Chapter Thirteen
Gualtiero
Although a little reluctant, I’m pleased when Ella agrees to the walk.
I don’t want the evening to end yet. Especially not when she finally softened during dinner. The careful tension in her shoulders eased, and her laughter came more freely with each glass of champagne.
Eight days.
That is how long she believes she has left in Sicily.
Eight days before she thinks she will step onto a plane and disappear back into a life that no longer belongs to her.
Which means I have eight days to make her want to stay.
She walks beside me more easily now. Not leaning in, not yet, but no longer holding herself as if ready to bolt. Her steps match mine without hesitation.
Warm lights glow beneath the timber planks under our feet, but the moon is bright enough that we hardly need them. Silver light spills across the water, turning the gentle waves into shifting ribbons of glass.
Ella stops to admire the view.
I don’t.
I only see her. She is breathtaking.
And for a man who has never considered himself romantic, the way the moonlight catches in her hair and softens her skin into something almost luminous stirs something unfamiliar to me. A quiet heat spreads through my chest and settles low in my stomach.
I take a step closer, wanting to pull her into my arms. My hand lifts toward her, but I stop myself.
It’s too soon. She is not ready.
Never in my life have I wanted to kiss a woman as much as I want to kiss her right now.
Patience.
I have always had it in abundance. But when it comes to Ella, I feel like a man who has been starving for years and is suddenly asked to sit calmly in front of a feast.
She resumes walking, keeping a small distance between us. Not enough to be obvious, but enough for me to notice.
She is cautious.
Not uninterested.
Cautious.
And that, more than anything, makes me want her even more.
“Where does Mateo live?” she asks, glancing up at me as we continue along the boardwalk.
“He has a few places,” I tell her easily. “He likes to rotate between them. His main residence is here in Catania, close to the office. He also has one in Palermo and another in Rome.”
I keep my tone relaxed, conversational, letting this feel like what it appears to be on the surface. Two people walking by the sea on a warm Sicilian night, talking about ordinary things.
Meanwhile, I watch everything.
The way she pauses now and then to look out across the water, a longing in her eyes I can’t quite interpret yet. The way she draws in the night air as if she wants to keep a piece of it inside her. And the way her eyes flick to me when she thinks I’m not paying attention.
“What about you?” she asks. “Do you have a place in Catania?”
I shake my head. “No, I prefer the countryside. I don’t mind the drive. It gives me time to answer emails and make calls before the day in the office starts.”
She smiles at that. A real smile, unguarded and warm. “That would be time well spent. I only have a short commute on the bus. I listen to podcasts and audiobooks.”
“You don’t drive?” I ask, surprised despite myself.
“I do,” she says, “I just prefer the bus. It gives me time to unwind after work.”
She says it so simply. So honestly.
This woman does not make choices based on appearances, or convenience, or what others might expect of her. She chooses what feels right to her, without apology. It’s refreshing.
“What do you do?” I ask. “You’ve not mentioned it yet.”
Of course, I know the answer already. I know far more about her than I should.
But watching her light up is worth pretending I don’t.
“I train guide dogs for blind people.”
The pride in her voice is immediate and unfiltered. This is not small talk to her. This is part of who she is.
I remember reading it in Uberto’s report last night and being surprised. It isn’t a profession you hear often. Most people chase money, status, recognition. The men and women in my world certainly do.
She chose something that gives her none of that. Only purpose.
“Do you like it?” I ask, even though her entire body has already answered for her.
Her face brightens instantly. “I absolutely love it. I love being part of changing someone’s life for the better and giving them a new level of independence. Most days are just wonderful. The dogs are full of joy and eager to work. You can’t be sad around them. It really is the best job.”
I find myself watching her instead of listening to the words.
Her eyes shine. Her hands move when she talks. And her entire expression softens when she speaks about helping others.
Kindness is written into her bones. And I am planning to bring her into a world that is anything but.
A thin edge of guilt slides through me, quickly replaced by a quiet, resolute thought.
The darkness I live in does not get to reach her. I will stand between it and her, always. If she ever learns what my world really looks like, it won’t be because I was careless with her.
My angel’s expression shifts as she continues, the brightness dimming into something quieter, more fragile.
“My job was a godsend when I lost my parents,” she says. “Their death hit me hard, and the dogs brought glimpses of joy every day. It would have been a very bleak existence otherwise. They and Rhia helped me through my grief.”
I had read every detail about her parents’ accident in the report Uberto prepared for me. Dates, locations, facts.
None of it prepared me for the way her voice sounds when she says it out loud.
“You and Rhia are close, yes?” I ask gently.
She smiles, but there is a tenderness in it now. “Like sisters. We couldn’t be closer if we tried.”
I nod, filing that away with more care than the rest.
I have already seen how often her eyes seek Rhia. For reassurance. For courage.
Rhia has more influence over her than Ella realizes.
Right now, that works in my favor. For whatever reason, Rhia practically pushed her into spending time with me tonight.
But Ella is loyal. Fiercely so.
She would never abandon her friends for me, no matter how drawn to me she feels. Which means if I want her alone, I will have to be clever about it. It has to happen in ways that feel natural. Unforced. Like tonight.
