EIGHTEEN
Chiara
Clearly, I had offended some long-lost Etruscan deity. That was the only logical explanation.
First, the German tourist refusing my help and nearly drowning me instead. Me, getting tangled in the fishing trap. Then Jack arriving to save me . . . which, okay, maybe that wasn’t a bad point. But Jack had clearly thoroughly exhausted himself. The final coup de grâce? My cell phone. It had been in my pocket and was now waterlogged and useless.
After Jack had collapsed—his body disappearing and melting into the stone of the harbor seawall—I had intended to stay right there, huddled on the stone landing. I would wait for Jack to reappear, despite being soaking wet and shivering.
But people above were calling down to me and two college students insisted on pulling me off the ledge. When my feet hit the lane above, people crowded around, asking questions, wondering where the man with me had gone. Honestly, my brain was too numb to reply.
I eventually managed to make it back to the apartment, miserably cold, clutching my now-ruined cell phone. Free from the mob of people, my mind obsessed over Jack.
And . . . that kiss.
Wow.
The kiss had been . . . wow.
Was that how things were done in olden-times? Rescue the lady from certain death and then kiss her senseless?
’Cause . . . I was definitely seeing the appeal.
But . . . what had been the cost to Jack? Was he okay? He had stayed corporeal for a couple minutes this time. How long would it take for him to recover?
Worse, he was a ghost in a rock wall, currently. There was nothing I could do to retrieve him. I simply had to wait for him to reappear.
I hated waiting.
Was this to be my life with Jack? Moments of intense physical contact separated by long periods of waiting? How glorious would it be to have him fully in my life, to be able to wrap my arms around him whenever I wanted.
Yearning swept in behind that thought, choking in its intensity. Of course, focusing on Jack and our relationship also distracted me from the other revelations of the night.
Did I have a GUT? I wasn’t sure I believed it. Had I really been right about the German man? Or had I been the cause of the whole debacle? And, by extension, injured Jack?
I showered until my body stopped shivering and crawled into bed. Sleep was a long time coming.
My head hurt. My heart hurt.
My dreams were a mishmash of horrors. Lightning crashing around me. Men in masks chasing me with guns. Jack screaming my name which morphed into me screaming for Babbo. Scars flickering and opening, earthquakes shaking the ground, shifting everything.
I woke to warm sunlight and crashing waves.
But no Jack. The apartment was bright, cheery and . . . ghost-free.
Was Jack still in the wall? Would he recover this time?
I had killed him. I finally found a decent guy to adore—albeit a partially dead one—and I managed to off him in less than twenty-four hours.
Worst. Girlfriend. Ever.
Jack couldn’t transport himself, not without being seen. I couldn’t leave him. I didn’t have a phone or a way of contacting someone for help, not that I had a clue what anyone else would do, but I couldn’t just sit around and do nothing . . .
So that left only one option. I would go back down to the stone landing in the harbor wall and wait until Jack reappeared.
With that in mind, I walked out onto the balcony to see how high the tide was, only to pull back with a yelp. People with cameras littered the lane below, loitering about. Official, paparazzi-looking people.
Crap.
Why were the paparazzi here? My evening escapade couldn’t have drawn that much attention, right? The entire incident had involved one slightly large German tourist going over a sea wall while holding a few random accessories—me being one of them—and Jack jumping in after.
No. Big. Deal.
Unless . . . what if Jack had been recognized?
No. I instantly rejected the idea. That would be absurd. Right?
But, just in case . . . I turned on the television, flipping to a new channel.
And there it was.
Another day. Another news story.
Another photo of me kissing Jack Knight-Snow.
It was rapidly becoming our ‘thing.’
When would the bad luck stop? Okay, I knew the answer to that already. The inconvenient press coverage would stop when I stopped kissing Jack.
Grainy video flashed across the TV screen. The video angled downward, skimming the stone seawall. Orange lights stretched across the dark harbor, faint twilight lingering in the sky. Jack swam for shore, me clinging to him like a koala. He boosted me out of the water and then hoisted himself up, both of us coughing.
He was mesmerizing. The same clothing now dripping wet, every muscle in his chest and arms clear despite the poor video quality. Jack pulled himself back into the shadows.
I followed him, a compass on a string, instantly aligning. My hand disappeared into his hair as I arched into him for a hungry kiss.
Watching the video . . . my breath stuttered.
We looked good together. Like we . . . fit.
I relived his lips. Cold. Chilled. But so tender.
