by Kristie Cook
“Our little Dirty Dancer,” Alberto teased me as he moved around me and another girl on the dance floor. I twisted and swayed, my hips writhing to the beat, and I became lost in the music and the way it slid over me like a silken gown. Alberto pressed against my back and ground his pelvis against my butt.
“Like you should talk,” I murmured without pulling away.
“Just making you look sexy and desirable, cara mia.”
I looked over my shoulder at him for meaning. His eyes glanced to our right, to a table by the window. The man from the plaza sat by himself, and his gaze was locked on us. His eyes shifted away as soon as he caught me catching him.
“Me or you?” I asked.
“Trust me—he’s not my type. And I’m definitely not his. He’s straighter than a nun’s ruler and can’t take his eyes off you.”
On its own volition, my gaze returned to the guy who could have anyone in this bar, but sat alone. He stared out the window now. Alberto had to be mistaken. He was too pretty to be straight. And even if, by the smallest chance, he was into girls, it didn’t matter. The intriguing thought of a one-night-stand on my last night here made my stomach do an excited little flip, but I shut the thought down immediately. Thinking like that would get me in trouble, as it always did.
Throughout the night, however, he proved Alberto right. Every now and then I’d feel the burn of someone watching me, and when I turned, his eyes would flit away. The one time they didn’t, I began to make my way to his table to ask him to join us, but he gave a slight shake of his head and turned to gaze out the window. I hadn’t caught his eye again the rest of the night. Probably for the better. The way my body reacted to him meant not only trouble, but Trouble with a capital T.
“I believe the sun rises soon,” Alberto said some time later when the bar had essentially cleared out. We sat in a booth, his arms spread out on the seatback across from me, over Bruno’s shoulders. Bruno’s head lolled a little to the side as he obviously fought the desire to pass out. “You finally succeeded in closing the bar down, Leni.”
“You worked my ass off, Alberto. I deserved one night to party.”
“You forget about Rieti and Pizzoli?” he asked, referring to the couple of Saturday nights we partied in our hotel. “And last week, right here at Alonzo’s?”
I giggled. “Okay, okay. But still. My last night here, and I don’t want it to end.”
“Ah, cara mia, it’ll always be here,” he pointed to my forehead, “and here.” He pointed to my heart.
“Thank you, Alberto,” I said solemnly, “for taking the chance with me.”
“No, thank you, Leni. You did me a favor.”
I rolled my eyes, knowing this wasn’t exactly true. He could have found a much more qualified replacement if he hadn’t been pressured into taking me. I picked up my martini glass and raised it in a sloppy toast—half my drink sloshed over my hand.
“To you, Alberto, for making my dream come true. And to Uncle Theo.”
“Who?” he asked as he clinked his glass against mine, more sticky liquid spilling over my hand.
“Uncle Theo, of course. The one who made you bring me on.”
Alberto’s brow wrinkled, as if he’d never heard of the man.
“My great-uncle. Your father’s best friend from way back. He talked you in to giving me this chance, remember? Probably even paid you to do it.” I tried to remind him of how he couldn’t stop talking about Theo when I’d first arrived, how much he admired him and would do anything for the man, but Alberto shook his head. I laughed as I stood on unsteady legs. “Okay. I think you’ve had too much to drink.”
“And you have a train to catch in a few hours.” He stood and pulled Bruno out of the booth. With one arm holding Bruno up, he gathered me into a hug. “Take care, Leni. It has been a true pleasure.”
“You, too, Alberto. And I mean it. Thank you for everything. I’ll tell Uncle Theo you were an outstanding host and a terrific boss.”
He gave me a squeeze and then let me go to rub his jaw. “And don’t forget sexy. Is this Uncle Theo guy single?”
I fought a shudder. I didn’t want to think that way about eighty-three-year-old Uncle Theo. How could Alberto even say such a thing?
“Go,” I said, shoving on his shoulder and making him stumble. For a moment, I thought he and Bruno were both going down, but they caught themselves. We all cracked up with inebriated laughter. “You need to get to bed before you forget me or even Bruno.”
I watched as they left with more tears stinging my eyes.
“Ah, finally, I can close up,” Alonzo said from behind the bar as I grabbed my duffle bag.
I hadn’t realized everyone else had left. My eyes automatically glanced over at the table by the window. Of course, the guy was gone. But sitting on his table was my wine bottle with a single white rose in it, like the ones the audience had tossed at me earlier. I said goodbye to Alonzo and grabbed the bottle on my way out.
Back in my room at the little inn, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, the stunning face with the enrapturing blue eyes wavered behind my eyelids. After updating Facebook with tonight’s pictures and seeing if Mira had put up a rare status update—no, she hadn’t—I sat in my bed and stared at the rose in the bottle perched on the windowsill. Of the whole time I’d been in Italy, even the whole week I’d been in this village, why did he show up on my last night? Why not sooner, when we might have had a chance to meet, to get to know each other? He’d been the only person to truly catch my eye and I his.
