by Amy Patrick
“One benefit of building up was being able to have one of those,” Nic pointed, noticing my attention to the top of the house. “An open-air loggia. Not only pretty but very necessary in the hot summers here. There was no air conditioning. The family would be able to go up there at night, high above the surrounding structures, and catch a breeze.”
Again, I was struck with the urge to comment on his obvious love for architecture and art, but this time I held my tongue. The last time I mentioned it to him, it had earned me an angry setdown followed by a blistering kiss.
Masterful frescoes were everywhere. When I commented on one of them, Nic smiled widely. “Wait until you see the restaurant where we will eat tonight. Alle Murate. It’s modern on the first floor, but look up and you see 14th century frescoes on the ceiling and upper walls. They were discovered when the space was being renovated for the restaurant. It has one of the earliest images of Dante, the famous poet. Florence is his birthplace, you know.”
“No, I mean, yes, I know.” I was flustered by his mention of dinner together tonight. “I’m not hungry.”
Nic quirked his head in amusement. “Very well then, we’ll have a late dinner. That’s very European, you know. Americans tend to eat frightfully early, but you are starting to assimilate. You’d make a good Italian.” He flashed a charming smile that threatened to melt my resolve.
“No—thank you, but no. You go ahead. I really am going to stay in tonight. I’m tired from our walk. I’m sure Bardo and Piero will enjoy Alle Murate.”
The last thing I needed was to share a bottle of wine and another intimate meal under a magical canopy of ancient fresco paintings with Nic. I couldn’t give him another opportunity to suggest a nightcap on the terrace under the moonlight. Our suite had an incredible rooftop deck overlooking the wide green River Arno, and the temptation to say “yes” would be too much.
Today had been too enjoyable. He was too interesting, too funny, too sweet. Too engaged. And I didn’t need to get to know him any better than I already did. Every layer I uncovered only made me want to go deeper. And I couldn’t get involved with him—with anyone. I was leaving, just as soon as I got a new passport and made sure Olly was safe. I was leaving and going on the road again, alone, just the way I liked it.
Thankfully we were nearly back to our hotel. I planned to go inside, lock myself in my room, have a long bath, and hopefully go to bed early without seeing him again until the morning when we’d go to the passport office together.
He stopped walking and studied my face, his thick brows pulling together in concern. “Did I do something wrong? Did I offend you somehow? I was trying to be—”
“No. No, everything’s fine. Today was… lovely. Thank you for the tour. It’s just, I really am tired, and tomorrow is a big day.” And I can’t take any more of your temptations.
He stared, rolling his lips in then out. “It’s just dinner, Macy.”
“Nic…” I hesitated. “I don’t think we should have dinners together anymore. Or wine. Or picnics. Or beautiful views. You’re engaged. I’m leaving. I think it would be best if we just…” I left it there. There was no need to go on.
He nodded. “I’m sure you’re right. But it is the last night of our trip. And Florence is spectacular at night. I would love to show it to you.”
He was spectacular—day and night. Looking into his deep brown eyes, soaking up the sound of his hopeful tone, I very nearly went back on the pronouncement I’d just made.
“I’m sure it is,” I said. “I’ll see it another time.” Alone. The way I like it. Or used to.
14
Macy
I was just pulling on the luxurious white robe provided by the hotel, still steamy from my long bath, when there was a knock at the door of my room. Glancing at my clock I saw it was nearly eleven.
Nic must be back.
Why did that thought cause my pulse rate to pick up? Bad bad bad. Perhaps it was just Piero checking on me. Only Bardo had left the suite with Nic. He assured me the other bodyguard would be here all evening “for my protection.”
I went to my door, not opening it but standing just on the inside. “Who is it?”
“Macy? You are awake?”
It was Nic’s voice. My pulse accelerated again.
“What is it? I’m not dressed.”
