Chapter 21 #2
I don’t remind him that he’s kissed me before. Instead, I say, “Both.”
We stay on the line, listening to each other breathe, and that’s when I realize we’re both breathing hard, as if we’d just run a marathon.
“Do you want me to hang up?” he asks after a while.
“Does it matter what I want? You’re the one who said it was getting late,” I pout.
And then he does the most unexpected thing. He chuckles.
“I’ve never seen this side of you before. Do you always get like this when you don’t get what you want?” he asks, a soft chuckle lingering in his voice.
My brows furrow at his question.
“Actually… no. I never act like—”
“A brat?” he cuts in, laughing, and I can’t help but laugh with him.
“No one’s ever called me that before. Usually, Stella’s the one with the bratty temper. Or at least that’s what my parents and her husband say.” I smile. “I’ve always been more… well-tempered.”
“You mean you’ve always played the part of the perfect daughter,” he says, far too perceptive. “Isn’t that why you hate the word?”
“I guess it is.” I nod.
“I thought as much.” He lets out an exhale. “Can I say something?”
“That all depends. Are you going to tease me again?”
“I might,” he chuckles, his tone softening. “I know you despise the word, but… imperfections can feel like perfection too. It all depends on the person who sees them that way. Do you understand?”
“No, not really.”
“What I’m trying to say, however ineloquently,” he adds, “is that when I called you perfect… I meant you are perfect… for me.”
My eyes widen at the sincerity in his tone.
“Oh.”
“Yeah… oh. So next time I say something like that, don’t get upset with me. It’s just me trying to tell you how I feel. Okay?”
If that’s really how he feels, then why did he end our imaginary kiss so abruptly?
I want to ask if I did something wrong. If I said something wrong.
I want to ask so many things. But the courage I had while kissing him has vanished, and suddenly, all I feel is empty.
Like a part of me is missing. Like the best part of me just dissolved into thin air.
“Anna… sweetheart… talk to me?”
“I’m not sure what you expect me to say.”
“Just tell me your truth. If you’re still upset, I want to know. Just talk to me, cara mia. Please. I can handle whatever you have to say. Just tell me what you’re feeling right now.”
“I’m feeling… bereft.”
“Bereft?” he echoes, like the word itself wounded him.
“Yes. When you stopped us from… you know… kissing, I felt like you didn’t want me anymore. Like you don’t feel… the same things I do.”
I think I hear him swallow before he asks, “And what are you feeling?”
“Do I have to say it?”
He lets out a strained sigh. “No, sweetheart. You don’t have to tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable. I’d never ask that of you.”
“Thank you.”
“But can I say something now?”
“Hmm,” I mumble my consent.
“If there’s any doubt in that pretty little head of yours about how I feel, then let me make this clear.
All I want is you, Anna. All I think about is you.
All I dream about is you. Holding you in my arms and kissing you the way you deserve consumes my every waking thought.
Never question that, vita mia. You are all I’ve ever wanted… and all I ever will.”
My cheeks burn again, my sullen heart jolting back to life.
“I wish you were here,” I whisper so softly I’m afraid he’ll miss it.
He lets out another raspy groan. “You’re making this difficult on me.”
“I am?” A faint smile pulls at my lips before I can stop it.
“Yes, very. You have no idea how many times I’ve almost jumped on a plane to see you.”
“Really?” My smile lingers, as warmth spreads through my chest, something fragile and hopeful taking hold.
“Does that surprise you?”
“A little bit,” I confess as I trace circles on the duvet with my finger. “But maybe you’ll get your chance soon enough. My birthday is next month.”
But when he doesn’t respond with the excitement I expect, my smile slips.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I can’t come to you then.”
“Oh.”
I don’t ask why not. I know why. As a made man, he can’t just hop on a plane whenever he feels like it. Especially when it means coming into enemy territory. He has obligations now. I understand that, even if I don’t like it.
