Chapter 13
LEILANI
I’m so emotional when I leave the dining room that I can’t push down the lump lodged in my throat.
These things that have happened to me have changed my life in such a dramatic way that I have a hard time adjusting.
I slept like a baby last night.
And I never felt more rested in the morning.
One of his men informed me that Callum was out, and I should wait for his return.
The same man brought me breakfast from a nearby restaurant.
The food was delicious. Fruit, coffee, pastries. I asked for eggs, and they ordered them for me. Freshly squeezed lemonade, my favorite, and mineral water.
When he showed up, I looked like I was eating, but to me, it was almost like a moment of prayer.
Last night, for the first time in my life, I said a prayer––one that Nona taught me––before I went to bed.
I was thankful that things had shifted for me and I’d been pulled out of that vipers' nest.
I was so deep in thought at the table that I didn’t realize Callum was watching me, and when I lifted my gaze and glimpsed his expression, my heart sang a little.
He looked at me like a man in love would look at someone.
I hadn’t been the recipient of that ‘look’ before, so it was more of an intuitive thing for me.
I hadn’t had anything in my memory to compare his stance and expression with.
He was studying me with a thoughtful look on his face as if he wanted to feed his soul with whatever I had expressed.
It was peace, for sure. I was at peace.
I know that I’m where I’m supposed to be. I have faith that things are moving in the right direction, and having Callum’s protection gives me confidence in the process.
I’m also ready for this to end, and if it does and we’re still together, I’ll still consider myself lucky.
There is a third possibility, but I don’t want to think about it at length right now.
Something might break my trust. He might not be the man I think he is, and he might betray me in the end.
My heart tells me I shouldn’t worry about this, but my brain says that I’ve seen it before, so I should get ready for anything.
It’s only a remote possibility, and I don’t want to ruin the time I have with him by thinking about it.
Exhilarated, I look around the room and spot the small suitcase by the door, but first, I need to call Rory.
I told her that, regardless of what happened, we’d keep in touch.
I look for my phone, snatch it up, and call her, wondering if she has already boarded her plane.
The first call goes unanswered, but I insist.
She answers the second call.
“Hey,” she says.
Smiling, I plop myself onto the bed and lean against an armful of pillows.
“You won’t believe it,” I start, smitten like a woman in love. “I’m in one of the most beautiful historic houses in Syracuse."
“Woohoo. I’ve heard the good news.”
“Who told you?”
“Nona. On my way out.”
She’s panting, so I quickly ask.
“Where are you?”
“I’m walking to my gate. I’m here early, so we can talk for a few more moments.”
“Why the rush?” I ask, suddenly aware of the change of plans.
“My father is in the hospital.”
“Oh, no. I’m so sorry. What happened?”
“He’s fine. He fell off the horse. He’s a little bruised, his ego even more than his body,” she chuckles. “But he’ll be fine. He just needs me for a couple of days to help him manage his business.”
“Okay.”
“I saw your man this morning. He’s intense,” she says with a smile.
“My man?”
I grin from ear to ear.
“Yeah, yeah. There was a bit of a standoff situation by the pool. I don’t know what he told your grandparents, but they surely didn’t like the news. I’m glad you’re under his protection.”
“Me too,” I say melancholically.
A few moments pass, with some noise at the other end of the line as she probably slides into a seat.
“What happened to Julian?” she asks. “They were talking about him, too.”
“Who did?”
“The staff was whispering this morning.”
“Fuck.”
“Is it bad?”
“Sort of.”
“And then they mentioned his name at the table outside. And then I saw the guy. Man, was he scared or what? He made a U-turn, and then Giorgio sent his men after him. I don’t know what happened next. I was getting out of the house, but I heard Nona say that he had gotten what he had deserved.”
Cheeks aflame with embarrassment, I try to move away from the topic. My ass still hurts, but what hurts the most is my pride.
The fact that he used me for his bizarre sexual fantasies pains me even more.
“Okay,” she says. “I gotta go. My father’s calling. I have to take this.”
“Sure, we’ll talk.”
“Absolutely. Let me know how it goes.”
“I will.”
We end the call, and I remain sunk in thought for a while.
I completely forgot about Julian and everything I told Callum. If he can still look at me in the way he looked, despite knowing what he does, he must be braver than I thought.
