“I wouldn’t have let you,” I admitted, tracing patterns on his shorts. “No one can get close to me.”
“This feels close,” he said against my hair, and I could feel his smile against his scalp.
I had to smile. “I just haven’t decided if I’m going to bite you yet. You’re in danger every moment.”
“Che pericolo piacevole,” he replied, kissing my hair again, then leaning back to stroke my cheek and down to my chin.
I gave him a mock frown. “What did you say that time?”
It was odd, but I thought I could see a further light and warmth enter his dark gaze that hadn’t been there before. Something sweet and tender, yet mysterious and mischievous. His thumb pulled slightly at my lower lip. “I like this danger,” he told me.
I cocked my head, suspicious. “Does it really mean that?”
He nodded slowly, leaning forward.
I leaned as well.
He pulled back with a frown, eyes narrowed.
“What?” I asked in surprise, wondering if I was going to have to beg for a kiss. I’d never done that before, and wasn’t feeling particularly keen to start.
“The last time I kissed you when we were supposed to be friends, you slapped me,” he reminded me. “And it was quite a good slap. You won’t do it again, will you? I’m still bruised from yesterday, I couldn’t bear being struck in the face again so soon, not even by you.”
I bit my lip on a helpless laugh. “I am sorry for that. But I didn’t want you to kiss me again, mostly because I liked it too much. I was so discombobulated from the night before and you were… Well, you were being you, and…”
He kissed me quickly, shutting me up. His lips played with mine for only a few moments, and then he broke off gently. “This is the real me, Claire. Sono io davvero.” He pressed his brow to mine and cupped my face in his hands.
“Stop saying things I don’t understand,” I whispered with a smile.
He tilted his face up to kiss my brow. “You may slap me any time you like, fatina. For kissing you when you don’t want it, for speaking Italian on purpose so you won’t understand…”
“I knew it,” I muttered.
“…Or if I do something that infuriates you,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Because we are friends.”
I stilled. Friends? Was he going to leave it there? Was that all this was? I knew he’d had a skewed view of relationships, but was his idea of friendship with the opposite sex skewed as well?
“And more,” he finished, kissing my brow once more.
It was incredible that I managed to avoid heaving a massive sigh of relief at that. As it was, it took me a moment to collect myself enough to repeat, “More?”
He nodded against me. “Molto di piu.”
I gave a soft slap to his face, pulling back to give him a scolding look.
He gave me a very Salvatore smile. “Sometimes I do just speak Italian because it is my first language, you know.”
“Then what did you say?”
“The sky is the color of your eyes.”
I highly doubted that, but I wasn’t willing to argue it. I rolled my eyes and huffed, pretending to be more put out than I was.
“Claire,” Salvatore said suddenly, sitting back against the tree and sounding thoughtful. “Did you study art at university?”
“Art history, yes,” I told him. “Why?”
His eyes shifted in thought, a furrow appearing between his brows. “My family has some influence on several boards in Monterra and across other countries. I have control of much of that now that my father has passed. If I remember correctly, there was a request from the Monterran Arts Foundation to improve the preservation of the National Gallery and refurbish several exhibits.” He looked at me with a bright smile. “I know nothing about any of that. I could vie for more power and put you in charge of the project and get you a seat on the board? What do you think?”
I stared at him for a long moment, then burst out laughing. “Are you serious? Me, on a board of trustees for a Monterran art foundation? It would never work! Isn’t Aria on that board? She would never allow it, even if it was possible!”
“It is possible,” he insisted, still looking excited, but now amused. “And the queen dowager is on the board, but I doubt she knows the truth of the situation.” He took my hands in his. “Think about it! My money, my charm, your abilities and beauty… How can it fail?”
I was laughing too hard to say anything after that. He joined in the laughter, and we wound up heading back to the villa soon after we recovered ourselves.
“You would be brilliant in a position like that, you know,” he told me, squeezing my hand.
“Thank you.” I turned my head to grin up at him. “You ought to take up a cause for yourself. I saw your energy and joy when you played in the futbol match. Why not start a foundation for getting kids active and engaged outside?”
Salvatore nodded slowly, smiling at me again. “It’s not a bad idea.”
“That’s not quite the same thing as it being a good idea,” I pointed out.
“It’s a brilliant idea, all right? But you knew that already.” He scowled slightly. “You know everything already.”
“I do not.”
“You think you do.”
“Well, I do know a lot.”
“Then you know I want to come to you tonight.”
I almost tripped, but he caught me and I looked up at him in bewilderment. “What?”
His eyes bored into mine with an intensity that stole my breath. “Let me love you, fatina. Let me be with you.”
A sharp exhale was my only response as I stared back at him. Then slowly, I shook my head. “I can’t, Salvatore.”
His face fell and he stepped back, folding his arms and looking away.
“I’m not ready,” I admitted softly. “This is all so fast, so furious, and I don’t want to make a mistake. It would be so easy… Too easy to do just what you asked. I won’t even pretend to doubt that it would be amazing.”
That made him smile and he finally looked back at me, no longer so disappointed.
