Page 28

CHAPTER 28

L ea

I’m broken in Massimo’s arms.

Totally shattered.

I don’t really think I’m pregnant. There’s no way to know for sure, but it’s just one of a million thoughts that passed through my head while I stared at the wall. None of them felt like they would sway him. I doubt he’d be swayed if my belly was swollen with undeniable proof of the love we shared.

The only thing in my foreseeable future is pain, and not the kind that makes me wet. This pain is going to ache in an entirely different way. I sampled that pain after my grandmother died. But I had a lifetime of memories, and it was her time. I understood she wouldn’t live forever.

Massimo’s time isn’t up. It’s so far from up, the hitman offered a way out. An easy way out for a man like Massimo. Easy in all the ways that don’t matter—impossible in the ways that do.

After crying myself into a state of exhaustion, I fall asleep in Massimo’s strong arms. I wake up in them hours later, with the sun seeping through the windows. I struggle not to cry. It’s Friday. The best day of the week, most of the time. Except this is my last day with him.

“Good morning, bambina ,” Massimo murmurs when he feels me stir. “I’d ask if you slept okay, but I don’t want you to lie.”

“How do you know?” I ask, glancing up at him.

“You talk in your sleep,” he sighs. “Or you did last night.”

“What did I say?” I feel a twinge of concern in my stomach. I know how bad my nightmares were, but those were in my head.

“I couldn’t make much of it out,” he answers. “I heard my name a few times, and you were trying to say something to Sarah, too. It was mostly nonsense, but I could tell you weren’t having a restful night.”

“No,” I admit, wiping my eyes. “I’m sorry if I kept you awake.”

“I slept enough,” he says, letting go of me and sitting up. “I’ll go make coffee and order breakfast. Want anything in particular?”

“No, whatever you get is fine,” I mutter, not feeling hungry at all. “I’ll be okay.”

I see the pain in Massimo’s eyes as he gets out of bed. That pain drew me to him like a moth to the flame, and now I’ve added to it, but I’ve got plenty of my own to deal with. Pain I’ll carry with me after Isola Selvaggia is out of sight—pain that will linger long after Massimo is gone.

I sit in bed until I hear the food arrive, then I drag myself to my feet and slip on a hotel robe. I see my reflection in the mirror and nearly gasp. I barely recognize my own face. My eyes are puffy from crying. My cheeks are sunken and pale. The color on my lips is lighter, like a layer of pink has been permanently stripped away. I’ve never considered myself pretty, but I look like I’ve been through the wringer. I guess I have—emotionally and physically.

Massimo is seated when I step out of his bedroom. He looks almost as vibrant as ever, except for the lingering pain in his blue eyes. He’s hours from death and I’m the one who looks like a corpse.

“Try to eat something,” Massimo says, gesturing to the breakfast spread. “Even if you don’t feel like it.”

I nod and sit down without saying anything. Maybe it was a bad idea to push the intimacy as far as I did. He seemed to understand it would make this more difficult, and now, I understand, too. But I wouldn’t change it for anything. I’ll treasure our time together and won’t let any regret fester.

I move a biscuit to my plate, break off a piece, and nibble on it. Despite the unease in my stomach, once I swallow a few bites, I feel my appetite returning. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast yesterday, so I give my body what it can handle.

“You’re not eating much,” I remark, noticing Massimo has a lot of food left untouched, which isn’t normal for him.

“I had dinner with Theo last night,” he says.

“Must have been some night,” I mutter. “Dinner… and I could smell whiskey and cigar smoke on you when you got into bed.”

“We always get together a few times when I come to the island,” Massimo explains. “If I turned him down, he would have asked questions. Easier to go than answer them.”

I shrug and keep eating. I’m not being intentionally bitter. I just can’t get over the ache inside me. So much for making his last days fun. This one is likely going to be miserable for both of us.

“Do you have to go anywhere today?” I question.

“No,” he says. “Today, I’m all yours.”

I should be elated, but the sting of what happens tomorrow just won’t let the emotion surface. I nod and finish eating my breakfast.

“I need to shower,” I say, pushing back from the table and standing before he can help with my chair.

