Chapter 4
L EILANI
A bright sun hugs me outside, making my dress more than appropriate for this lovely afternoon.
It’s late, though, and the afternoon light turns golden as I creep down the dirt footpath, hiding behind the trees, moving swiftly, putting as much distance as I can between the house and me.
I was hoping to leave a little earlier so I could walk in peace, without rushing.To enjoy the historic center, wander down the cobblestone streets and stare at the colorful facades, amber limestone, and Baroque architecture.
If I had a little extra time, I could’ve walked even farther and enjoyed the view of the Ionian Sea to the east.
My plans didn’t quite pan out as I spent an hour in Rory’s room, searching for something to wear, providing a few details about my secret mission, and mostly trying to assuage her fears. The bad presentiment I had must’ve transferred from me to her.
And she doesn’t even know the whole bit.
I have to protect her, and I also can’t have her freak out more than I do.
I ended up with one of her best dresses. She insisted I should take it when she noticed the longing in my eyes.
I don’t know what I was thinking about.
Perhaps Callum’s fingers trailing along the neckline, touching the soft fabric, and me through it? My warm skin underneath?
Seeing a flicker of humanity in his eyes, as if he was maybe giving a second thought to the idea of me? A second chance? Taking me seriously for once?
Glimpsing a kernel of longing in his eyes, as men sometimes lust for things they already have yet cannot fully have?
That sort of ephemeral feeling had nestled in my chest, making me look at this particular garment with a pinch of hope that my daydream might soon become reality.
It’s a cotton voile red dress with a tiny white polka-dot print, a frilly, long skirt that almost sweeps the ground, and a shirred, fitted top with soft cups and tied straps on my shoulders.
A matching scarf ties my hair into a loose ponytail.
A few strands of hair brush my flushed cheeks, and a silver cross dangles from a delicate necklace I wear.
I also wear flats for the second time today, which is unusual, and hold a little purse with my phone and wallet tucked inside.
Oh, there’s one other piece. My sunglasses.
I can’t go anywhere without them, and given that this is a historical mission and I’m venturing outside my property with such a clear scope in mind, it only makes them even more indispensable.
It takes me longer than I had projected to reach town, and it’s mostly because I don’t want to ruin my shoes and collect dust on my feet.
I reach my destination just as the shadows begin to grow and the glow of early evening dips everything in magic dust.
I’ve always been fascinated by this place, but never learned how to fully enjoy it.
No matter how beautiful a place is, imprisonment, whether it’s fake or real, can tarnish your perception.
It has ruined mine.
A few moments pass as I try to orient myself, scanning the streets, terraces, and faces of the tourists who are leisurely reveling in the most beautiful time of the day.
A gust of wind unsettles my hair and sweeps my lips, reminding me of how dry they are. I’m thirsty, it’s already late, and a feeling of defeat curls up in my chest.
Nona was right.
Rory was right, although she said nothing.
But did I have a choice?
I head to the church Nona had mentioned and check the area–– Foro Italico, Piazza del Duomo, and Piazza Archimede.
I notice a historic building from the eighteenth century, but there’s no clue that Callum lives here.
I wish there were.
I wish I could stop at the door and ask one of his men, maybe even Cosimo, to take me to him.
Disappointed, I turn around and walk to the busiest part of town where tourists seek the best spots for having an early dinner, a snack, or coffee and dessert.
I cast a blank stare over the crowd moving back and forth down the streets like the eternally restless waves of the sea.
Eventually, I claim a spot myself.
A two-seat table next to an old building with amazing architecture and garlands of fresh lemons adorning the sinuous arching of the windows.
A mixed scent of grilled seafood, freshly cooked tomato sauce, lemons, and the sophisticated perfume and cologne drifting from the people rolls into my nostrils.
I ask for a glass of water and a cup of watermelon granita. Unlike other types, you can eat Sicilian granita with a spoon, and I can’t wait to dig in, and cheer myself up, since everything else has failed so far.
I keep myself busy with my dessert, my sunglasses still on, my eyes occasionally scanning the people.
Frankly, I expect nothing.
I can’t imagine that through a stroke of luck I’d see this man strolling down the street.
It’s impossible. It would make no sense.
Even if he’s still here, he could be in a thousand places. Eating, fucking, staring at the sea.
My gaze dips as I ponder my fate, when a gust of hope sweeps through my heart just as a swarm of voices lifts up in the air.
I look in that direction like everybody else. There’s nothing really. Just a group of noisy locals, when something else catches my eye.
Moving with stark determination in his step, followed by three men, Callum O’Hara crosses the street.
It’s like a slow-motion movie that leaves me breathless, with my dessert spoon frozen in the air.
He’s dressed sharply.
I’ve never seen him casually dress––I don’t think so––and as I tilt my head to follow him out of my current line of view, I notice the woman–Vittoria Petri––waiting for him at a table.
She wears a white dress with a seashell print, a halter neckline, and a pencil skirt.
Her hair is gathered up into a stylish bun, and she wears sunglasses for an added dash of mystery, just like me. Although mine are more of a necessity.
She smoothly peels them off and offers him a smile, while he pulls the chair across from her and takes a seat.
I have a good view of both of them right now––two people, a man and a woman, dining at a table for two––which leaves my hopes dashed and marinated like a cold side dish.
Mechanically, I reach inside my wallet and leave cash on the table as I muse over my next move.
What am I doing now?
Should I leave? I probably should.
It’s late already, and sitting here like a potted plant won’t change my destiny in the slightest.
Should I wait a little longer?
Maybe they’ll have their Pasta con le Sarde , a classic here, and then say jokes while drinking wine.
I look silly, peering at the leftovers of someone else’s table, and I wish I’d talked about food here.
I need to leave.
But is that it?
Am I giving up so easily?
