CHAPTER SIX

 

 

 

It smelled of leather. That was the best way I could describe it. Everything smelled of leather.

And cologne. And sweat.

Which shouldn’t have surprised me, as we were on a street near some leather shops and there were Italian men everywhere trying to convince the unsuspecting female tourists to spend more than they should for cheap imitations of brand name bags. They were all ridiculously attractive men, which could only work in their favor, as they could probably have convinced any red-blooded woman to walk a tightrope for a plate of cheese.

I loved the smell of leather. It was absolutely divine. I didn’t enjoy the other smells that were polluting the fragrance and making it smell cheap and dirty.

“How are we supposed to find an old Italian missing at least one tooth?” Salvatore grumbled from beside me, his hand protectively on my low back. “Italians love their teeth, and in broad daylight, we only have the model parade.”

I looked up at him as I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder. “You sound bitter.”

“Not bitter,” he clipped, his jaw tight. “Possessive.”

Possessive? That made less sense than the Italian rambling he had been muttering under his breath all morning. “How’s that?” I asked.

He looked down at me with a raised brow. “Handsome Italians teeming the streets for the sole purpose of flirting with women? Why do you think I’m possessive?”

I rolled my eyes, but let him pull me tighter against him.

“And if you were paying more attention, fatina,” he murmured against my ear, “you would see how they stare at you. How they watch. They can’t help it. Sei una donna meravigliosa, bella mia.”

I craned my neck as a shiver raced down to my toes and my stomach clenched in unanticipated delight. I turned and brushed my lips across his cheek almost breathlessly. “Don’t say Italian things I can’t understand.”

Salvatore sneered and returned the favor. “I thought you knew that one, bella.”

I groaned and shook my head. He was a shameless flirt, and heaven help me, I was just as keen as any of these other women with their Italians. Except mine was a ridiculously attractive and very warm-blooded Monterran.

So much the better.

“Wait,” I said slowly, replaying his earlier words, “did you say an older Italian without teeth?”

He looked surprised at the change in subject. “Si.”

I snapped my fingers. “I know that one! Val took us, remember? That old man who runs the flower shop near the graffiti wall.”

His smile was swift and blinding. “Si! Brava, Claire.” He picked up my hand and kissed it quickly, then pulled me along behind him as we wound through the crowded streets.

We’d been at this scavenger hunt for two hours now, and while some of the other groups or pairings were racing in the hopes of winning a prize, we were more of the opinion that completion at our own pace was more enjoyable. We were only about halfway through the list, and neither of us minded a bit. Florence was a gorgeous city and its smaller villages and towns around it were even more enchanting.

But if I were to be perfectly honest with myself, I was more thrilled to be spending more time with Salvatore alone.

Yesterday had been a turning point for us. I wasn’t going to pretend that he meant nothing to me, or that I was indifferent to him in some way. He wasn’t going to pretend that we were just friends and only out of necessity. There was something between us, and we’d decided to embrace it. I wanted to hold his hand, I wanted to let him kiss me whenever he wanted, within reason, and I wanted to let my guard down with him.

That was where I still struggled.

Having known him for as long as I did, I knew how he was with women. I knew how effective he was at charming them and had seen so many ways that he had done that. I wanted to believe that this was real and sincere. I hoped it was, and I thought it was, but I needed time and proof.

I still doubted.

I hadn’t told him this, though. I was sure he could tell when I smiled too slowly or hesitated in my responses. Last night I had still sparred with Davide and Francisco, bringing up the image of myself that I always fell back on and they had fought back, just as they always had. In the back of my mind, I’d registered the thought that this might make me more unappealing to Salvatore, or that he might judge me and disapprove. Not that I necessarily needed his approval, but if I didn’t get along with his friends, how could I hope for anything with him, short-term or long?

But he’d seemed delighted by the exchange. Afterwards, he’d said something about enjoying how I could lance two puffed up pigeons like them in so few words and so little time, and then take their criticisms in turn without showing even the slightest bit of distress. He’d said it was just proof that I was a singular woman.

I liked the sound of that, but I knew it was a polite way of saying that I was strange.

Apparently, he didn’t mind that so much.

“There he is!” Salvatore announced, calling out to the man in Italian. He remembered us and welcomed us warmly, allowing a picture with my phone for our proof, and then giving me a small sprig of white flowers to put in my hair.

I wasn’t normally touched by little gestures like that. I would have sneered at it once, but not this time. This time I tucked the flowers in my hair and curtseyed playfully to him, which made him laugh and clap in delight.

Glancing at Salvatore proved to be a mistake, as he looked at me with a pride and warmth that was completely unprotected and open. There was something to be said for being looked at like that, and my heart danced within me. I could have found a dozen witnesses in any country that would testify to my not having a heart, but in the last few days, it had come alive with a startling amount of energy and acrobatics.

All because of this man.

