Chapter 25
RUSHING THE PLAY: ADVANCING THE BALL BY RUNNING WITH IT FROM BEHIND THE LINE OF SCRIMMAGE.
For the rest of the afternoon, we wander around tasting local delicacies, wine, and checking out the artisanal stalls. I find an antique ratchet set for my father that was unearthed in a refurbishment not too far from the castle. “He’ll love this for Christmas.”
“What about your mother? Did you decide which shawl would be best for her, uvetta mia?”
Frustrated, we wander past another booth of incredibly beautiful workmanship. “I still can’t decide.”
Troy keeps pace beside me, oozing sexiness with his sleeves rolled up and sunglasses tucked into the front of his shirt.
Every time he reaches for something — to hand a few coins to a vendor, to brush against me when the crowd tightens — I feel the memory of his arms around me from when we last kissed.
Every time our skin brushes, even accidentally, heat ripples across my skin.
I like him. I want him. But am I willing to risk my heart again?
Suddenly, his words interrupt my internal musing. “What about this?”
My eyes cut to the left, and I realize he’s holding out a shawl that’s beautiful in its simplicity. It’s a deep burnt-orange color that my mother can use in so many ways. I gravitate toward it. I beam up at him. “It’s exactly what I was looking for.”
After I receive my wrapped package and thank the vendor, Troy gives me an overly exaggerated look of relief. “Good. Now we can get some food.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Something that will make your funnel cakes disappear from your memories for eternity.”
I snort. “Good luck with that.”
Troy deposits me and my bags at a standup bar table while he gets in line. Not long after, he comes back with a plate and two bottles of water. Edging in next to me, he urges me to try a pastry dusted in powdered sugar. “Try this.”
“What is it?”
“Something sinful,” his voice drops seductively.
I arch my brow and he concedes, “Okay, not as sinful as my kisses.”
“Your ego knows no…” I take a bite and nearly groan. “Oh, my god. Totally beats out your kisses.”
“That’s cruel.”
“But true.”
He laughs—a deep, easy sound that makes my stomach flip. “Told you.”
“What is this—” I take another bite, debating if I’m going to share. “—deliciousness?”
“Honeyed pastries. Life-changing, right?”
“They’re dangerous.”
“Only if you have no self-control.”
I shoot him a look over the rim of my sunglasses. “I have plenty of that.”
“I wonder what I need to do to make it slip,” he murmurs.
The way he says it makes my pulse trip. I offer him a bite before I devour the whole dessert. He studies my face intently. Immediately, I grab a napkin and begin scrubbing. He reassures me, “There’s nothing there.”
“Then why are you studying me like I have powder all over my nose?”
A storm flickers in his eyes. Finally, he admits, “You just look… like you belong here.”
I blink, caught off guard. “Here as in Italy?”
“Here, as in now,” he whispers.
The fair continues on around us — color, laughter, music — but for a moment it feels like the world’s gone still again. His eyes find mine, steady and certain, and I realize maybe he’s right.
I’m happy and I’m uncertain how long it’s been since I felt that way.
I swallow, feeling the truth of it settle between us. “Maybe I needed to be reminded of what belonging somewhere feels like.”
He leans in slightly, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “I’m happy to be the one who helps you.”
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. Before I can find words, the music changes — faster, fuller — and somehow we’re drawn closer together by the rhythm.
“Dance with me,” Troy says suddenly.
I laugh. “No way.”
“Come on. Just one song.”
“I don’t dance in daylight.”
He steps closer, hand extended. “Then close your eyes.”
“Absolutely not.”
He arches a brow, teasing. “Didn’t seem to bother you last night.”
Heat floods my face. “That’s different.”
“Is it?” His grin turns slow, confident, knowing.
I glance around. People are laughing, clapping, moving without care. Maybe I want to be one of them — just for a minute. So, I give in, placing my hand in his.
His fingers slide against mine, firm and warm, and before I can think, he’s spinning me once, pulling me back in close. The world tilts — sunlight flashing through my hair, the hum of the crowd fading beneath the sound of my laughter.
He catches me by the waist when I wobble. “See?” he says, smiling down at me. “You were meant to be here.”