All the men I heard talk about women in my circle have always made a point of how pure they want them to be, yet they trip over each other in their quest to make them as broken as possible.
Pushing that thought back, I dig deep into the suitcase and pull out a couple of dresses.
One has a fitted top and a long full skirt.
The other features an A-line cut, a sleeveless design, a wide neckband, and a flowing shape, with the hemline touching the floor.
The fabric is soft and silky, and the folds created when I walk highlight my body.
It’s a sophisticated dress I should probably wear on a night out, but something nudges me to pick it.
The color, a light blue, complements the tone of my skin and my hair.
I go with it, sliding it on and watching it change the shade of my eyes, now leaning more toward blue than green.
I hope he’ll like it.
I opt for flat sandals with straps that crisscross up my leg to the knee buckle.
The collar has two long straps that I tie into a bow.
Satisfied with how I look, I pick up my phone and slide it into a tiny purse when a voice rings behind me.
“You won’t need that,” Callum says, walking into the room.
He wears dress pants and a casual white shirt that fits him perfectly, highlighting his V-shaped torso, chiseled biceps, and flat abdomen.
His eyes meet mine when I stop moving my gaze over his body and look up at him.
A faint smile flickers between his eyelashes.
“What?” I ask.
“You leave your phone at home,” he says, taking it out from my purse, powering it off, removing the SIM card, and sliding it into a drawer.
I watch him do all that before he turns to me. His eyes hover over me for a second.
“You like it?” I ask.
He nods.
“You look beautiful,” he says, taking my hand and walking me out, making me feel like a princess.
A few cars wait outside.
We climb into one, and soon the driver makes it glide away.
“Do you have any preference on where you want to go? A favorite shop?”
“I never shopped here,” I confess. “Anything would be great for me.”
My hand is still tucked in his while he looks out the window, and I stare at him, mesmerized by his presence.
“I’d probably be okay with what Nona packed for me in that suitcase.”
He shifts his eyes to me.
“I know.”
He says nothing else, his eyes lingering on mine.
The ghost of a smile can’t hide how tense he is. He’s nervous because of me? The realization makes my heart clench and my pulse race.
Later, the cars draw slowly to a stop, and we climb out. Before long, he and I walk down a cobblestone street, and the rest of my life begins smoothly, without a hitch, as if it were always supposed to be peaceful and filled with good sentiments about everything surrounding me.
The weather is perfect, and my walk with the man I have worshipped for so long is uneventful.
We do what everyone else on the street does. Look at the flowers dangling from the windowsills, peek at the store windows, sample the savory foods and sweets in the shops, listen to the clamor of the crowd, and enjoy the breeze and charm of the historic town.
I’ve never shopped here before because there was no reason for me to do that. All my clothing and necessities had been ordered from Rome, Milano, or even France.
I had nothing against the local goods.
It was, more than anything, the idea that being in exile meant that there was nothing here for me to see.
It turns out that I was wrong.
There is so much to enjoy and relish in this town.
His men follow us from a safe distance. Safe enough that they can intervene if something unexpected happens, yet far enough from us that we can have some privacy.
For lunch, we have Casarecce––a short, scroll-shaped pasta with a twisted S-like shape––with fennel and Sicilian pistachio pesto for me and anchovies pesto for him, paired with a glass of Organic Grillo, which is a dry Sicilian white wine with citrusy notes and apple aromas.
Syracuse is famous for its artisanal ice cream and traditional granita, so we sit at a table to taste pistachio gelato at a Gelateria in Piazza Duomo.
And then I try a ‘Mattonella’, a gelato sandwich made of two layers of soft brioche, in this case, a couple of scoops of ice cream––vanilla and pistachio are my two choices––coated with crushed pistachios and drizzled with chocolate sauce.
I make a mess, holding it with both hands, taking a bite, and then coating my cheek with crushed pistachios and letting some chocolate sauce drip down my chin.
Miraculously, my dress remains without a stain, but I can’t stop laughing, and he can’t stop grinning as I struggle to eat, swallow the dessert, and suppress another chuckle.
His eyes burn like the edge of a volcano, and I might be in for a big surprise. The man who seemed nothing but icicles and glaciers has enough warmth in him to wrap around me and make me simmer inside.
I feel bad for all the sexual fantasies I have had about him. Not that they were wrong about who he is as a man, but because he is so much more than a sexual being.
