled up on his lap. If he caught her yawning, he would insist that she sleep in his arms and nowhere else. He insisted on bathing her and drying her hair. Dressing and feeding her. He insisted on doing everything for her and with her.
Everything could've been perfect.
She just had to remembernotto look in his eyes.
Because in his gaze was the truth.
Giancarlo still had not changed his mind about her needing to leave, and why that was, she still had no idea.
Since it was pretty obvious that he loved her, could it be thatherlove was what he questioned? She wished she could ask him, but she also knew one wrong word would be more than enough to have him send her packing.
Patience, Sarica.
She never had much of it even as a kid, but it was never too late to learn.
Right?
God would let her know about His perfect timing. But until then, therewasone last thing that she did want...
Giancarlo stared at her in disbelief. "You want a photo of me bare-chested? What for?"
The afternoon sun caught the silver in his hair, making him look like some kind of modern-day fairy tale prince. If princes wore thousand-dollar suits and carried concealed weapons, that is.
"Are you going to let me take a photo of you or not?"
"You must at least tell me why—"
"Because I'll be the only person in this world to—" Sarica's gaze narrowed at the flash of guilt that crossed his handsome face. "Are you telling me I'm wrong? Is there already someone else who has a photo of you...barechested?"
Oh, the very idea had Sarica gnashing her teeth, and more so when Giancarlo only continued to stare at her.
"Are youjealous?"
Dear God, I wish I could ask You to cover Your ears and pretend that you don't hear me. Because right now, I really, really want to ask Giancarlo if he's dumb.
"Of course I'm jealous," Sarica burst out. "I know you don't want to hear this, but too bad for you, I'm going to say it right now. I! Love! You! So of course I'm going to befucking—-"
"STOP CURSING."
"I wish I could," Sarica said sweetly, "but since the day you went missing, I swore that I'll only stop swearing once you come back to me." She crossed her arms over her chest and stared up at him challengingly. "Haveyou come back to me, Giancarlo?"
The tension between them crackled like lightning about to strike. His gaze dropped to her lips, and for a moment she thought he might—
The sharp trill of his phone shattered the moment.