That wasn’t at all terrifying.

He came over to me, putting his arm around my shoulders and pulling me in to kiss my brow, then thanking our friend for his kindness.

I sighed and held the hand that was draped across me. “So what next?”

“I hope it’s something good,” he muttered good-naturedly. “I’m getting tired of the needles in haystacks.”

“I don’t know,” I mused, smiling at one of the beautiful Italian men holding out a purse. “There are plenty of sights to see.”

The Italian man winked at me. “Bella rosa Inglese,” he purred, reaching out as if he could stroke my cheek.

Salvatore growled and barked something in Italian that sounded quite fierce, which prompted a similar response, and before long the entire street was shouting at each other.

I looked over my shoulder and blew a kiss at the man, who caught it and clasped it to his heart.

“Don’t do that, Claire,” Salvatore warned, his hold tightening. “I already told you I’m feeling possessive, and you stirring things up is only going to make it worse.”

I had to look away and exhale slowly. There was something about a passionate, possessive man that just thrilled me. “You could always ignore it, you know. There’s nothing that says you have to respond.”

“I’m a Monterran man, cara,” he replied in a very low tone. “The blood runs hot and the passion hotter. And you know very well why I am possessive.”

Whew! I had to fight with all I had to avoid fanning myself, though anyone would have assumed it was the warmth of the day rather than the man beside me. Then again, I saw the gazes he was drawing himself, and I felt a bit possessive myself, and proud that his arm was around me, of all people.

No one would have blamed me for fanning myself, considering.

But still. There was a principle to uphold, and a reputation to live up to.

“Not really,” I told him with a light shrug. I peered up at the tops of the buildings as if looking for something.

Salvatore didn’t like that very much, I could tell. He pulled me closer to him until his lips were at my ear. “Sei mia, fatina. E io sono tuo.  Siamo anime gemelle.”

That was truly an unfair advantage he had, being fluent in such a poetic and soulful language. It was captivating and magical, and my knees were in the process of melting as I walked along beside him. I wanted nothing more than to collapse against him and let him hold me while he murmured all sorts of lovely Italian words in my ears.

I didn’t even care if he was calling me a tasty crumpet with jam, I would have thanked him and asked for more.

“I hate when you do that,” I told him for what had to be the twenty-seventh time. “You could be telling me you want Chinese takeout for all I know.”

He pulled back and took my hand, chuckling. “And would it make you blush the way you are blushing now, fatina?”

I gave him a mock glare as we moved out of the crowded streets into less busy areas, the roads heading back into the countryside, eventually. “The way you say it, I would probably blush from my roots to my toes.”

Salvatore winked at me, smiling with a mischievous light. “That probably wouldn’t take very long. But I will accept it.” He tugged me into his chest and leaned down to kiss me, tilting my chin up to slowly dismantle every one of my defenses in the sweetest, most thorough of kisses.

My sigh made him laugh and he stroked my cheek as he pulled back. “I love the sounds you make,” he praised, making me blush all over again.

“Well, at least you said that one in English,” I muttered, lifting the back of my hand to my face once we started moving again.

He strolled along the street easily, rubbing his thumb against the back of my hand. “I thought you deserved to know exactly what I was saying.” He chuckled to himself. “And for your information, if I wanted Chinese takeout, I would say ‘Voglio cibo Cinese da portar via.’ But I don’t want that, so you’re safe.”

I shook my head, laughing in spite of myself. “What are we supposed to be looking for next?”

“Haven’t a clue,” he replied easily. “I’m forfeiting. I’d rather not find things other people tell me to right now. I just want to explore and experience, and I want to be with you. Other than that, I have no preferences.”

“I don’t forfeit!” I protested, reaching for the paper in his hand. “I finish what I start, and we are going to do this!”

“If you like.” He handed it over without any sort of struggle. “As I said, I just want to be with you and explore. We can do anything.”

I tried to glare at him. “Don’t flirt me out of my competitive spirit.”

“Competitive?” he repeated with a snort. “You were not so competitive yesterday. You sneered at competition.”

I ignored that and scanned the list. “We must find a view beyond compare. Ridiculous. We’re in Florence, those are everywhere.”

“Beyond compare? No, there are only a few of those.”

He didn’t explain that at all and just led me along the road until we were away from the city itself and going uphill.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked, glancing behind us. I didn’t mind walking a distance, but the house was in the opposite direction, and we were supposed to be back in the midafternoon to hear who the winners were, and to have yet another wine tasting.

Why they needed more than one, I would never claim to understand.

 “Una vista panoramica senza paragone!” he told me, as if that should make perfect sense.

“Salvatore…”

“Just wait, Claire, all right? Trust me.”