I shook my head again. “I can’t. Not yet.”
He watched me for a long moment, then uncrossed his arms and took mine in his hands. “Not yet is not never, fatina. I’ll just wait at the threshold until ‘not yet’ becomes ‘yes, please’.” He smiled and tilted my chin up. “Aspetto tutto il tempo che ci vuole.”
I meant to ask what that meant, but he was kissing me again, and it didn’t seem important enough to interrupt him for that.
I would much rather kiss him back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
If I could have burned people with my eyes, Salvatore would have third-degree burns on the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades by now.
Maybe ice powers would have been better. I could have turned him into an ice statue.
It should have been fine, really. I was excited to meet him for breakfast and talk about the day ahead of us. It was listed as a picnic day with the option of going to the beach, and then at night it was supposed to be a night on the town. We could go in groups or in pairs, and he’d asked me last night if I would have a night on the town with him. I’d agreed, of course, but he hadn’t said anything about what we would be doing, nor did he want to brainstorm any ideas.
Then he’d kissed me senseless at the threshold of my room and left me there, a steaming puddle of goo.
I had half a mind to slap him for that now, but at the time it had been quite delightful.
Now all I could think about was slapping him.
Hard.
There were more people at breakfast than normal, mostly because plans had been set for the day and people were anxious to get started with whatever they were doing. They were all chatty and excited, but as I was feeling excited myself, I wasn’t irritated by it.
Until I saw the way the girls were watching him.
He came into the room looking perfect, as he usually did,
with just the barest hint of scruff, a pale green button-up hanging open to a white tank beneath, where his chest and abs were impressively visible, and tan Bermuda shorts housing his tanned and toned legs. He went over to the breakfast buffet, smiling his perfect smile, and I counted at least four girls checking him out and sighing.
To his credit, he didn’t pay attention to any of them.
Except Thalia.
She was sitting at a table near the buffet and looked too perfect this morning in denim cutoffs and a wide-necked baggy coral shirt that showed one perfect shoulder and collar bone.
I wasn’t sure that I’d hated anyone more than her in that moment when she had said something to Salvatore, tossing her dark and naturally wavy hair behind her, and he had talked with her for a few moments before smiling at her. The sort of smile that makes people think things. That melts various body parts.
A smile that made someone hope.
And made others extremely jealous.
And then… he winked at her.
I’d had enough. I got up from my table and left to go find something else to do. If he wanted to spend the day with me, he could find me. If he wanted to spend it being the plaything for all the other women in the house, he could do that. It made absolutely no difference to me.
Who knew what he had done with his time when he wasn’t with me? What if he had broken his streak, ended his dry spell, and had found someone more willing than me to entertain him after hours? I would never know, he would have no cause to tell me, and whoever she was, or they were, would know it was just a one-time thing and have zero expectations.
Expectation. The root of all heartache. Or something.
Served me right. I expected it.
So yeah, turning him into an ice statue would have been nice, or raising some third-degree burns on his perfect body.
But he could just enjoy the frigidness that came with my very cold shoulder for a while.
See what random Italian nonsense he would ramble after that.
I situated myself on the stairs by the pool, staring off into the morning sun and raising all of my walls again. I was going to need them.
“Fatina, you left half of your muffin on the table. Aren’t you hungry?” he asked, holding the plate out to me.
I took it from him, set it down next to me, and pointedly ignored that too. I folded my arms over my knees and rested my chin on them. There was no need to reply. If I wanted to eat the muffin, I would eat the muffin.
And I didn’t want to.
“I thought I might surprise you today,” Salvatore said, sitting down beside me and completely missing the hints.
I snorted softly. “I can see that.”
“I’ve already made some arrangements.”
“I bet you have.”
“And tonight, of course, is set.”
“Of course.”
“Do you want to come back here and change or take our eveningwear with us?”
“Whatever you think is best.”
He paused a moment. “Ah ha. And would you rather eat lemons or limes today?”
I looked at him as if he were the epitome of an idiot, which he might have been. “Excuse me?”
He indicated my face. “You are being a sourpuss. Lemons or limes?”
“Neither,” I spat, looking back out over the pool.
“What have I done now?” he asked with a heavy sigh.
I shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Do you want to come with me today?”
Again I shrugged. “That is up to you.”
“Your wanting to come is not up to me.”
“You get the idea.”
He muttered something under his breath in Italian, and I almost kicked his shins for it. “Fine. Meet me out in front of the house in fifteen minutes. Bring your eveningwear. And some sexy, towering heels.” He stormed away, and I smirked to myself at his departure.
But somewhere inside me, something really liked his angry, commanding tone.
I shut her up instantly. There was no room for her today.
Fifteen minutes later, I strolled out to the front of the villa with my change of clothes in a tote slung over one shoulder, blank expression fixed in place. I didn’t know what he had planned for us, so I’d gone with my denim capris and a burgundy sleeveless top with a jacket in the tote just in case, and Thalia had told me I looked adorable.
Somehow I avoided snarling at her for flirting with my…
Well, he wasn’t my anything.