Well, I thought maybe I’d caught his attention. It was hard to know for sure, the way he kept looking away. Maybe I reminded him of someone, maybe even his wife. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were married, which would explain his strange behavior. You’re being ridiculous. I shook my head. It didn’t matter if he was married or not, or if the interest was mutual. I would never see him again and that was that.
So why couldn’t I get him out of my head?
* * *
My heart grew heavier than the humongous suitcase I lugged behind me as I boarded the train and took a seat by the window. I should have known better than to expect anyone to see me off, even Alberto who probably still snored away his multiple martinis. Although I hadn’t made any real friends besides him, I’d still miss all the people I’d met while here. I’d also miss the beautiful countryside and the quaint little villages with their cobblestone streets and old stone buildings. I leaned my head against the window and pressed my palm to the pane. The train car jolted as the engine began its pull. Goodbye, Italy. I’ll be back.
The train had barely begun to move when I saw Alberto rush out to the platform. His eyes scanned the train, and I swore they stopped at my window. I wiggled my fingers in a wave. His brow furrowed and he cocked his head, looking befuddled, like he had last night when I’d mentioned Uncle Theo. Was he still drunk? But he’d come out here to see me off, right? Perhaps he didn’t actually see me through the window. Then Bruno and the rest of the company gathered around him, and I realized their train would be coming soon. Maybe he hadn’t come to say goodbye, after all. I waved anyway. Nobody waved back.
But a blond-headed man rushed to one of the cars of my train. Was it him? The guy from last night? I pressed my head harder against the window, as if trying to push through it to see if he made it aboard, but I couldn’t see that far down. The train picked up speed, and I sat back in my seat with a snort. I was probably imagining things.
I pulled my phone out of my skirt pocket, hoping to find a reply from Uncle Theo. Still nothing. My mouth pulled down in a frown as worry again niggled its way into my mind. This wasn’t like Uncle Theo. He’d at least take the time to wish me safe travels, knowing I was on my way home. International phone calls were expensive, so I’d been avoiding calling Mira unless it was an emergency. This was close en
ough.
I dialed her number but her voicemail picked up. I didn’t know if she ever listened to it—she was sixty-seven, quite a bit younger than Uncle Theo, but still not a big fan of technology. So I called Uncle Theo’s house phone, thinking she was probably there anyway. Dread began to weigh my heart down as the phone rang and rang. What if he’d been hurt? He wasn’t as steady on his feet as he used to be. Oh, God, what if he’s de— No, I wouldn’t finish that thought.
Dude, relax. Mira’s probably at the store and Uncle Theo can’t hear the phone. After all, if something was wrong and Mira couldn’t reach me, surely she would have called my parents, and they would have called me. This thought, along with knowing I’d see him soon, calmed me. Everything’s okay. No news is good news. I told myself I was tired after being awake for over twenty-four hours, letting my imagination get to me. But I suddenly couldn’t wait to get home.
The rhythm of the wheels on the tracks eventually lulled me to sleep. The two-hour ride was long enough to leave me feeling even groggier than before. I was surprised I found my way through the maze of transfers to get from the train to the airport.
After checking my bags and receiving my boarding pass, I went straight to the airport coffee shop, grabbed a cup of cappuccino and then headed for my gate, only to find I had a three-hour delay. The waiting area was already full, so I made my way down the corridor, looking for a seat. As I passed a bar and considered taking a seat inside, a blond head turned toward me, and this time I wasn’t imagining things.
Our eyes locked, and I halted in my tracks as my breaths stuttered in my lungs. He was even more gorgeous in the light of day . . . but also more dangerous. I could feel that even across the many yards of space between us. The tattoos on his arms didn’t tell me this. Something in the way he held himself, the cock of his head, the gleam in those eyes that were pulling me in.
A movement next to him broke my trance. A dark-haired beauty sat in the chair beside him, although she may as well have been sitting in his lap, her body was welded so tightly against his as she looked over his shoulder at the phone on the table. She was nearly as beautiful as he was—definitely model material. She looked up at me with sharp eyes as a well-manicured, bright red fingernail traced his collar.
I withdrew my stare that by now had to be bordering on rude and ridiculous and hastened my pace along the corridor as the search for a seat resumed. The bar was definitely not an option.
A pounding of feet sounded behind me, followed by someone yelling in Italian. I stepped to the side to move out of the way and turned toward the commotion. Gorgeous guy was running toward me, and the bartender ran after him. I stepped farther out of the way until my back pressed against the wall, but he stopped in front of me. I stared at him, my mouth gaping.
The bartender yelled something about paying his tab, and my eyes widened as I looked over his shoulder. Did he really so blatantly ditch his bill? The guy turned to follow my gaze, then rolled his eyes as he dropped his phone into his t-shirt pocket. His hands moved in front of him—the ASL sign for “sorry” then “hold on.” I only knew this because Uncle Theo and I had learned sign language together when he began to lose his hearing. Was gorgeous guy deaf?
He turned to me as he reached into his back pocket, probably for his wallet. I hoped for his wallet and not something crazy, like a knife or a gun. Yep. Wallet. But he hadn’t been fast enough. The bartender’s hand landed on his shoulder and forced him to turn. Gorgeous guy’s fist went up as though to throw a punch.