I tried not to stiffen, I truly did. But that phrase… Trust him? That was the one thing I couldn’t bring myself to do. Not to take me somewhere spectacular, that was easy enough. But in anything else, in his words in his actions… I could only trust his kisses because there was no hiding the passion he felt. But he was the Duca di Brista. He had found passion in dozens of women over the years, none of them lasting or meaning anything at all.

I didn’t want to be one of those women.

I couldn’t be.

I didn’t have many romantic notions for myself. I had always viewed marriage and relationships in terms of alliances and power. Sentimentality had nothing to do with it. I barely took feelings into consideration most of the time. I’d grown used to that.

But being here with him… Suddenly all I had were emotions and no way to navigate them.

What could I trust? What was real?

Salvatore suddenly pulled me off the road to a stand of Cyprus trees. “Here,” he told me softly. He gestured to an opening and I came to stand beside him.

It was a breathtaking view, with fields and fields before us, and more Cyprus trees as far as the eye could see. I could make out the city of Florence proper off to one side, and small ponds and streams were scattered amidst it all. The Arno River reflected the sky and clouds, as well as the buildings and nature on either side with precision, except for where boats and currents flowed on.

“Beautiful,” I breathed, closing my eyes and inhaling the sweet smelling air. It was the fragrance of sunshine and warm grass, with the barest hint of wildflowers on the breeze. It was refreshing and cleansing, with just enough of the thickness humidity brought to give it all weight.

“Bella,” Salvatore murmured gently. “Beautiful.”

I smiled and glanced over at him. “I know that one.”

He was already smiling at me then stepped back a few paces.

I turned around to face him fully. “What are you doing?”

He gestured again, this time including me. “Una vista panoramica senza paragone!” His smile spread just. “A view beyond compare.” He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture quickly, then tucked it back in his pocket. “There. That one is done.”

I couldn’t handle much more of this. It was too much. He was too much.

I tucked some hair behind my ear, looking down. “Could we sit here for a while? And maybe talk?”

He sobered at once and looked concerned. “Those are not words I like to hear, Claire. Is everything all right?”

“Everything is fine,” I assured him, coming to where he was. “I just…” I sighed heavily and looked up into his handsome face. “It’s just all so much. I’m so confused, and I think I need my friend Salvatore for a little bit, and not the one that makes my kneecaps shake with his charm and his kisses.”

“I had no idea I had that effect,” he told me, moving to sit beneath a tree and patting the ground next to him.

I snorted as I took it. “Yes, you did. You know exactly what you do to me. What you do to every woman you’ve ever been with.”

I heard his short exhale and winced silently to myself.

“Is that what is causing you the trouble?” he asked me, his voice low and controlled, but missing the warmth.

“No,” I said at once, maybe too quickly. “No, I’m sorry. I just…” I groaned, leaning my head back against the tree. “Before you were bored with yourself and your life, everybody knew what kind of man you were, and yet they all remained friends with you. Most of them are still friends with you. How did you do it?”

“Charm,” he said simply. “It’s something I’ve always had, I’m afraid; the ability to make people like me, even if they didn’t approve of me. It has its uses, but when everybody thinks they know you, they expect nothing else from you.”

“They assume you’re nothing more and nothing less.” My voice wasn’t nearly as steady as I would have hoped it would be, but I didn’t care. What he was describing was too raw and too real to me to worry about appearances.

Salvatore nodded, looking out over the view again. “I was all show and no substance. No purpose. Is it any wonder I became bored with myself?”

“I had purpose,” I admitted quietly, looking down at my perfect nails. “The same as my family. Make profitable connections, live up to the name, and further our influence. I managed to inherit the same tenacity as my family, but without their likability. I’ve never managed the charm that you speak of. Most of my friends were only that because of families or connections. Not for me, personally. Never for myself as I was.”

“I apologize for being one in that category,” Salvatore murmured, stroking my hand with one of his knuckles.

I shook my head, smiling sadly. “It wasn’t your fault. I was so used to being that way, thinking if I worked hard enough and kept at it, somehow it would all work out. I had my walls to protect me, and it would serve me well.” I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It only served to be a fortress that kept everyone out, and all I had was myself. You were right. I was lonely. I am lonely.”

My voice broke on the last word, and he took my hand, pressing it against his chest, but not saying anything.

“I don’t know why I’ve always failed at everything I’ve tried,” I confessed, tears rising, but not falling. “I disappoint my family, and am destined to become an outcast from them, too. And there will be no one but myself to blame.”

“Basta!” he scolded, moving closer and putting his arm around me, pulling me into his side. “If you are a disappointment, then I don’t want to know what is a success.”

I scoffed loudly. “Please, Salvatore. Everybody knows what sort of person I am, even you. There is a reason why I am disliked, and I know exactly what it is. I daresay I could even change that about myself if I worked hard enough, but I haven’t found the motivation to do that yet.”

He pressed his lips to my hair and exhaled. “I didn’t see you. The real you. I never looked hard enough.”

“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.