Page 8 of Disarming Caine

“At Cass’s place. I told you that. We’re playing poker—” Her straight face fell to a frown. “—which I suck at.”

“You should play a different game, then.”

She shrugged. “Guest’s choice.”

That made no sense. “If not your choice, who’s the guest? Is Lucy there?”

Something in her face caused my heart to lurch, nudging the haze of the alcohol aside. Our eyes met at last, but hers fell and she chewed on her bottom lip. What was she not saying?

“Samantha?”

“What’s going on, Antonio?” The frown hardened and she raised her chin. “You said you needed to talk to me. Now you’re drunk at some celebration I don’t know anything about. Just tell me.”

I groaned and forced the words out. “We’ll be finishing the project early. Next week.”

She furrowed her brows and spoke slowly. “But that’s a good thing? You’ll be coming home sooner?”

“I pushed them, bella. Made the team work hard, put in my own overtime. But it was such a success, they renewed the contract until April—”

She sucked in air and her eyes shot wide open. “What?”

“There were rumors it may happen, but Mario got the call this afternoon. We’ll be doing the same conservation on the garden walls, with modifications more suitable for a new excavation.”

“And you agreed to that?” Her pitch rose dramatically.

“What was I supposed to do?” My head fell forward, and I blew out a deep breath. “This is a tremendous honor. It’s going to be published.”

“You’ll miss my birthday.” The pain in her voice broke my heart all the more.

Her birthday didn’t matter. I was not so drunk I couldn’t understand that part. She worried I wouldn’t come home. That my return in January was now April and would somehow become later and later until we never saw each other again. Some other Italian man had done that to her, and she thought I would do the same.

The room tumbled and bile rose in my throat. Mario was right. I should have waited until I was sober and had time to get past the sorrow consuming me. I should have been back in Brenton with her in early January. No more long distance. I could have seen her every day, held her, made love to her. I would have woken up next to her, not next to a laptop.

I lifted my head to see her. “You planned to take leave in January when I was scheduled to return. Come and visit me? Per favore? I can’t go another four months without you.”

She shook her head and looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. “It’s not that easy. I promised Cass. I can’t miss her treatments.”

“I know, bella.” A burning sensation built behind my eyes, and I let out a long sigh. “I know.”

Her sister had made it through chemotherapy, her mastectomy, and was in the midst of radiation. The prognosis was more positive than it had been in the fall, but Samantha was a good woman. An even better sister.

We stared at each other, so many words left to say, but none coming. The gentle sway returned, and I shook my head to clear it, making it worse. How was I going to fix this if I was stuck in Napoli and she was stuck in Brenton?

The door behind her burst open suddenly, light from the hallway spilling in to illuminate more of the room.

“Sam! Kevin just opened the Scotch!” Nathan Miller came into the room. Nathan Miller! The pretty, polished Assistant Prosecutor with the blue eyes who she called her big brother stand-in. The man who had threatened me, sucker punched me, and who looked at her with more lust than a big brother should. What was he doing there?

Her head fell forward, not looking at either of us. “So?”

He stepped further into the room, looking at me rather than her. With a smirk. “Can you give me a ride home?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Thanks, Sam.” He kissed the top of her head, still focused on me. Cazzo Madre di Dio, the stronzo kissed her. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

My breath kicked up, the alcohol-induced haze lifting like a curtain. The door clicked closed behind her and she looked up at me again. Guilt etched on her face. This had been the lip biting information. She’d intentionally hidden him from me.

My jaw tightened. “What was that?”