I pulled away, but his mouth chased mine. I had to put the palm of my right hand on his chest. Not pushing. Signaling.
And just like that, he stopped.
"Bella…"
"I know," I said, firm. "But not yet, Luca."
He closed his eyes for half a second, resting his forehead against mine again, and said nothing for about ten seconds.
"Capisco," he said.
"I'll come back," I said low, against his mouth, without kissing again. "When we bring Matteo back from Capri, I'll come back."
He opened his eyes.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
And then he smiled. Slowly, the corner of his mouth rising a few millimeters—his smile, the one I'd learned to expect, the one that warmed.
"Brava, bella mia."
I slowly eased out of his hands and walked to the door, putting my hand on the knob.
I turned, and he was still standing in the middle of the room, barefoot on the black rug, his hair a little more disheveled than when I'd come in, his mouth still swollen from my kiss.
"When do we go to Capri?"
"Tomorrow."
"You and me?"
"You and me."
"Andiamo."
I left and closed the door behind me.
I crossed the family corridor to my room. Then I sat down on the bed and put two fingers to my lips.
And, for the first time in my whole life, I wasn't afraid of what came next.
CHAPTER 16
"There is no sea that can separate two who have decided to arrive together."
VALENTINA ROSSI
I woke at five.
I hadn't slept much. I'd dreamed of Matteo three times—once with him at eighteen on the nonna's terrace in Capri, smiling in the great-grandfather's photo. Another with him inside the pink house on Via Tragara, faceless, just the silhouette. The third I couldn't remember when I woke.
All that was left was a feeling of tightness in my collarbone.
I put on black linen trousers, a white silk blouse, and flats. A light jacket over my arm—June in Capri still turned cold at night. I left my hair down and carried the dagger in my boot.
Habit.