I laugh, shaking my head, but something in the way he’s looking at me makes my chest tighten. It’s not lust, not exactly — it’s something deeper. Curious. Searching.
“What?” I ask softly.
He hesitates, then says, “I like seeing you like this. Laughing. Not guarded.”
My throat tightens. “You make it sound like I’m all walls.”
“Maybe you are,” he says gently. “But it doesn’t scare me.”
But what I feel for you terrifies me. The words don’t come out, but what I think must show on my face as his gaze bores into mine.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The fountain splashes softly behind us.
The afternoon light is warm, almost golden, like the universe is daring me to trust it again. I lick my lips.
His gaze tracks the motion, eyes darken. “You’re killing me, you know that?”
“Me?” I ask with mock innocence.
“Yes, you.”
“What are you thinking?” I ask softly.
“I’m hoping I’m not rushing the play.”
“Maybe you are. Just a bit.” I hold my fingers to show them to him.
“That’s the last thing I ever want to do.” He presses his lips against the top of my head. They linger even as we stand still amid the dancers surrounding us. “You’re special, Maya.”
“Why me?” The words reveal the scar of insecurity Bryce left me with. The walls I erected around my heart tremble in uncertainty.
His words hang in the air between us. What do they even mean?
“Why not you?”
“Stop answering my questions with questions, Troy.” I’m uneasy as it is.
He must recognize this because he pulls me off the square and into an alley. The second we’re away from prying eyes, he asks, “What is it, Maya? What’s wrong?”
My tension releases like a pressure valve. “What you make me feel is so much more than I ever have, Troy.”
His pupils blow at my words. His grip gently remains possessive—like I’m a priceless treasure he never imagined being able to touch. “Really?”
“Part of me wants to pull back and throw a flag on myself for wanting to explore where this can go with you. It’s too soon; isn’t it?
” My heart versus my head. Two parts of me that both recognize all the little things Troy’s done for me, from opening up his villa for me to stay to bringing me here today, each urging me to lean toward him.
See what happens when I stop playing safely.
“Not if it’s right; no. I don’t think it is.”
“So, you don’t have a problem…” My voice trails off as I try to articulate my question.
“What are you trying to ask me?”
I lean forward, clutching the front of his shirt. “What do you expect from this? I need to hear and understand where you’re at. No games. Just honesty.”
His eyes hold mine before he admits quietly, “You. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“Really?” I’m astounded.
“From the very first time we met.”
Now that shocks me to the point I rock back on my heels. His arm stabilizes me. “Really? Why didn’t you…”
He releases a breath that sounds like a balloon deflating. “Because it was wrong. You were engaged. I’m not the kind of man to poach or cheat.”
“I know.” Something warm is spreading through my body at his words. I don’t interrupt when he continues.
“You’re exactly the kind of person I just knew needed to be in my life—whether that’s as a lifelong friend or more.” He tugs at one of my curls before letting it go. “Is it wrong I’m grateful that your ex imploded your lives so we can have a chance at more?”
His fingers drag along my cheek, down over my throat, before dancing delicately over my exposed collarbone. My pulse is tapping out its rhythm in staccato at the waiting as he explores every bared inch of skin he can reach.
Reverently.
“Troy…” My voice comes out as a breathless whisper. “You make it hard to think.”
“How about I make it impossible?”
Before I can ask what he means, his mouth finds mine. Slow. Like he’s afraid he’ll startle me away if he moves too fast.
Our kiss deepens, tasting of the sweet honey and sugar we ate just moments ago. I slide my hands to the back of his neck, anchoring myself to him when every part of my insides feels as if they’re rearranging to make room for the growing size of my heart as our lips taste and retreat over and over.
When he pulls back, I recognize nothing that doesn’t have to do with him. There’s only the sound of our breathing; the warmth of his hands. The smell of his cologne and the way our foreheads rest against each other. His words are filled with restraint. “We have to stop.”
“I don’t want to,” my voice is a rasp.
My words break his restraint. His lips find mine again and again until time and space fade away along with the warmth of the sun. In each exchange, I’m giving him more than just desire.
I’m placing my trust in him.
The kind of connection I never thought I’d feel again.
It’s terrifying and impossible to stop, but I’m not certain I want to.
Not now.