“Whoa!” I squeaked, dropping my coffee cup to reach up and grab the tight muscles of his forearm.
My stomach dropped five stories.
I seriously felt as though I’d fallen off the side of a tall building, plummeting in a free fall. My heart took off in a gallop, while my lungs ceased working at all. I looked up and fell into the pools of those deep blue eyes, plunging further and further under. The word “dyad” echoed from deep within me, as if my soul itself had whispered it. I didn’t even know what the word meant.
But I did know one thing for certain.
Before last night, I’d never seen this guy in my life—how could I ever forget that face?—but in some inexplicable way, I knew him. My soul knew him.
Chapter 2
What the fuck does dyad mean? The word bounced around my skull as if I should know, but I had no clue. Of course, I couldn’t think straight about anything as those silvery-green eyes entrapped me in their snare, making my head buzz and whirl. I don’t know how long we stood there staring at each other, but my stomach finally stopped its plummet, though my heart still beat harder than if I were actually banging the girl. I knew she was different, but this was way beyond anything I’d expected.
Something poked me in the chest. The girl blinked, then let go of my arm. The rest of the world stopped spinning and came into focus. The bartender jabbed his finger into me as his mouth moved angrily and a piece of paper waved about in his other hand. I fished some euros out of the wallet that was somehow in my hand—I didn’t remember pulling it out of my pocket. Apparently, this gesture didn’t satisfy the bartender. The vibrations of his voice beat against my cheeks —he must have been yelling loudly and quickly and in Italian, because I couldn’t read his lips, but I certainly felt his anger—and it was all I could do to keep from punching his face. I was paying the dude, for shit’s sake! But green-eyes had stopped me once already, and I didn’t want to put her in that situation again.
The bartender’s mouth finally stopped moving, his breath stopped assaulting me, and his eyes went to her face. She spoke to him, then turned to me. Her fingers fluttered in front of her, and I had to force my gaze from her face to her hands. How did she get through security with all those bracelets dangling on her wrists? It took me a moment to realize she was signing.
“Do you know ASL?” she asked with her fingers, every one of them banded with a ring, though none looked like a wedding or engagement ring, I couldn’t help but notice. She tilted her head in expectation. Still in a bit of shock, I simply nodded. “He says he should call security. Did you really run out?”
My brow furrowed momentarily. Hearing girls tended to think deaf meant stupid, although it didn’t stop them from hanging all over me, wanting me to do sign language on their bodies. But this girl—she was different. And I didn’t want to make myself look any more of a jackass in front of her than I already had.
“Didn’t mean to,” I signed. “I was trying to catch you before you got out of sight.”
Her dark honey-colored skin blushed a bright pink. Something inside me—deeper than any other girl had ever reached—stirred. I read her delicious, plump lips as she spoke to the bartender, changing my words from catching her specifically to catching someone who’d walked by. I held up enough euros to cover my bill as well as all the tables surrounding me to show I hadn’t meant any harm. I did a lot of stupid things, but running out on my bill wasn’t one of them. Not in recent years, anyway. The bartender glared at me for a long moment, then snatched the money out of my hand, spun on his heel and marched back to the bar.
“Thank you,” I signed to the Beautiful Girl. Her eyes narrowed as they traveled over my face, then down my arms, taking in all the ink. I couldn’t tell if she was impressed or appalled. For a moment, I was glad I’d had to take out my piercings for security, then I berated myself for caring so much what she might have thought. She was one girl of thousands. We were in an airport, each of us headed to other cities.I’d never see her again, so why did I care what she thought?
Her fingers moved as she used Signed English, not ASL. Which was good, because I never did catch on to ASL and its grammar any better than I’d been able to learn Spanish in junior high school.
“You’re welcome, but I only did it because you obviously had the money to pay up,” she said with a saccharine-sweet smile. “And because I was raised well, I’ll
forgive you for using me.”
“How did I use you?” I asked, honestly perplexed. I’d already thanked her for translating.
“You were trying to catch me?” she asked with another tilt of her head.
I nodded. “And?”
Her smile wavered, and she blinked. “Why?”
I didn’t answer at first. I really didn’t know why. I’d seen her, remembered her from last night, and my body had pretty much reacted on its own.
“I recognized you,” I signed, feeling like a lame-ass. But it was better to be lame than to tell her the truth—that I hadn’t stopped thinking about her since last night. The look she gave me told me she was about to leave. I’d become very good at reading faces and body language since the accident. My hands moved quickly. “Don’t go. Let me buy you a drink. Please.”
She looked down at the coffee cup and the brown liquid pooled at her feet, then up at me, then over my shoulder. She rolled her eyes.
“I doubt your girlfriend would like that,” she signed.
My girlfriend? I glanced over my shoulder to see what she was talking about, and there was the dark-haired model I’d been about to hit up in the club room before goldie-locks here sauntered by. Okay, so there were a few minutes I’d stopped thinking about this green-eyed babe in front of me, but now I’d already forgotten about the model who glared at us with fire in her eyes.