We reach a bench overlooking the water, and I gesture toward it. She sits first. I follow, leaving a careful space between us. There will be time to close that distance.
“Why did you become a guide dog trainer?” I ask. Talking about it will put her further at ease. “I assume you love dogs?”
Her whole face transforms again. It is like sunlight breaking through clouds.
“When I was little, I loved teaching my dogs tricks. We had two beagles, Sammy and Max,” she says, smiling at the memory.
“I always wanted to keep doing that when I grew up. But it would have stayed a child’s pipedream if it hadn’t been for Mr. Schmitten.
He was a friend of my Opa’s. They both worked as mechanics for Niki Lauda’s Formula One team back in the seventies. ”
I don’t interrupt. I just listen.
“My Opa is the reason my mom and I loved Formula One. It runs in the family. One day, there was an accident. Some chemical spillage got into Mr. Schmitten’s eyes.
He lost most of his sight and had to give up work.
He was given a guide dog, Silvester. Opa and I visited often, and I watched the training they did together.
I knew then that’s what I wanted to do.”
She says it like it is the most natural decision in the world. As if dedicating your life to helping strangers regain independence is something anyone would do.
“That’s inspiring,” I say quietly, and for once the word is not an exaggeration. “Which team did your grandfather work for?”
She looks at me, mock-offended. “Ferrari, of course. Could there be a better team?”
I smile. “Never.”
“Have you been to a Formula One race?” she asks.
“No,” I admit, and I’m tempted to laugh when her eyes widen in genuine horror.
“Oh my god, you must go. You have no excuse. Monza isn’t far. The Italian Grand Prix is in a few weeks. You have to experience it, feel it. The engines, the noise, the atmosphere.”
She is almost breathless with excitement.
“Ma and I went every year. Now Rhia and I keep up the tradition.”
I ask her more questions about the dogs, about the training, about the people she helps.
Not because I need the information.
But because I could listen to her talk like this for hours.
Because this version of her, animated and passionate and alive, does something to me I am not used to.
It makes me want to give her things. Memories she will never forget.
And without realizing it, she has edged a little closer to me on the bench.
Not because I moved.
Because she did.
She’s relaxed and at ease, and I want her like this, always.
There’s a soft lull in the conversation, filled only by the hush of waves against the shore.
I take a careful breath.
“You mentioned earlier you lost your parents,” I say quietly. “What happened?”
The change in her is immediate. Like a candle snuffed by wind. Her shoulders draw in slightly, her gaze lowering to her hands.
“They both died in a car accident when I was twenty,” she says. “It had rained for a week. The roads were covered in water. A car in the oncoming lane hydroplaned and crashed into them. Their car was pushed off the road and into a tree. They were killed instantly.”
Her voice is steady, but her eyes are far away.
“I fell into a black hole after that. If it wasn’t for Rhia and her family, and the puppies to cheer me up, I don’t know what I would have done.”
“You were close with your parents?” I ask softly.
“Yes. The three of us were tight-knit. Not having their love and support anymore is the hardest part.”
“Were there no relatives to help you?”
She shakes her head. “No. My parents had no siblings. Three of my grandparents were already gone. The only one left is my Oma in Austria, and she has dementia now. She doesn’t recognize me anymore.”
I take her hand before I think about it. My thumb moves slowly over her knuckles.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say. “I know the pain never really leaves.”
Her eyes lift to mine, and there is recognition there. Understanding.
“I lost my parents too,” I tell her.
Her fingers tighten around mine. “I’m so sorry, Tiero. What happened?”
I look out over the water for a moment before answering.
“My mother died shortly after giving birth to my sister. She was stillborn. I was eight. Mateo had just turned six.”
Her face softens instantly with sympathy.
“My father was never the same after that. He loved her deeply and never remarried. He always said my mother was the love of his life and nobody could measure up to her.”
“You must have missed her terribly too.”
“Yes,” I say quietly. “Our life changed very quickly after that.”
I do not tell her how.
“Amor di madre, amore senza limiti. A mother’s love has no limits. That was her. In her eyes, we could do no wrong.”
“She sounds wonderful.”
“She was.”
“Did anyone help look after you?”
“My nonna moved in, but she was already old. Two boys were more than she bargained for. We got away with far too much.”
She smiles faintly at that.
“And your father? Were you close?”
I pause.
How do I explain my father to someone like her?
“I learned a lot from him. He was a great mentor. Firm. Fair.”
She studies me, clearly sensing there is more to that answer.
“What’s the greatest lesson you learned from him?”
I bring her hand closer between us, my thumb still moving slowly over her skin.
“The love he had for my mother,” I say, holding her gaze. “He always told me to wait for my One.”
Tonight, sitting beside her, it feels like prophecy.
The effect on her is immediate.
Heat rises into her cheeks. Her breathing shifts. Her eyes drop to her lap.
She feels this.
This connection between us that goes far beyond attraction.
She simply does not know what to do with it.
“Is that why you haven’t settled down?” she asks quietly.
“It’s why I’ve never even had a girlfriend,” I tell her, unable to resist the small wink.
Her eyes widen. “You’ve never had a girlfriend? How is that possible?”
I shrug and smile.
Because I was waiting for you.