“I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You didn’t. I mean… I know it’s difficult to come and see me.”
“Anna?”
“Yes?”
“I promise we will be together before the year ends.”
“Promise?”
“On my life, vita mia. On my life.”
With his promise, I let myself hope… even if a small part of me is afraid to.
The following day, I spend most of it daydreaming about the night before. Did that call really happen, or did my lovesick heart imagine it?
No. It happened. My caro mio called me. Not only did he bring one of my most vivid fantasies of him kissing me to life, but he practically confessed he’s falling for me just as fast and hard as I am for him.
To say I haven’t been able to concentrate on anything else today would be the understatement of the century. By the time the final bell rings, I’m already halfway out of my seat. For once, I’m grateful I don’t have to go to work or sit through a piano recital.
I’m even more thankful that my father sent his bodyguard, Bruno, to pick me up instead of Marcello. There’s no way I could fool Marcello today. I’m far too restless for it to go unnoticed.
The entire drive home passes in a blur. Forty minutes, and I barely register a second of it. My fingers keep drifting to my lips, tracing them absentmindedly, as if I could still feel the ghost of his kiss there, the warmth of it, the way it lingered even after the call ended.
I catch myself doing it again and drop my hand, glancing toward the front seat, concerned that Bruno might have noticed. However, he keeps his eyes on the road, silent as ever. By the time the car pulls up to the house, my pulse is already racing.
“Thanks, Bruno,” I say, forcing myself to walk instead of run to the house.
I pass through the kitchen and see Lourdes at the counter, where she usually is at this time of day. Her hands are dusted in flour as she works a smooth sheet of pasta dough, a rolling pin resting nearby.
“Hi, Lourdes,” I say, pausing just long enough to slip an arm around her waist in a quick side hug.
“Ciao, piccolina,” she greets, leaning in to press a quick kiss on my cheek before turning back to her task.
I head straight for the fridge, like I’ve done a thousand times before, and grab a bottle of water. “Is Mom home?”
Lourdes shakes her head. “She’s out doing charity work with Alejandro. I doubt she’ll make it home for dinner. But your father called, saying he’d leave work early so you wouldn’t have to eat alone. He should arrive around half past six.”
Three hours. It’ll have to be enough.
“Okay. I’ll be in my room studying,” I say cheerfully, waving goodbye before heading for the stairs.
The second I’m out of her sight, I break into a run, racing up to my room and locking the door behind me.
This is insane. What I’m about to do is insane. But I don’t care. I rush to my bed, pull my burner phone from inside the pillowcase, and stare at it for a moment. I then hesitate, second-guessing my impulse to call him.
I should wait for tonight. I should wait for him to text me, or hopefully even call me. I shouldn’t call him now, not when he must be at work, doing God knows what.
I bite the corner of my lip, but press the call button anyway. Raffaele answers on the first ring.
“Anna? Is everything alright?” he asks, concern threading through that same gravelly voice he had last night.
Damn it. He probably thinks I’m calling because I’ve gotten myself into trouble. Of course his mind would go there. I mean, I never call. But then again, neither does he… and he broke that rule last night, so why can’t I break it today?
“Everything is fine. I promise.”
I hear the tension leave his voice as he asks someone to excuse him and give him a minute. I wait with bated breath, then a door closes on his end of the line.
“Okay, now we can talk,” he says, a smile in his tone. “I can’t believe you called.”
“I can’t believe you answered.”
“There isn’t a world where I wouldn’t.”
I don’t remind him that he did just that over Christmas. In fact, I force myself to push that whole debacle out of my mind so I don’t ruin the mood. Besides, that was a different Raffaele. This is my Raffaele. My caro mio.
“Anna, sweetheart… is there something you need from me? Want?” The way he says it has my head spinning, like he already knows the reason behind my call.
“Kiss me.”
That’s all I say. It’s all I need to say.
And just like that, I fall back into him, the distance between us disappearing.
One sweet, ardent kiss at a time.