I bit my tongue after saying it, expecting a flirty or suggestive response. It didn’t come. Nic simply said, “I brought you something from Alle Murate, in case you were hungry. It’s still hot. I’ll leave it outside the door.”
His tone was oddly flat, but his timing was amazing—I’d just been on the verge of raiding the minibar before he knocked. The sound of his footsteps walking away gave me the courage to open the door a crack. The smell of the incredible food wafted to my nose, making me instantly ravenous. What ever was inside that covered dish was bound to be about a thousand times more appetizing than what was in the minibar.
Opening the door just a bit more, I made sure Nic wasn’t waiting around the corner or something. He wasn’t. I slid a hand out and snagged the aromatic container. Oh my God. It smelled even better up close. Saliva spiked in my mouth as I shut and re-locked the door, carrying the plate to the small table and chair near one of the windows.
Uninterested in the view of the city at the moment, I lifted the carryout container’s lid, grabbed my fork, and practically inhaled the food within minutes, disappointed there wasn’t more. The dish was amazing, as Nic had known it would be. He’d chosen the perfect entrée for me and even included my favorite dessert, a dark chocolate tart. Damn him. Once again I was filled with a burning curiosity to know how. In spite of his claims, his ability to tap into my desires wasn’t natural.
Something else had my curiosity going. He hadn’t tried to get me to come out of my room, hadn’t invited me to join him on the terrace for a nightcap. Heck, he hadn’t even asked me to open the door. And he’d sounded strange. Had my refusal of his dinner invitation hurt his feelings? The thought caused an unpleasant spasm in my chest.
It doesn’t matter. You’re leaving. He’s engaged, and you’re leaving, and you’re not dating. You’re not friends.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. After spending so much time together, he felt like a friend. Even after I’d put on my nightgown and slipped under the covers, the hollow sound of his voice nagged at me. He hadn’t sounded like himself. What was going on with him? Had he spoken to Alessia? Had she found out he was traveling with another girl? Had he confessed to her about our kiss?
Questions churned in my brain, prodding my heart with little electric shocks and making sleep impossible. And they led to more questions. What was the story with the two of them?
The whole situation was abnormal, from the loveless engagement, to the fan pod at his house, to the bodyguards, to his uncanny abilities, both physical and mental. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I wanted answers. Yes, I was grateful he was willing to help me get a new passport and leave Corsica, leave Italy, and at first that had been enough. But not anymore. I wanted to know what was happening with him—needed to know.
As he’d said, tomorrow everything would be different. I’d have my freedom back. I’d have options. Tonight might be my last chance to get any answers from him. I wasn’t sure what his plan was after we went to the Consulate General. Would he leave me in Florence to await my new passport and go back to Corsica alone? And what about Olly?
Suddenly it seemed imperative to get that information—right now. Never mind that Nic might have gone to bed already and I could simply ask him in the morning. Never mind that it was late and I had orchestrated this whole evening so I wouldn’t be seeing him when my defenses were low. He had information. I wanted it. And that was all I wanted from him—wasn’t it?
I opened my door again, surveying the suite’s central living area. Bardo was stretched out on one of the sofas, sound asleep. I darted a glance at the front door. No doubt if I made any moves toward it he’d snap awake in seconds. But that
wasn’t where I was going.
I tiptoed on bare feet across the floor, headed for the double French doors to the terrace. Stopping just inside them, I peered through the glass. My heart flipped over inside my chest, kicking into a new, faster rhythm. Nicolo was out there, just as I’d hoped.
He sat in a cushioned ironwork chair, staring pensively out at the city lights, the delicate stem of a wine glass clasped between the fingers of one hand. With the other, he rubbed his mouth. Back and forth, over and over, one fingertip stroking his bottom lip. He looked… sad… or lonely… or something that grabbed at my heart and made me even more convinced something was troubling him.
I pushed down on the door handle and stepped out into the night air. Warm wind floated my long nightgown around me and alternately pressed it flat against my body as I walked across the tiled terrace toward Nic.