And I didn’t snarl, so it was fine.
Salvatore was waiting for me with a scooter, of all things, and a bag of his own strapped to the back.
I frowned at him. “A scooter?”
He gave me the sort of sneer I used to receive from him all the time. “A motorcycle is loud and inappropriate for our surroundings. If you want to spend the day with me, get on the scooter.”
I hesitated, wanting to make him as uncomfortable as possible.
The sneer turned into a warning look that sent a jolt into my stomach. “Vieni qui, donna infuriante!” he barked suddenly.
I narrowed my eyes at him, then trudged over. “I don’t even know what you said.”
“You get the idea.” He handed me a helmet, which I grudgingly took as I situated myself behind him. “Hold on to me.”
It was childish, but I sullenly linked my arms around him loosely. “Fine.”
“Fine.” He started the bike and we were off with a sudden lurch that had me tightening my hold on him.
I could only imagine how he smiled about that.
We rode away from the villa without speaking, but I would have been lying if I didn’t admit how great it felt to ride with him in the warm summer sun with my arms tightly around him. I tried to ignore how amazing he smelled, how his muscles seemed to flex with the smallest movement of the scooter, and how much I wanted to just lay my head on his broad back and shoulders. I wanted to not be angry with him. I wanted to not resent him.
But I was me. And I was angry and resentful.
I wasn’t even paying attention to where we were going, blocking Florence and Tuscany out to protect myself from forgetting that I was bitter and irritable until we came to a stop. I looked up and gaped.
Salvatore took off his helmet and looked back at me, raising a brow. “What?”
“The Galleria dell’Accademia?” I squeaked.
He grinned swiftly and unfastened my helmet for me. “Si, fatina. I thought you might like it.”
Forget being angry with him. I grinned back and scrambled off the bike. “Let’s go! How do you say that in Italian?”
He chuckled. “Andiamo.”
“Andiamo!” I repeated with gusto, turning for the museum and walking quickly.
Salvatore caught up with me a few seconds later and tried to take my hand, but I yanked it away. I wasn’t that excited.
“I would have thought you would have been here before,” he commented as we entered.
“I have. I was seven and we were here on holiday. Or I thought we were, it turned out my father had business.” I shrugged and felt the same childlike wonder that had filled me then as I took in all that surrounded me. “The nanny brought Olivia and I here, and I was in heaven.”
“You seem to be there now.”
I ignored that. I had to. “Olivia was bored out of her mind. There’s a gift shop if you are, too.”
“I’m not bored. And I don’t anticipate getting so.”
We wandered through the gallery at an easy pace, and I found myself talking about the art a lot. Artists and pieces that I had studied at university and had never been able to talk about, pieces that moved me, sculptures that impressed me, and to Salvatore’s credit, he listened to every word I said as if he were my student. He asked me about specific techniques, helped me with pronunciation of my weak Italian, and was even able to track down some knowledgeable gallery employees for more details on specific pieces.
Somewhere along the way, I forgot to be a
ngry and irritated. I was too caught up in the beauty and majesty of what I was seeing to care about anything else, and he was not taking any pains to remind me.
Then, at last, we came to the most famous piece in the gallery: Michelangelo’s David.
The crowds were thick around the figure, but I didn’t mind so much. I walked the same slow circle in the atrium in which he was placed as all the rest, gazing up in admiration and wonder. The skill and passion was evident in every angle, and it seemed impossible that such a thing could have been formed by hand.
I knew all about this piece. It was studied over and over again in classes all over the world. But seeing it now, knowing what I did, having turned amateur artist myself, a heaviness settled in my chest and my eyes burned.
“Claire,” Salvatore murmured in a hushed tone, his hand coming to my back.
I shook my head, willing the tears away. “It’s a masterpiece,” I told him, my voice still rough. “Absolute brilliance. Did you know it was first placed in the Piazza della Signorina? In 1504, in front of the Palazzo Vecchio. Prime location, as I understand it. Botticelli and Da Vinci helped decide that. Can you imagine? Botticelli and Da Vinci looking at this brilliance on the part of Michelangelo and having a say in where it went. Geniuses in their own right. And then it was moved here in 1873. The Galleria dell’Accademia.” I sighed heavily and took one last look up at it. “Iconic.”
Salvatore hadn’t said anything, and I looked up at him to see him staring at me with a sort of bewilderment.
“What?” I asked as we walked away. “I know things.”
“I know you know things,” he replied, smiling at last. “I know you know a lot of things. I just didn’t know how good it would sound to hear you say things in Italian.”
There was a definite smolder in his eyes, and I was not ready to deal with that.
I cleared my throat and indicated the other marble pieces in the hall. “See these? These are also by Michelangelo. Not finished, though. I wonder why.”
I paused in front of one, staring up into the face of a half-encased figure, a statement from a professor from years ago echoing in my mind.
Salvatore hadn’t stopped, and now noticed that I had. He came over to me slowly, looking up at the piece with me, no doubt trying to see what I saw.
The Royals of Monterra: Royal Rivals (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 8
