Page 22 of The Strength Of A Woman

It’s not my intention to come off as defensive, nor is it like me to play games. This is hardly me playing games, but I find her curiosity intrusive.

It’s like her intuition had signaled to her that something might have happened between Lani and me.

Something did happen.

I pushed her away and gave her a fair warning while trying to keep my cool and not make a mistake.

Did it work? I don’t know.

I’ll probably find out soon.

The thing is that the more I try to move away from her, the closer I get to her and the more I’m thinking about her.

She’s like a hint of cologne embedded in my skin that never truly goes away. It becomes warm and familiar, and I carry it with me, leaving a trail of it wherever I go.

That’s how she feels to me, and this woman, Sylvia Gallo, seems to have detected the scent of her all over me.

“Have you heard about the party in Taormina?” She cleverly shifts the topic, giving me something to think about. “I don’t know if you’ll still be here,” she drones on in a persuasive tone that irritates me.

“Have I been invited?” I ask, trying a casual reply.

Why am I hearing about a party thrown by someone else from them?

“Everyone in town has been invited. Everyone important,” she adds in a rush.

Oh. That warms my heart.

“Probably not. I have no reason to be there,” I cut the conversation short.

In the same way, I had no reason to be here other than to learn whether Leilani Gallo had changed in any way.

“When is it?” I uselessly ask, knowing that I’m not interested in going.

“Two weeks from now.”

She gives me a smile as if I just fell into her trap.

“Absolutely not. I’ll be gone by then.”

I look away and check the time on my watch.

“I need to go now. It was nice seeing you tonight,” I say in a cold, clipped voice, leaving no room for further discussion.

“Same here,” she answers just as I pull away.

5

CALLUM

The followingday

“Can’t say I slept well,”I mutter, lifting the small porcelain cup to my lips and taking a sip of strong coffee.

Cosimo leans against the windowsill, his arms folded over his chest as the silence of the historic house wraps around us with the entire weight of the last two centuries.

Sitting at a round table with a wall covered in framed old photographs depicting a historic landscape behind me, and the dining room in front of me, I run my fingers through my hair.

I take another sip of coffee and stare through the open double doors at the table I just sat at moments ago.