Chapter 6 #2
“I know I’ve made a laughing stock of myself with my not-so-secret crush on you.
I know I came to you once, and you couldn’t figure out what that was all about.
Or maybe you did, but didn’t care enough to speak on my behalf.
I know you run a tight shop and maintain strict control over who enters your life.
But I’m not your biggest enemy. And I wouldn’t be coming to you if my life weren’t in danger.
In fact, I acted on your advice last night and spoke harshly to my grandmother.
Words she’d never heard in her life. I’m learning how to fight.
That’s why I’m here now. I’m not some spoiled girl set on wasting your time.
You’d probably never see me again if I could regain my freedom.
The thing is, unlike you, I’ve never been free.
Perhaps you remember your life from before you were saddled with marrying Bianca.
I don’t even have that. I have no point of reference.
I don’t know any other kind of life. You think I’m rich and pampered and looking to screw everybody’s life.
You know what I told my grandmother once?
Do you know what would make me the happiest girl in the world?
Living in a fishing village. Being dirt poor.
Working some menial job. Or selling flowers at the market from a basket, the kind I’d pick from a field.
I don’t want a man, Callum. I don’t want a villa.
You sent me away two years ago, and for a moment, I thought you were in cahoots with them.
I’m still not sure whether that wasn’t true.
You probably were playing their hand. You gave me some bullshit about me needing some time alone.
I don't need some time alone. I just want my time alone. Not the allotted time alone, as if I’m serving time.
I didn’t do anything bad to anyone. Let that sit with you for a minute.
I was simply born into the wrong family to the wrong parents.
And now I’m paying for it every day of my life. ”
My tears start falling as I make a gesture at the crowd.
“You see these people?”
He doesn’t look at them, his stare fixed on my face, glinting like the moon’s poems on the dark surface of a lake.
“They would probably envy me if they knew the kind of money I’m sitting on.
They’d probably fear me if they knew who my grandfather was.
They’d probably avoid me if my family managed to marry me to some monster who breaks people’s necks with his bare hands for a living and has no issue ending a party in bloodshed with a few rounds of ammunition.
Yet, they’re so much luckier than I am. They have their lives.
And I don’t even want that. I don’t want to be them.
All I want is to walk down the beach with my hair down and my feet bare.
Sit down, stare at the sea, and go home when the stars are up, and my shoulders quiver from the cold.
I’d walk barefoot to the other side of town, where people call home some modest holes in the wall, if I could.
Old, dusty places with a window barely staring at the sea and only the bare necessities inside.
A bed, a table, an old clock, perhaps. I’d cook dinner for myself and thank God that I had no one in my life, and he was good and merciful for granting me such a simple, lovely life.
Is it now clear to you why I’m here, or would you like me to explain myself a little more? ”
Biting the inside of his cheek, he looks at me with crying moons in his eyes, his lips tense and stripped of warmth. Fury colors his expression, but not against me, say his eyes as he brings a tense hand to the back of my neck, grabs my hair, and pulls me so close to him that I bump into his chest.
He burns inside his fancy suit like Etna when it's about to erupt, and his hand relaxes a little, moving from my hair to the back of my neck before sitting like a collar around it.
He presses his lips against my temple, his head tilted down, while I snake an arm around him to steady myself and not fall backward.
“Listen to me closely,” he whispers. “No one has talked to me about you,” he says in his normal voice, yet still quiet, still warm against my face.
“I’ve heard some rumors I couldn’t confirm.
I understand why you want your freedom. But your running to me won’t get you any of that.
I’m even more convinced now that it will get both of us killed.
I can’t promise you the life you wish you had.
As meek and humble as it seems to be, it might not be in the cards for you.
The only thing I can promise is that I’ll keep an eye on you and watch your back.
It’s not much, but it’s all I can do right now.
We can’t be seen together. We can’t have the people’s eyes on us like now.
When people start talking, bad shit happens.
We have to figure out a different way to keep in touch.
I don’t trust phones or any digital device.
We’ll communicate through people. I won’t be going to that party,” he finally says, straightening and studying my tearful eyes.
“Sylvia had mentioned it to me. It didn’t make much sense to me, but it sort of does now.
Maybe they do want to round both of us up.
I’ll take my precautions and keep you in the loop if any piece of information comes my way. ”
He glances over his shoulder––nothing has changed in the background––and then looks back to me.
I must look thunderstruck as I lodge into my memory every little expression sweeping over his face.
“All right?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at me, a pinch of warmth glinting through.
His thumb moves, rubbing a small dot of skin right next to my temple, and I tilt my head into his touch as I notice something different in his eyes.
The pleasure of a man fueled by his undeniable power over a woman.
“All right,” I murmur, and my gaze slides to his lips only for a second before flicking back to his eyes.
A moment passes, his grip on me tenses, and without the slightest warning, he pulls me into his chest again and lowers his mouth to mine.
“Be smart, Leilani. Leave the rest of it to me.”
And from forming words, his lips suddenly part and curl into a soft smile, and then trail lower until they touch mine. Like a ghost, the wings of a butterfly, a rain of petals on a summer night, blown by the wind.
“I’ll have someone inside the house report to me. Someone other than Nona. It’s better that way.”
His scent enters me along with his warmth, and they link hands and dance over my heart’s grave as he pulls away from me.
I touch him one more time, and he doesn’t retreat.
“Are you coming to that party? Seriously, now.”
He’s all business again.
“Most likely not, as I just said. I’ll have my men gather more information and then make a final decision.”
My hand falls off him.
“What about Italy? How long are you going to be here? It looks like my grandparents want to spend all this time with me.”
“I should fly back in a few days.”
The thought that he’ll be away and I’ll be stuck with them here, plotting against me, ties my stomach in knots.
I touch his forearm again.
“Is there any way you can take me back with you?” I say softly, smiling, sad.
“Not now.”
His words. Oh, his words. A flicker of hope warms my soul. It’s like my heart explodes in my chest, the amazing swirl of energy looking for an outlet.
I don’t know how to control the burst of emotions.
How to hold them back.
All I can do is nod my head like a little girl, and then, as he’s about to leave, I step toward him, wrap my arm around his neck, push up on my toes, and kiss his cheek, almost touching his lips.
He doesn’t react, and it feels like I’m kissing one of the antique statues that never comes to life, only serves as a historical artifact.
Yet he does come to life.
A statue made of warm blood and suppressed passion.
He does.
He takes my hand and presses it against his lips, and that does to me more than any man’s gesture has ever done for me.
My tears have dried up as sunshine blooms in my heart.
“Go in peace now. You won’t be alone,” he says.
With that, he gives me a barely there soft wink, fastens the only button on his suit jacket, spins around, and returns to his table, where his female company seems enthralled with a piece of cake.