Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 59304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“Dario!”
Reluctantly, I release my hold. She straightens her top.
“Maybe my reasons for helping you aren’t completely selfish.”
“You’re a jaw-breaking Good Samaritan, are you?”
“That was a little extreme, I’ll admit that, but my heart was in the right place.”
“I’ll humor you. If you’re not just trying to get in my pants, why on earth would you want to help me, huh?”
“You present a tough front to the world with your sassy eye rolls and your take-no-shit attitude, but I think, inside, you’re more nervous and vulnerable than you’d ever admit… to anyone.”
She flinches, then hardens her expression. “Maybe you’re not as good at reading people as you think.”
“It’s in the way you fidget, moving like you’re going to bite your fingernails, then lowering your hand like you’re pissed at yourself for even thinking about it. It’s the way you laugh, like it’s a shock to you, like you’re not used to laughing–almost like you feel bad about it. It’s the guilt in your smiles, Siena.”
Her stern expression turns crestfallen. For a moment, I almost think she’s going to cry. Her eyes glimmer with unshed tears.
“We should get back,” she murmurs.
“I’m not wrong, though, am I?”
She doesn’t answer, instead walking ahead. I hurry after her and offer her my arm.
“I’m okay now,” she says.
“What have I told you about being proud?”
She leans against me. “You’re persistent, aren’t you?”
“Only with things that matter.”
We walk through the palms together. Emerging onto the beach, I see that my mother and father are waiting for us. The rest of the party has dispersed. My mother’s face lights up when she sees Siena leaning on me.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
“Great,” Siena says, standing up straighter and letting me go.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m ready to go–ready to work.”
“That’s not what I meant, sweet girl,” my mother says. “I wanted to ask, will you join us for lunch? It will be a small affair.”
“You don’t have to,” I say, reading the indecision on Siena’s face.
“Of course she doesn’t have to,” my father says. “She knows she doesn’t have to. We’re not going to force her. But we want to say thank you for what you did, Siena. If you weren’t there…” He wraps an arm around my mother. “I can’t bear to think about it.”
Siena smiles shakily. “Sure, that sounds nice. I’ll get showered and changed and then meet you…”
“In our suite,” my mother says.
“Okay, see you there.”
“Do you want some help to get back to your room?” I ask.
“I’m not an invalid,” she says testily, walking away.
My father chuckles. “She’s got some spunk, that girl.”
“I think she’s great,” my mother murmurs dreamily.
So do I.
CHAPTER 9
SIENA
Istand in front of the mirror, adjusting my shirt, wondering if I should undo another button.
It’s the way you fidget…
It’s the way you laugh…
It’s the guilt in your smiles…
Somehow, Dario read me like a book. It’s sweet, and a little scary in a way I don’t fully understand, how much attention he’s paying to me. As I walk up the beach, I think about how dark he got when his uncle, Eddy, accosted me, threatening to break his jaw.
A cloud fell over him. It was like he became a different man.
Between the boat tour issues, the loose rocks, and Dario’s darkness, my instincts shudder. I can’t put my finger on specifically what, but it seems like there’s more going on here than I understand.
Or am I just being paranoid?
Marcela answers my knock with a big smile, ushering me into the room. Her suite has a large table resting on thick glass that shows the ocean beneath. Windows let in ample sunlight and a view of the open sea.
Vittorio sits on one side of the table, Dario on the other.
“Is it just us?” I ask.
Marcela beams at me. “Yes, dear.”
“My wife is playing the matchmaker,” Vittorio says, laughing.
I feel the blood drain from my face.
“He’s joking.” Dario stands, pulls out my chair. “But if you’ll allow me to pretend to be a gentleman…”
Dario wears a cream shirt. It’s opened to reveal hints of his firm muscles, the sleeves hugging his tight arms. His silver-threaded hair is wet, presumably from the shower.
Sue me–he looks handsome.
We sit around the table, then Marcela takes out her cellphone and shoots off a text. “Seafood platters okay for everyone?”
“Great,” I say. “Thank you, Mrs.—thank you, Marcela.” I correct myself when she makes a face at me.
Dario is sitting next to me. The seating is close enough that our legs are touching. Warmth courses over my thigh, between my legs, tickling and teasing at my heat. I wonder if he’s doing it on purpose until he moves again, deliberately pressing his leg against mine.
We make small talk about the island until the food arrives. Then, as she adjusts her napkin, Marcela says, “I’m very impressed with you, Siena. Your boss has taken ill… but you’ve risen to the challenge. Do you want to have your own event management business one day?”