Chapter 17
Hanna
It happened again. Once again, I lost control of myself. And that's not all.
Vico saw it.
He knows that I was lost in my thoughts.
"Will you tell me where you were in your thoughts?" His hand rises, and for a split second, I'm sure he's going to stroke my cheek. But nothing of the sort happens.
Clutching my forearm tightly with my fingernails, I shake my head. No one can know. Especially not him.
"Why not?" He steps closer, looking at me with open curiosity.
There's something in that gaze that makes me hesitate for a moment. I don't know what it is, but I feel a part of me giving in.
"Is it so terrible?" he asks softly, taking another step. Then his expression softens. "I don't think so."
He shouldn't do that. He shouldn't make me feel like my daydreams are okay. Because they certainly are not.
They're ridiculous, nothing more.
My gaze shifts to Vico, who is now so close that I can feel his warmth. He still looks at me, and now he even nods. How would he react if I explained that the run-down room turned into adreamy bedroom before my eyes? That I could see airy curtains in a delicate lemon yellow adorning the windows? That I knew which paintings should hang above the wrought-iron canopy bed and that a shabby-chic dresser with a candlestick and a bowl of fresh fruit would give the room a cozy atmosphere? All of it was so real to me that I could even smell the apples.
So many times I had the feeling that Vico was different from every person I had ever met. What if he could understand my dreams a little?
I could take the risk. And find out if he truly is different or if I had only imagined it so far.
"It's okay if you don't want to tell," he says, adding to my confusion. But his expression remains attentive, as if afraid to miss something. " But it would please me very much."
I can't do it. No matter how much I want to share my secret with him, I can't. He'll laugh at me, just like everyone else before him.
"It was just my absentmindedness, nothing worth mentioning," I say hastily, lowering my eyelids. As much as I dislike the checklist, at least it helps me focus now. What was I supposed to note about the rooms again?
While I frantically search for instructions, I can practically feel Vico's gaze on me.
Please, don't say anything. Let it be.
"I don't know… It looked like there was more to it than—"
The ringing of my phone interrupts him. With an apologetic smile, I take my phone out of my pocket. As I see the caller ID, reality comes crashing back.
I feel like I was just drunk a moment ago, but now I'm sober again. "It's Florian. I have to take this," I murmur and turn to leave so that Vico doesn't overhear our conversation. I don't know how well he speaks German, but my feeling is that Florian wouldn't approve either way.
Once I reach the landing, I answer the call. "Hey, my love." Florian's voice sounds tired, and his long exhale tells me he's worried about something.
This can't be good. "Is there a problem?"
"No," he responds quickly from the other end of the line, but I can tell he's not being entirely truthful.
Why? What is he trying to protect me from? Is he having trouble securing the loan, or is the intern still overwhelmed? Instantly, guilt washes over me. I realize that I haven't thought much about him and the challenges he's facing back home since our last call.
Of course, he misses me. After all, running the inn keeps him busy, leaving little time for anything else. And without my support, he has to bear the full weight of the responsibilities.
"How is Natalie doing?" I ask cautiously, not wanting to overwhelm him. I don't want him to think I doubt his ability to manage without me.
He clears his throat. "She's settling in well," he responds conspicuously controlled. "But that's not why I'm calling. I'm calling about the photos of that beach you sent me yesterday."
