17. Giovanni
SEVENTEEN
GIOVANNI
L ong after I’d given her privacy, those tattoos on her back played in my vision over and over again. Her back was full of little symbols and words of things she’d never gotten to do in life.
Waves. Dancer.
Daffodils.
Two sets of footprints—child’s and adult’s.
Origami. Graduation hat.
Car.
It turned out, Liana could kill a man and secure a shipment of weapons without blinking an eye, but she couldn’t drive a car, swim, or dance.
Jesus Christ!
“Did your mother not teach you how to drive a car?” I asked her, keeping my eyes locked on the vast blue horizon while she changed into a bathing suit.
“No.”
“Santiago?”
“One kept me prisoner since the day I was born. The other stole my youth and innocence.” She let out a sardonic breath, but there was pain in it that was hard to miss. “Why would either of them offer me a way to escape?”
“Liana?” I rasped. “Is your bathing suit on?”
“Yes.”
I turned around and found her in a black-and-white one-piece, her smooth ivory skin hiding all the turmoil in her soul and her perfect imperfections.
“It fits,” I said softly.
“Yes.”
“Do you like it?”
Her golden eyes flicked to mine. “It’s Chanel. Of course I like it.”
“If you want a different one?—”
“It’s fine,” she cut in, a hint of rose tinting her cheeks.
Something was off, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
“Whatever has you upset.”
“Ha. We’ll be here all day if we start that.” Her lips curled. “And I’d rather learn to swim.”
“So you can jump into the ocean and escape again?”
“Maybe.”
A smile ghosted her full lips. It was the first one I’d seen on her, and suddenly, it felt like being struck by Cupid. I might’ve been infatuated with the Liana I met eight years ago, but getting to know the woman she was now was knocking me off my feet.
“All those tattoos on your back. We’ll find a way to do them,” I vowed. “Why the daffodils and bare feet?”
She shrugged, the goosebumps on her slim shoulders spreading down her arms. “Daffodils symbolize rebirth and hope, but also resilience. One day I’ll walk barefoot in a field of them, stronger than ever.”
I knew she was waiting for a reaction, some reason to dismiss me, so I treaded carefully, schooling my expression. “And origami?”
“I want to become an expert at making them.”
My brow furrowed. “Why?”
She tilted her head, looking out into the distance. “Did you know that people used to believe folding a thousand paper cranes fulfilled wishes?”
“No,” I admitted. Kian’s words rang in my ears. She’s broken. I hadn’t known her long, but I could probably guess what she’d wish for.
“Lia?” Her head whipped my way. “Is it okay if I call you Lia?”
“I suppose.”
“I will never hurt you or hold you back, Lia,” I told her gently, hoping she could see the sincerity in my eyes.
“Are you sure?” She took a step toward me but stopped halfway. She was someone who liked to keep her distance, not that I could blame her after all she’d been through.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
She let out a sad sigh, the kind that could shred a man’s soul into tiny little pieces.
“You’re holding me back now,” she said fiercely. The seeds of self-doubt sprouted. “You clipped my wings. Just like the rest of them.”
The conviction in the soft slopes of her face cracked through my chest. I was so blatantly wrong for her.
But infatuation was a selfish fiend like that.