Tears pricked my eyelids.
Thankfully the video ended before Jack disappeared. The news anchor’s voice intruded, a sharp jangle of reality.
. . . would appear that Chiara D’Angelo can’t keep her hands off Jack Knight-Snow. This is the second time in nearly as many days that Ms. D’Angelo has been caught kissing the mysterious explorer. This time Mr. Knight-Snow heroically pulled Ms. D’Angelo from the ocean.
The incident began when Ms. D’Angelo allegedly instigated an altercation with Franz Dieter of Hamburg, Germany. The argument ended when Mr. Dieter tripped and fell over the seawall into the ocean, taking Ms. D’Angelo with him. Sources say no one saw Mr. Knight-Snow enter the water, but the gathered crowd definitely saw him pull Ms. D’Angelo out. Despite numerous eyewitnesses, Mr. Knight-Snow disappeared after another kiss.
The mystery of Jack Knight-Snow keeps growing. Who is this guy and what is the story between him and Chiara D’Angelo? . . .
I turned off the TV.
Damn. I pulled back an Elsa curtain and peeked out the window again, trying to see what was going on with the paparazzi. Had they found Jack? I was nearly a hundred percent sure he had sunk into the stone wall, so he shouldn’t be visible, but . . .
No one seemed to be too interested in the stone landing where Jack had last been seen. Instead, the members of the paparazzi were taking photos of the street and chatting with each other.
Which was good, I supposed. Jack must still be hidden.
I let the curtain fall back.
So much for hiding out. Now everyone knew where I was— everyone meaning the Tempeste family.
Could I be a bigger idiot?
Well . . . probably better to not ask that question.
I needed to go to ground again before the Tempeste sent their assassins after me here. I wasn’t so sure that Jack’s warning would be sufficient to keep them away.
The problem? Even if I could sneak past all the paparazzi, I couldn’t leave without Jack. I wanted to make sure he was okay. And it would be difficult for him to travel long distances without being seen.
I chewed on my lip, my mind flipping through ideas. My brothers would have ideas and solutions. If only my phone were functional—
My eyes landed on Jack’s tablet.
Duh! Of course! I mentally smacked my forehead.
I could just email them from Jack’s account. Easy peasy.
I was seated in front of Jack’s tablet and into his email account before I thought through my actions.
I had promised to not snoop.
But . . .
Clearly these were extenuating circumstances. I was in trouble. Jack might be in trouble. Jack wasn’t around, but if he were, he surely would give his permission for this.
That said, I stared at Jack’s tablet. A hundred and fifty-three new emails blinked at me. Every third one appeared to be from Candy White.
I froze. My heart skidded to a stop and then started up again, pounding out of my chest. I desperately wanted to know what was in all those emails.
I swallowed. I could do this. No snooping.
I kept repeating this to myself as I clicked on ‘Compose’ and typed a quick group message to my brothers and hit ‘Send.’
My finger hovered over the tablet screen, hesitating to close the email program.
It was just . . .
There were so many emails from Candy. The subject lines reached out and snared me with their little predatory claws.
Let’s get together!
Are you looking for a girlfriend?
Talk to me Jack. I’ll make it worth your while.
It went on and on.
How dare Candy email my man! Had the woman no shame?
Well . . . clearly not, judging by these subject lines.
And what about Jack? Had he responded to her?
Before I could stop myself, my fingers had darted into Jack’s ‘Sent’ folder, scanning his emails.
Wow. Jack kept his emails short and to the point. I scanned through three pages of them.
Whew. Nothing there that I could see.
But . . . what if he did decide to respond to Candy? How would he reply to the girlfriend question?
“No, thank you. I already have a girlfriend?”
But was I his girlfriend? We hadn’t discussed anything to do with us and a relationship.
Jack could easily say—
“Intriguing question, Candy. Would you like to apply for the position?”
My vision turned red. Or was it green?
Basically, a potent mixture of fury and jealousy and outrage flooded me in equal parts. My fingers hit ‘Reply’ on the tablet screen. I typed rapidly in short, staccato bursts.
Candy was so going to regret making a pass at my Jack—
Bam. Bam. Bam.
A loud knock on the door sent me a solid three feet in the air. My heart literally made a lunging jump, trying to escape my mouth.
Crap!
I lurched to my feet, staring at the door.
I glanced back at the tablet screen. Maybe I should delete this email . . .
Silence.