Either he heard me or caught sight of me out of the corner of his eye, but his head suddenly whipped around. He bolted to his feet. “Macy.”
Shifting from one foot to the other, he seemed nervous for the first time since I’d met him. “Are you okay? Do you need something?” He sounded nervous, too.
“No. I was… thank you for dinner. It was delicious. How was yours?”
“Good. Good. Did you get some rest? Have a nice… bath?” His gaze flickered down my nightgown to my bare toes and back up again. It was dark, but I could swear I saw his pupils dilate.
“Yes. Thank you. I’m feeling much better.”
Glancing at the terrace’s outdoor table, I spotted a wine bottle. It was more than half-empty. Something was definitely wrong.
“Got another glass?”
He stared at me—hard—as if trying to see inside my head. “I thought you weren’t going to share any more drinks with me. Or views.”
I shrugged. “I heard Florence was spectacular at night.”
That put a slight grin on his face. He glanced over at the terrace door, and seconds later it opened. Bardo emerged, yawning and bleary eyed and holding a wine glass. Weird. He handed the glass to Nicolo and disappeared back into the suite without a word. Nic poured some of the white wine for me and lifted his own glass to clink it with the rim of mine.
“To Florence at midnight,” he said softly.
“To Florence,” I repeated and walked to the edge of the terrace, looking out at the nightscape. The view of the Duomo was breathtaking. The massive red dome was so close it felt like I could reach out and touch it. “This is beautiful.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “That’s why I booked this suite. I thought you would enjoy the view.” But his voice sounded wrong. As if he didn’t see the incredible sight before us, as if his eyes were turned inward to something dark, something sad.
I studied him. His eyes glistened with the reflection of the distant city lights. They were slightly puffy. Had he been sitting alone out here—crying? A sharp pang wrenched my heart.
“What’s the matter, Nic?”
He gave a terse head shake, frowning. “What do you mean? Nothing.”
“No. Something is wrong. You seem sad.”
He took a long time to answer. Closing his eyes for a protracted blink, he swallowed hard before speaking. “Romigi. He is dying. I called Teodora after dinner when I knew he’d be sleeping. I knew something was wrong today. I knew it. But he denied it. He has a thing called farmer’s lung. It’s from working the vines for so many years. It’s caused irreversible damage.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” My fingers twitched with the desire to reach out and touch his arm, his hand, something, but I resisted the urge. “How old is he?”
“I don’t know exactly— in his mid-eighties.”
I cast about for something to say, some platitude that would ease his mind. “At least he’s had a good, long life, and who knows? Maybe he will have several more years.”
Nic’s scowl told me those were not the right words. He banged the balustrade with one palm, uttering something in Italian in the tone of a swear word.
“It is not long enough! It isn't fair. He is a good man—a good man.” He snorted in disgust. “He dies while Alessia’s father lives forever.” Nic leaned over the railing as if looking at the street below, but his eyes were pressed tightly closed.
Lives forever? I guessed her father must be even older than Romigi, though that would have made him pretty old when she was born. It happened though. My dad had a friend who fathered a child in his sixties.
My heart still racing from his impassioned reaction and raised voice, I braved a guess. “Do you not like your future father-in-law?”
Nic shook his head, taking a deep breath, obviously trying to master his emotions. He had not moved. He still leaned heavily on the balustrade, his head hanging in despair. “It’s not a good time for me to talk. I’m too…”
I took a step closer, and this time I did touch him, placing my hand on the back of his downturned head. I sifted my fingers through the shiny, loose curls then drew them lightly down to his strong nape, gently rubbing. The swift intake of his breath was audible even over the noises of nighttime traffic.
“I think it’s the perfect time.”
Nic stood abruptly and took a step back from me. He gave me a guarded look, as if I might be some kind of deadly threat and he had no defensive weapons handy. The silence went on for so long I thought he might not ever answer me. When he finally did, his tone was hard, almost angry.
