Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 404(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
She copied me, slipping her sunglasses into her bag. She had a small indentation where the spacers on the glasses had dug into her skin, but the rest of her face was perfection. She looked as she had in the bar, her beauty enhanced with subtle makeup rather than masked by it. She had full lashes, typical for an Italian woman, along with a sharp jawline and an elegant neck that I liked. Thick, long hair was around her shoulders underneath the hat, slightly wavy with gentle curls.
And her eyes . . . they just did something to me.
Emilio came back to the table and stopped my mind from drifting to the other night. The little tablet was in hand so he could type in the order for the kitchen.
“Two almonds and coffee,” I said. “Cream on both with the brioche. And a bottle of water.”
“You got it, Con.” He left the table and helped the other customers.
She watched people pass on the street in front of us, sitting with her legs crossed, a golden necklace around her throat. “Did you go to school with Emilio?”
“Yeah. I’ve known him since I was a kid. Pretty much everyone I went to school with works in town.”
“So you’re the anomaly.”
I’d taken a very different direction in life. A lot of people saw Taormina as a beautiful, peaceful town, and for the most part, it was. But Sicily had a long history that most people didn’t know about. “I suppose.”
She turned to look at me. “I can tell you love it here.”
I’d walked these streets hundreds of times. Swam in the Ionian Sea, jumped from cliffs with the boys, explored caves that nearly got us killed. Had family dinners by candlelight next to the stone buildings. I had a lot of good memories here. “It’ll always be home.” Always hold a place in my heart of joy . . . and despair. “Where’s home for you?”
“Rome.”
“Same.”
“Only an hour flight. Not sure why I didn’t make this trip sooner.” She turned to watch the people walk down the stone pathway again. There was a sandwich shop farther down, a local spot that tourists never visited because it was somewhat tucked out of sight. “I explored a bit the other day and took a lot of photos. A photographer’s playground.”
“Too bad your friend didn’t get to enjoy it.”
Her eyes came back to me, accompanied by a distinct flash of confusion.
I knew she’d lied before, but I gave her some grace and let it slide.
When she understood what I meant, she tried to brush it off. “Yeah, her loss.” Her eyes immediately went back to the street to watch the couples pass, holding hands. Potted flowers were outside every door, flowers overflowing from the balconies of the buildings above.
I was a remarkable judge of character, could spot the most skilled liar with a devil’s tongue within a few seconds, so when she’d hesitated and became visibly uncomfortable when she mentioned her friend who’d had to leave their holiday early . . . I knew.
I didn’t respect liars, and anyone who chose to obscure the truth was someone I could do without, but she was so painfully bad at it that I knew it was one of the first lies she’d ever told. It wasn’t her character. Wasn’t who she was.
Now, I wanted to know why she lied.
When I’d felt her stare outside Rosticceria Da Cristina, I’d met her look. I’d expected a quick lock of the eyes and then an immediate dismissal. She was beautiful, obviously, but that wasn’t why my stare lingered.
It lingered because of the grief.
I could spot it on anyone anywhere, even in the middle of uproarious laughter over a dinner party. I could feel the cold from the ice shards in their heart. Hers was just so raw and deep that it made me forget everything around me for a second.
When I’d spotted her in the bar, I’d noticed the exact same thing. An unbelievably beautiful woman anchored to a tombstone of grief. She wore a little black dress with pink and blue seashell ornaments on the straps, a delicate addition of color to her dark silhouette. She sat with a strong posture, but she lacked the confidence a woman of her caliber should possess. It was a dichotomy that I couldn’t understand. She could hold my gaze when others would blink or look away, but when another woman approached to make a pass, she accepted defeat. Looked away and asked for the check so she could forget our stare had ever happened.
I didn’t know what had happened to her—but I knew something had.
At the end of the road to the right was the Greek theatre, so I took her there to see what the Greeks had built when they conquered the island, before the Carthaginians conquered them, and then the Romans conquered them.