Page 15

"I love you." Sarica felt foolish for how desperately she needed to say them. But this time she could see his beautiful face, and her heart hurt at how his features hardened at her words.
"It seems I need to make myself clear."
"Giancarlo—-"
Sarica's voice faltered as he disentangled her limbs and put her down on her feet.
"The only reason I've shown myself is for you to understand that this has to end now." Each word seemed to cost him, seemed to carve new lines of pain around his mouth. "I want you to leave—"
"Why?"
His jaw clenched. "What happened to not asking questions I don't want to answer?"
"Because I'm sure that's not one of them." She stepped closer, heart pounding against her ribs. "Your mind says you don't want to, but your heart—"
"Don't."
"But I lo—"
Giancarlo was gone before she could finish, the door closing behind him with terrible finality.
But this time, the sound didn't break her.
This time, it made her think.
Because she knew her Giancarlo—knew him in ways that sixteen months couldn't erase. Knew the man who had once moved heaven and earth to protect her would never cause her this kind of pain without reason.
And as she stood there, surrounded by the lingering scent of him, pieces started falling into place. The careful way he touched her, even when trying to push her away.
The pain in his eyes when she said she loved him.
The way his hands shook when she got too close to whatever truth he was hiding.
No, her white knight hadn't changed—not where it mattered.
And the only thing clear to Sarica now was that this time...
It was her turn to wait.
Her turn to hope.
Her turn to have faith for both of them.
Chapter Six
When Giancarlo returned the next day, they fell into an unspoken truce. She didn't speak of her feelings, he didn't ask her to leave. Every second was precious...because neither of them knew how long it would last.
Sarica couldn't help but notice how thoroughly she still had him wrapped around her finger. She would absently mention something she craved, and it would be handed to her on a silver platter,literally.He would notice her shiver, and she didn't have to say a word after that. He would pull her into his arms and warm her up in the way only he could do so. Maybe one day he would figure out that she was not as sensitive to the cold as she used to?
But the thing that gave Sarica the most hope was how he kept finding excuses to touch her—-which was the exact opposite of the old Giancarlo, who had taken pains not to even be alone in the same room with her for years.
From the moment he enteredtheirroom, he would be holding and touching her in some way. Not a second would pass that they were not in contact. If she were to read a book, he wanted her to do so while curled up on his lap. If he caught her yawning, he would insist that she sleep in his arms and nowhere else. He insisted on bathing her and drying her hair. Dressing and feeding her. He insisted on doing everything for her and with her.
Everything could've been perfect.
She just had to remembernotto look in his eyes.
Because in his gaze was the truth.