“You make me… want to talk, to tell you things about myself, to answer your questions. But I cannot. I cannot talk about Alessia’s father. I cannot talk about Alessia. I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“Yes. You can. You said it yourself tonight—it’s our last night here. We’ll probably never see each other again after tomorrow. You can tell me anything. You can be completely honest with me. Maybe I can help.”
He shook his head and turned away from me, staring at the giant dome a block away. “No. You can’t.”
Frustration boiled in my veins. This was my last chance to get some answers. It was now or never. I wasn’t sure why I was so determined to have the truth about him, but it felt like a necessity, as necessary as air and sunlight and Ghirardelli dark chocolate. I crossed the terrace and stood directly behind him, placing one hand lightly on his back. He shuddered at my touch but didn’t step away.
“I’m not sure why you think that. Or why you think I won’t believe you,” I said. “I promise—I will. And I’m not going to betray your confidence.” Before I could think about it too much and chicken out, I blurted, “How about this—I’ll go first.”
“You don’t have to do that, Macy—” he started to protest.
“You asked why I’m traveling alone, why I don’t go back home, to America, to Missouri. You were right. I am running away. All my friends and family are there—all the people who know me. It’s because… they’re different now. They look at me differently. Like, the whole of my life doesn’t matter anymore. The only thing that matters is that one minute when I made that stupid decision. I can’t face the… shame.”
My voice choked, my throat threatening to close. Nic turned to face me. His expression was bathed in pain. I wasn’t sure if it was his or a reflection of my own. It was hard to continue, but I did. It was no longer about persuading Nic to talk to me, offering him a tit-for-tat trade. I needed to say this. I wanted him to know this about me, to know the whole me, mess and all.
“That moment when I ruined my sister’s life and my parents’ lives—it’s the lens they all see me through now. Here—in Europe, far away from home, the lens is clear. No one knows me. They don’t know what I’ve done. And as long as I don’t get close to anyone, as long as I don’t tell anyone what happened, I don’t have to see that look in their eyes. I haven’t until now. Until you.”
Wrapping my arms around myself, I took a step back. “And now you’ve got it—the look. That’s why I didn’t tell you before.”
He shook his head, reaching out to capture my upper arms gently in his warm,
enveloping grip and draw me close again. “No. No, Macy. What you see in my eyes is not judgment, it’s not pity. What you have done is nothing compared to what I have done, to what my family has done, what my people have done.”
“No,” I whimpered.
The hold on my shoulders tightened slightly. “Yes. The reason I have not been honest with you and answered all your questions is I didn’t want to see that look in your eyes. When you know the truth, you will hate me. You might even be afraid.”
“I could never be afraid of you.” The moment it left my lips I knew it was true. No matter what was happening back at that castle or what Nic had done with other girls, I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.
“We’ll see.”
15
Nic
It was the worst possible night to have this conversation. After speaking to Teodora, I’d actually been grateful Macy decided to spend the evening in her room.
She had a way of getting to me, of getting me to open up, and tonight, I was just too… full to open up. Full of grief. Full of conflicted emotions. Full of desire—for something good, something sweet, something to take away the pain.
When she stepped outside and I turned to see her in her billowing white nightgown, my heart nearly exploded. It was as if an angel had missed her target at the cathedral next door and dropped onto my terrace by mistake. She was beautiful, sweet, too tempting for words.
And here she was, asking me for honesty, prodding in that maddeningly gentle way of hers. No one had ever affected me like this—not even Mariana. I had never even been close to telling her my truth—the truth of my people. Maybe that was why I was able to let her go. But this girl…
“Nic,” Macy said in that soothing, soft voice of hers. “It’s okay. You can tell me. You’ll feel better. Just tell me what’s going on. Your ability to know what I want most, the way you look, and the way you can play soccer, the fan pods, your bodyguards, the way you get everything you want everywhere you go. It’s all just… it’s very strange. You’re… not an ordinary guy.”