Am I ready to embrace my fate, go home, eat dinner with my family every day for the next two weeks, and then eventually say yes to some hideous man because that is the tradition?
I instinctively push my chair back.
I know what I need to do.
It has to be done.
It’s messy, I know, but life is messy, isn’t it?
Clearing my throat and running a hand over my hair, I smoothly rise from my seat.
I toss a faint smile to the server, and train my eyes on the man sitting with his female friend not far from me.
It’s hard to say who spots me first.
The woman smiling across from him, his men––one of them must be Cosimo, I guess, as he seems to understand more about this story than the rest of them––or the man himself.
Callum O’Hara.
I notice the rustling of the suits as his men set themselves in motion.
It might be the expression on Vittoria’s face, or the prompt moves of his men as they slide toward me as if I’m a paid assassin.
Leilani Gallo is risking a lot because Leilani Gallo wants to live.
Without a smidgen of regret, I square my shoulders, toss my head back, and gingerly remove my sunglasses, ready to deploy my most efficient ammunition as I walk toward him.
The deep power of my eyes.
And just like that, his gaze meets mine, his hand goes up, stopping time and the actions of his men, as he pulls up from his seat, saying a few words to Vittoria while running a napkin over the corner of his lips.
CALLUM
The Night Before
Unease breaks through me as I leave Leilani Gallo behind. Wet, almost naked, confused, a little broken.
She’s a tough woman––I can tell that––but the making of a strong woman is not an easy process, and I surely don't enjoy it.
I gave her the best piece of advice.
I told her what I would’ve told myself had I been in her shoes.
When everything else fails, honesty is the best policy.
Truth can show you the way, even when it’s harsh and inconvenient.
I move quickly toward the other side of the house, eager to put some space between her and me, and not to think about her for at least a damn second.
The lights of the main dining room come into view when a voice rings behind me.
“Have you seen Leilani?” Sylvia Gallo asks, and I slow down before coming to a stop and pivoting to her.
Emerging from a different corridor, she pulls up in front of me.
“I heard about the little spectacle on the back terrace. That girl can’t learn anything good to save her life,” she says, and everything about her seems contrived.
Her smile, the arching of her eyebrows, and her flashing self-confidence strike me as a poor decoy.
I’ve dealt with many people in my life. Scared ones, and brave ones.
People who spill out unapologetic truths, and people who don’t know how to hide away from their own lives.
She reminds me of the latter.
She looks like someone with a long list of grievances, though she can’t share a single one with me.
A moment of hesitation on my part lets me play out a couple of scenarios in my head.
She also looks like someone who knows more about this story than what happened by the pool.
That was public knowledge, but her coming after me might’ve been triggered by her knowing that I had spent some time with her granddaughter.
Her statement is a blunt commentary, inviting me to offer her more information.
“She had a moment,” I say cryptically. “She’ll be fine,” I add in a bored, dull tone that offers nothing. “Eventually, she’ll learn. She’s too young right now.”
She absorbs every word as if it’s gospel, looking for hidden meanings, yet I’ve got nothing to hide.
Everybody knows Leilani Gallo is a rebellious woman with a mind of her own. They all know she has a crush on me. All I need to do is convince them that it’s fleeting, which isn’t that hard––I also need to convince myself.
It must be fleeting.
She’s wild in the best sense of the world. A vivid world lives inside her head, and her brain needs constant stimulation.
That’s why her family’s plans riled her up.
She can’t contain that world for the sake of some good old arranged marriage, andI can’t blame her.
“That’s it?” Sylvia murmurs.
I tilt my head back in defiance.
“Are you questioning me?”
She quickly adjusts her tone.
“No, no. I was hoping you’d talk some sense into her.”
“I had,” I say promptly, and a flicker of curiosity glints in her eyes.
She’d probably like to ask me something else, but she refrains from it, aware that she’s on thin ice with me.
“She knows she needs to behave. There’s no other way,” I say, and her eyes search mine more than I’d like.
I pin her with my stare, and she relents, a soft smile tilting her lips.
“That’s good to know. It’s always reassuring to know you’re on our side.”
“What other side would I be on?” I say, tension building in my voice.
It’s not my intention to come off as defensive, nor is it like me to play games. This is hardly me playing games, but I find her curiosity intrusive.
It’s like her intuition had signaled to her that something might have happened between Lani and me.
Something did happen.
I pushed her away and gave her a fair warning while trying to keep my cool and not make a mistake.
Did it work? I don’t know.
I’ll probably find out soon.
The thing is that the more I try to move away from her, the closer I get to her and the more I’m thinking about her.
She’s like a hint of cologne embedded in my skin that never truly goes away. It becomes warm and familiar, and I carry it with me, leaving a trail of it wherever I go.
That’s how she feels to me, and this woman, Sylvia Gallo, seems to have detected the scent of her all over me.
“Have you heard about the party in Taormina?” She cleverly shifts the topic, giving me something to think about. “I don’t know if you’ll still be here,” she drones on in a persuasive tone that irritates me.
“Have I been invited?” I ask, trying a casual reply.
Why am I hearing about a party thrown by someone else from them?
“Everyone in town has been invited. Everyone important,” she adds in a rush.
Oh. That warms my heart.
“Probably not. I have no reason to be there,” I cut the conversation short.
In the same way, I had no reason to be here other than to learn whether Leilani Gallo had changed in any way.
“When is it?” I uselessly ask, knowing that I’m not interested in going.
“Two weeks from now.”
She gives me a smile as if I just fell into her trap.
“Absolutely not. I’ll be gone by then.”
I look away and check the time on my watch.
“I need to go now. It was nice seeing you tonight,” I say in a cold, clipped voice, leaving no room for further discussion.
“Same here,” she answers just as I pull away.