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“Dante?” Alessa asked tightly.

Grumbling, he walked to the center of their circle.

Staring past Alessa’s shoulder instead of directly at her, he extended one hand to her and raised his other hand, thumb out to the side. His meter, she assumed.

Her heart lurched as his palm slid across hers, and his thumb turned to the ceiling.

Saida giggled, and Alessa couldn’t help but smile.

Dante’s thumb arced down.

“I guess laughter is good.” Josef said. “Itissort of funny.”

In atragicway.

Pretending both hands she held were Josef’s, Alessa focused on sensing her power. Dante was a meter, nothing else. A weather vane with long eyelashes. A rain gauge with a tumble of dark hair over chocolate-brown eyes with tiny flecks of gold around the irises. A thermometer with—

Her thermometer hissed. “Damn, that’s cold.”

“I’m okay,” Josef said, a bit strained.

Alessa gathered the strands of power, turning her sights on the waves lapping at the shore. She held while the power built, then released.

Nina shrieked with delight as the closest waves froze into a crystalline sculpture.

“That was good!” Kamaria looked around at everyone. “Right? That seemed good.”

By the time night fell, Alessa was ready to head back, but the others wanted one last swim, so she and Dante entered the tunnels alone.

She didn’t want to be angry at him. She wanted to drink him in, to memorize his face.

But it was dark, and she could barely see him anyway.

Dante stared at the gate from the Fortezza to the Cittadella. “If we lock it behind us, they can’t get back in.”

“Then don’t lock it,” Alessa said.

“I’m not leaving an open gate below the Cittadella. That’s, like, bodyguard rule number one.” He scowled at her through his hair.

“Okay, then we’ll stay close by and let them in when they return.” She studied him. “I could give you a trim while we wait. I used to cut my brother’s hair and I’ve been doing mine for years. You want to look nice for my wedding, don’t you?”

His lips twisted. “Go ahead, Finestra.Tryto make me presentable.”

Alessa led Dante to the empty kitchens, where she found a pair of shears, and ordered Dante to sit. Standing behind him, she mused about studying the texture as an excuse to run her fingers through his hair, the sheer indulgent pleasure striking like the rush of a double espresso hitting her bloodstream.

Thick, tousled strands curled around her fingers, as though they wanted to hold on. With a slow drag, she lightly scraped her nails down to his nape, and he shivered.

“I used to love having my hair played with.” She let the smile color her voice. “Don’t you find it so relaxing?”

Dante cleared his throat and said roughly, “Sure. Relaxing.”

She took her time, starting in the back and working her way around to the front, where he watched her tug the long curls straight to be sure they were even. The heel of her palm rested on his cheek as she bent closer to get a better look.

His eyes flicked down to her loose neckline, and he swallowed. He probably had a view clear down to her navel with the loose blouse she’d chosen. He might insist on punishing them both by keeping his hands to himself, but she didn’t have to make it easy for him.

Pursing her lips, she leaned in for another snip. If the only part of him she could claim was his attention, she wasn’t about to let go.

He shifted in his seat. “Are you finished?”