Page 105 of Disarming Caine

The knife slid easily through the mozzarella, my gaze shifting from it to her and back again. She stared, chewing her bottom lip. Occasionally glancing at the phone.

One of these phones had almost ended things for us in Napoli. It sent her running off across the city, putting her life at risk. I pointed at it with the knife. “Burner guy in Napoli was my cousin Cristian.”

She nodded, maintaining the silence.

“I called him Wednesday morning, asking if he had any information. I was afraid…” My jaw quivered, and I swallowed hard, finding my center. “I was afraid the threat from Napoli had followed us here.”

Her eyes widened, knuckles whitening from her grip on the chair. Something else I should have told her.

“He sent the phone so we could speak plainly. As it turns out, Parker was being courted by a group of smugglers, but the auction fallout put an end to it.”

Still, she remained silent. Not surprising that her emotions were hiding behind those accursed walls of hers and that she’d say nothing of Cristian, Parker, or any of this debacle.

I set the knife down more forcefully than planned. This staring and not speaking was becoming tiresome. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know.” Her gaze remained on the phone, no doubt replaying my confession from earlier. I was not about to apologize for my past choices. I’d beaten myself up over them enough over the years.

“Marone, Samantha, I’m trying so hard.” I braced my hands on the edge of the counter and closed my eyes.Just ask. Get the question out and deal with the consequences… if she even answers.“Are we done? Are you leaving me now that you know the truth?”

But she continued to stare and blink, gaze traversing the room until it meandered back to me. The kitchen lights were the only ones on, save the candles, casting a soft glow on her hard face.

“I had an idea in my head of what it would be like to spend this time together.” I turned from her and plucked some tomatoes from their bowl on the counter. “It’s much harder.”

“How do you feel when you’re with me?” she whispered.

I placed the tomatoes on the cutting board. “Like pulling my hair out?”

She exhaled with a half-laugh. “Not right now. When it’s good. Like Wednesday night or Christmas Eve? What do you feel? And don’t call it love.”

Love was the right word, no matter how frustrated I was at that moment. No matter how much she doubted me. I took a deep breath, running through all the things I’d said to her before, what I’d only thought, what might finally convince her.

But in the end, it was not my job to make her believe me. It was my job simply to offer her my heart, whether or not she would ever return the offering.

“I could give you flowery words or recite Shakespeare’s sonnets.” I turned to the stove behind me, moved the balsamic to the side to cool, then returned my focus to her. “I could prepare a feast for you every night. Give you diamonds and pearls, fly you around the world, and proclaim to everyone that you’re the woman who owns my heart.”

She didn’t move, barely blinked, but her chest heaved with a deep breath.

“Remember when I repaired that first torn painting for you, and you told me it was fantastic work?” One hand rose to cover my heart, which beat marcato against my rib cage. “I carry that praise inside me every day, as I try to live up to your impression of me.”

I rounded the end of the counter, keeping my eyes on hers. “When I look at you, I see my future. All the hope of what’s to come.”

She nodded slowly, continuing to clench the back of the chair. “I broke my promise to you.”

I stopped five feet from her, and my heart fell to the floor. Which promise?

“When you gave me this ring—” She held up her left hand, the diamonds sparkling in the candlelight. “—I promised I’d stop running. It’s tougher than I thought.”

Was this an apology? An explanation? Were we still together? She hadn’t removed the ring, so likely?

Before I could take another step, she hurried across the distance to me, taking my face in her hands. “Antonio, I don’t want to live in the past anymore.”

“Nor do I, Samantha.” I pulled her hands down to my lips, kissing each one. “I’m none of the people who hurt you, save one stupid decision. And I’m not the man we spoke of earlier. I was a hot-headed child and turned away from that life a long time ago.”

She wrapped her arms around my neck, and I did the same around her waist. Our bodies pressed together, relaxing as one, cheek nestled against cheek.

“Oh, bella,” I sighed. “Holding you makes me feel like I’ve found my home.”

“Antonio, I—” Her voice caught, and she tightened her hold on me. “Me, too.”