I get lost in his eyes, and every time he looks at me, my world spins into a frantic dance of joy.
I feel things I never felt before.
Sweet desires gnaw at my edges, a deep longing stronger than a shot of hard liquor floods my veins, and my brain buzzes with images of us as if we’ve always meant to be together.
Perhaps it hasn’t been the best story so far. For me. For him.
Perhaps his entering my family wasn’t the most elegant way of getting to know me.
But looking back, everything makes sense now. Even my waiting for him, the things I had to go through, the dark times where I had no hope that something better would happen to me.
All that waiting finally makes sense.
Here I am with him, both dancing on the edge of some horrible events that might change or even end our lives, but so far, it’s been all worth it.
Even if this is all we have. He seems like a different man now, with his eyes full of life, the generosity of his smile giving me the tenderness I have craved my entire life.
I’ve never felt safer, more in my element than I feel with him. He is amused, enthralled, relaxed, and present in the moment. Such a different man from the one who had delivered the news that I’d be sent into exile after my mother's death.
My fingers itch to move through his hair, to trail down his cheek, his neck. To feel the pulsing blood right below his jawline.
I still have sexual fantasies about him, but above all, my heart is full with someone real, for the first time in my life.
He helps me clean my chin with a napkin, his eyes lingering on my lips for far too long not to feel a pulse of desire between my legs.
I’m like a firecracker these days, flooded with a need to connect, to feel someone physically inside me. And not anyone.
I have the man I want right in front of me.
A small struggle ensues in his mind, and I notice its effect on his face.
He seems so tempted to lower his mouth and remove the last drop of chocolate sauce from my lips with his.
We’d probably cut our shopping spree short and head home if that happened.
It’s just a guess, but I’m sure I’m right.
Eventually, he pays, and we leave.
Later, we walk into several shops.
A showroom in an old house where we admire bronze jewelry and sculptures.
A store where we find shelves lined with natural soap, candles, and body products, and I pick my favorites, the ones that smell like jasmine and pomegranate.
He picks a few colorful scarves for me, in a mix of coral and turquoise tones, and we both settle on hand-painted glass plates.
An hour later, we discover a world of ceramics that perfectly capture the bright sun, the sparkling sea, and everything that nature has to offer.
If things can heal a broken heart, this is the place to be.
Toward the end of the afternoon, we stroll into a bookstore, where we leaf through the pages of rare books and collectible magazines. We also check a collection of vinyl and vintage postcards.
We end our stroll at a chocolate shop.
How else?
Here, I have a unique experience tasting different flavors of chocolate and can’t help but joke that I won’t be able to eat anything else for a week. And I’ve probably picked the right dress from this trip.
Smiling, he gives me a side-eyed glance.
“You truly did,” he says, commenting on my dress, and I have a feeling that he would like nothing better than to feel me up through the soft fabric, get a feel of my body, touch my breasts, and then lower his hands below my waist.
I smile at that thought as we head back to our car.
Most of the things we bought are already with his men.
“I know it’s early, but where would you like to have dinner?” he asks in the careful tone of a man who has been entrusted with someone precious and wants to make them happy.
The realization that it was probably the first time someone had asked me what I wanted to do, rather than simply ordering me what to do, or telling me what I was expected to do or needed to do, gives me pause.
For the first time, someone wants my opinion on things related to me instead of forcing me to do them against my will and telling me to just get over myself––in case I protested––and simply get used to it.
The thought that I’ve lived most of my life entrapped makes me drown in grief and regret.
“Is everything all right?” he asks, noticing the change on my face.
“Yes, everything’s fine,” I say, my voice heavy with resentment.
We’re just about to climb into our ride when he gives me a second look, makes note of my dull eyes, and instructs one of his men to take the things we bought home before he makes new plans for the evening.
We’ll be strolling down the streets of Syracuse for a little longer before I make up my mind about what I want to do tonight.
My hand slides to his arm.
“Don’t change everything because of me,” I say, still in a bad mood, still processing the new take on my life.
He studies my face before he speaks.
“What about we do this? We stay in town for as long as you’d like, and then we head home and have dinner.”
I look at him, grateful that he has offered me such an elegant way out.
“We can order food from a nice restaurant in town and take our time enjoying ourselves on the terrace without the crowd’s clamor in the background.”
“Sounds good,” I say softly, and with that, we turn around and keep strolling.