Or maybe the person at the door had left—
Bam. Bam. Bam.
Crap, crap, crap.
They had found me.
The media. The Tempeste family.
Someone.
I hurriedly hit ‘Send’ on the email and shut off the tablet. No time to over think anything.
I whirled around, trying to decide what to do. Grab a weapon or hide?
Bam. Bam. Bam.
Hide it was.
I hit the floor behind the sofa, finding myself face-to-face with a ceramic Dopey the Dwarf lawn gnome.
No bullets entered the room. Which was . . . good. Progress.
Now what? Perhaps I could crawl to the balcony and wave down the paparazzi on the street below. Of course, if it was an aggressive reporter at the door, flagging down more paparazzi would only worsen the problem.
If it was the Cosa Nostra, however . . . would the Tempeste family put a bullet in me in front of media cameras?
Damn. They might—
Bam. Bam. Bam.
The knock sounded big and strong. My petite spitfire bones could practically taste the testosterone behind it.
Options. I needed better options.
Bam. Bam.
Yeah. A lot of anger issues there.
The handle jiggled.
“Chiara, I know you’re in there,” yelled an all too familiar voice. “Open the damn door.”
Oh.
Or it could just be Dante.
He had his angry eyebrows on when I opened the door.
“Good morning to you, too.” I grinned, mostly because that would annoy him.
My grin faded fast. There wasn’t just one set of angry eyebrows in the stairwell.
There were three.
Dante. Branwell. Tennyson.
Crazy how similar they looked with deep, judgy scowls on their faces.
Lovely.
My morning was going so well.
They didn’t say hello. Though Dante did growl as he pushed past me into the apartment. Branwell and Tennyson followed behind in stoic silence, a satchel on Tennyson’s shoulder swinging around as he slammed the door shut.
It had the ring of doom. I was a psychic after all.
Dante cut the preliminaries. “Why aren’t you answering your phone?”
“I sent you an email,” I countered.
“I didn’t get it. Why didn’t you just call? This is important.”
“Well, I decided to take a midnight swim with my phone in my pocket. It went about as well as you could expect—”
“Funny. The entire civilized world knows about your little moonlight beach party.” Tennyson sank into the couch, pushing aside an Ariel pillow and tossing his leather satchel onto the floor. “Do you think you could stay out of trouble for like . . . I don’t know . . . twenty-four hours?”
“Or at least keep your tongue out of poor Jack’s mouth?” That was Branwell.
“Ha-ha.”
“I’m serious.”
I crossed my arms. “For the record, Jack gives as good as he gets when we kiss—”
“No!”
“Ugh!”
“My ears!”
There you have it, folks. The D’Angelo triplets recoiling in collective horror.
Huh. Who knew it was that easy?
“No details.” Dante shuddered, holding out his palm.
“What details?” My face was pure innocence. “Like the way Jack holds me tight and yet kisses like I’m something fragile, something treasured—”
Dante and Branwell cringed.
“We’ve created a monster,” Tennyson deadpanned, obviously made of sterner stuff.
“Trust you to get involved with a ghost.” Dante sat down, scrubbing his hands over his face. “The more unavailable the guy, the more likely you are to chase him.”
My heart panged. “That’s not true.”
“You chase them, convince them to like you and then go all psycho and possessive. It’s your thing.”
“It is not!” I protested too quickly.
Dante gave me his signature Are you stoopid? look.
“Josh Fuentes.” Branwell.
“Hunter Jones.” Tennyson.
“The Gavin twins.” Dante.
“We can do this allll afternoon.” Branwell leaned against the wall.
Grrrr.
Of course, an image of my email to Candy White flitted through my head at that exact moment. Mmmmm. My brothers might have a point. A teeny, tiny point.
Unfortunately, I was not emotionally stable enough to ponder my emotional stability. The irony was not lost on me.
“Where is Jack?” Dante asked.
My shoulders crumpled. “He hasn’t reappeared. He did his whole bounce-farther-into-the-shadow-world thing and disappeared into the stone wall around the harbor. I’m not sure—”
“I am here.”
Jack’s sudden voice at my ear caused me to jump.
I whirled around.
“Jack! Thank goodness!” I may have half-sobbed that last part.
Instinct took over. I lunged for him, wrapping my arms around his waist, intent on burying my face in his chest.
It went about as well as one could expect.
I ended up slapping myself in the cheek and half staggering into a Frozen poster on the wall, all of me sliding through Jack.
