4. Cielo #3
Eventually he eases out of me and gathers me against him on the daybed, pulling a throw over our tangled bodies.
His fingers find my back and start tracing idle patterns there, the same way he used to in the early days, before the mission, before Ludovica, before the wall.
I press my face to his chest and listen to his heart slam against my ear, still racing, still here.
Afterward, we lie tangled together in the silver light, my head on his chest and his fingers tracing idle patterns on my back. The pendant has twisted around, and he reaches up to straighten it, his thumb brushing the little star.
“I missed you,” he says quietly. “Even when I was in the same house. Even when I was sleeping beside you. I missed you.”
“Then stop leaving.”
“I will. I swear it.”
I want to believe him. I want to believe so badly that it aches.
So I let myself, just for tonight. I let myself pretend that the past month was a bad dream, that the vacation we were supposed to have is finally starting, that the man holding me is the same man who married me three years ago and not the distracted stranger who’s been wearing his face.
“The necklace is perfect,” I murmur against his skin. “How did you even remember?”
“I remember everything about you.” His arms tighten around me.
“The first time I saw you, you were standing in front of a Caravaggio, arguing with a security guard about the lighting. You were wearing a green dress and your hair was falling out of its pins and you were so angry about the way they’d hung the painting that you didn’t even notice me staring. ”
“I noticed.” I smile despite myself. “I just pretended not to.”
“Liar.”
“Maybe.” I tilt my head up to look at him. “I noticed you. But you were too intimidating to acknowledge.”
“Intimidating?” He sounds genuinely surprised. “I was trying to be charming.”
“You were trying to be charming while looking like someone who could buy the museum and have the security guard fired with a phone call. That’s intimidating.”
“I could have done both those things.”
“I know. That’s why I pretended not to notice you.”
He laughs - a real laugh, the kind I haven’t heard in weeks - and pulls me closer. “And yet you married me anyway.”
“I contain multitudes.”
We lie there in comfortable silence for a while, and I let my fingers trace the lines of his chest, the old scars I know by heart, the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm.
This is the man I fell in love with. This is the man I married.
Not the ghost, not the strategist, not the boss. Just Giovanni, warm and solid and mine.
“One more week,” he says eventually. “Maybe less. And then we go home.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
I believe him. Or at least, I let myself believe him, which might not be the same thing but feels close enough for now. I close my eyes and let sleep pull me under, and my last conscious thought is that maybe the vacation can still become the thing he promised.
Maybe we can find our way back.
* * *
I wake to sunlight streaming through the windows and Giovanni’s arm still heavy across my waist, and for a moment I just lie there, savoring the unfamiliar pleasure of him being present when I open my eyes.
He’s still asleep, his face relaxed in a way it never is when he’s awake, and I resist the urge to trace the lines of his jaw because I don’t want to disturb this.
My fingers drift to the pendant at my throat instead - the little gold star, warm from my skin. Three years he looked for this. Three years he remembered.
Eventually I slip out of bed and throw on a robe, padding to the kitchen to make coffee. The house is quiet in the morning light, peaceful in a way it hasn’t been since we arrived, and I find myself humming as I wait for the pot to brew.
The knock at the door startles me.
I open it to find Ludovica standing on the threshold, impeccable as always in a cream silk blouse and tailored pants, her dark hair pulled back in an elegant twist. Her smile is bright and professional, and her eyes flick over my disheveled appearance with what might be amusement or might be disdain.
“Good morning, signora. I hope I’m not interrupting.” Her gaze drops to my throat, to the pendant resting against my collarbone, and something in her expression shifts. “I came to discuss today’s schedule with Giovanni, but I can see he’s… occupied.”
“He’s sleeping,” I say. “I’ll tell him you stopped by.”
“Of course.” But she doesn’t move to leave. She’s staring at the necklace with an intensity that makes me want to cover it with my hand. “That’s a beautiful piece. Where did you get it?”
“It was a gift. From my husband.”
“Ah.” The single syllable carries a weight I don’t understand. “The star pendant. How lovely.”
Her eyes lift to meet mine, and the warmth in her face has frozen into something else entirely - something cold and calculating that makes my stomach clench.
“That necklace,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “I wondered what he was searching for so desperately. Now I know.”
She smiles again, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Do give Giovanni my regards. I’m sure I’ll see him soon.”
She turns and walks away before I can respond, her heels clicking on the stone path, and I stand in the doorway with my hand pressed against the pendant and a chill running down my spine that has nothing to do with the morning air.