I did shoot a death-stare at my guffawing brothers before turning back to Jack.
He was here. He was okay. Transparent. Ghost-like.
And . . . sopping wet.
Every last inch of his clothing was suctioned to his body. Arms. Chest. Thighs. His waistcoat hung loose and his shirt gaped open to mid-chest. His wet hair looked very much like some hussy had raked her fingers through it while kissing him senseless.
It. Was. Glorious.
I may have sighed.
Jack met my gaze. So much passed between us. The memory of that last kiss. A yearning for our reality to be different—
“So . . . Jack.” Dante interrupted our moment. “I am glad to see you have recovered. However, do you have anything you would care to discuss with us?” Dante stood up, wiping his smile off his face and crossing his arms.
Jack frowned. “Pardon?”
“Yeah.” Tennyson looked at his fingernails, buffing them against his shirt. “I think we are definitely owed an explanation.”
“Explanation?”
Branwell kicked off the wall, joining Dante with his arms folded.
He jerked his chin toward me. “What are your intentions toward our sister?”
Jack looked at me.
I scowled at my brothers.
What? Why were they acting like this?
“Your behavior, Jack . . .” Dante shook his head, making a tsking noise. “Most unbecoming of a true gentleman.”
“Now see here—” Jack began.
Tennyson stood up, jabbing a finger at Jack. “We trusted you, Jack. We have helped you and given you a roof over your head when you needed it.”
“We allowed you into our homes and, to be honest”—Branwell tapped his chest—“into our hearts.”
“And this is how you repay us?” Dante spread his arms wide.
“We trusted you with our sister’s honor.” Tennyson joined Dante and Branwell.
A line of D’Angelo men.
“Since when have you ever cared about my boyfriends?” The nerve! I refused to be some prized jewel, passed along from brother to husband. The bones of feminists throughout history shuddered in revulsion—
Wait. Boyfriend?!
Had I essentially just called Jack my boyfriend in front of my brothers? Crap—
Fortunately, the testosterone-laden people in the room ignored me, laser-focused on poor Jack.
“You have soiled her reputation.” Dante shook his head.
“Now who will have her?” Branwell mourned.
Oh!
They were so dead.
“How dare you?!” Jack marched over to Dante. “I hold your sister in the highest regard.”
“Well, you clearly hold her in something,” Tennyson muttered. “But I’m not quite sure I would label it regard—”
“Lust, more like.” Dante looked at Tennyson.
“Indeed,” Tennyson deadpanned.
So.
Dead.
“Jack—” I tried to pull him back, but of course my hand passed through his arm.
Jack was beyond listening to me. He got within six inches of Dante’s nose.
“I value your sister’s honor and were I capable, I most certainly would ask for her hand in marriage—”
Wait.
What?
“—but as you can see, that is currently denied me. I am sorry that you find my actions reprehensible, but I cannot regret kissing Chiara and will do so again, should the opportunity arise!”
Dante blinked. And then his entire chest collapsed, chortling laughter filling the air. Tennyson and Branwell followed, back slapping, eye wiping hilarity.
The D’Angelo triplets at their finest.
They didn’t know it yet, but they were now dead to me.
Jack glowered at them. “You were bamming me.” It wasn’t a question.
Branwell nodded, still laughing.
“You should have seen your face, man,” Tennyson gasped. “You were so horrified.”
Dante snickered and flicked a wrist toward Jack’s clothing. “You get caught in a wet t-shirt contest?”
Jack stared them down. My brothers continued to laugh, oblivious.
“I hate you all.” Jack turned his back on them.
“I’m glad to see you’re learning.” I smiled at him.
His entire gaze softened. “You gave me such a fright. Are you well?”
“I gave you a fright? You disappeared for over twelve hours. I was so worried that maybe you were stuck in the shadow world again. Are you okay?”
He shrugged, looking at a gauzy hand. “I’ve bounced back at least.”
A thousand thoughts pinged around my brain.
How did he feel? Was moving in and out of reality causing him problems?
More importantly, did he mean what he had just said to my brothers about that heavy M-word? Did I even want to know if he meant it? Could I legally marry a ghost?
And why did my weird brain immediately jump to legality as the biggest problem here?
My head was messed. But, thank goodness, everyone had let my whole ‘boyfriend’ thing slip by.
Dante interrupted. “Damn, that was hilarious.” He wiped a tear from his eyes. “But seriously. Time for a chat, you guys. What happened last night?”