“Want me to join you?” he asks, a half-smile tugging at the edges of his lips.

“Not today.” I shake my head, then feel a twinge in my stomach—it might be the last time I get to shower with him.

Part of me wants to ask him to join me, but I don’t. I walk into the bathroom, close the door, and start the shower. I cry a little more once I’m under the water, since I know he can’t hear me. This is so much harder than I expected it to be. Or maybe I was just fooling myself because I was in a daze like a schoolgirl experiencing her first crush.

I finally stop crying, finish my shower, and step out. I wipe the mirror down so I can see my reflection. The shower has helped some. The steam and heat eased some of the puffiness around my eyes and gaunt look in my cheeks. My lips are still pale, though.

After I’m dry, I hide what I can under makeup and lipstick, looking more like myself than I did before I walked into the bathroom. I gather what is left of my composure and steady myself. Despite all of the emotions coursing through me, I don’t want to make Massimo’s last day alive completely miserable.

I emerge from the bathroom faking my smile and doing my best to keep the despair hidden. This is my last day with Massimo. Yesterday was my day to cry. Today, I let him have another piece of my heart to break before he’s gone.

“What would you like to do today?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

Massimo looks up at me. He tries to smile, but it doesn’t fully form.

“Spend the day with you,” he says. “Doing anything.”

“Well, you don’t have a bucket list, so what about your lasts?” I ask, taking a deep breath. “Any of those?”

“Hmm,” he ponders, intrigue flashing in his icy blues. “You’ve given me some amazing lasts, Lea. Better than I could have ever imagined.”

Even with the chaos inside me, I can’t help blushing. “I’m sure there are a few things, right? Surely? There are so many things you’ll never get to do again.”

The intrigue turns into a solemn glance, and he nods. “I suppose there are, but they don’t seem that important now.”

“Tell me what they are.” I walk over and sit down next to him on the couch. “Humor me, Massimo. I’m—honestly trying to hold it together here.”

I’m distracting myself with conversation, because as long as we’re talking, I can’t dwell on my thoughts. Can’t dwell on the heartache. I may not be able to make today as exciting as some of the others, but I’ll do my best not to make it miserable.

Massimo takes a deep breath. Maybe he senses it, too. The need for something to distract us from the inevitable.

“I always planned to get more ink,” Massimo admits, lifting his shirt and motioning to a few spots that are open on his chest and torso. “I had some designs in mind, but never found the time for sit for a tattoo.”

“Do you want to do that today?” I ask. “I saw some tattoo parlors when we drove through town on our way to see the ruins and statues.”

“Sit for a tattoo?” Massimo shakes his head. “Nah, that takes too long.”

“Then tell me what you’d get if you could,” I suggest, glancing at the spots that could be filled in across his impressively inked physique.

“Right here, between the skulls and two skeletons, I always wanted to add something to connect them. I thought about extending the line of skulls or getting another skeleton to match the other two.” Massimo shrugs, then points to another spot. “I left this spot open because I was going to blend the Vegas designs and the macabre ones with some sugar skulls covered in poker chips, or sugar skulls with poker hands for teeth.”

“Interesting,” I reply, trying to picture it. “They would fit the theme and bring everything together. You’ve got some skulls with roses that blend into the other arm.”

“Yeah, and I wanted to do that with my back, as well,” he continues. “Skeletons drinking wine, or skeletons stomping wine. Something like that. I had a few ideas.”

I move closer and shift Massimo’s shirt so I can look at his back. There are several bare spots where the tattoos could go. I can’t resist tracing them, feeling the tingle of electricity between us as my fingers roam across his back.

“Maybe roses and wine on the left, and Vegas and wine on the right?” I say, tracing several spots. “Along your shoulders, at least.”

“Not a bad idea,” Massimo agrees. “Maybe I should have let you design all my tattoos.”

“Yeah, right,” I laugh, feeling a little more at ease. “If I was designing them for you, you wouldn’t have any.”

“Seems like a waste. You wouldn’t even want me to get your name somewhere?” he asks. “I bet Eleanor would look great across my stomach. Big bold letters, too.”

“Hah!” I laugh again. “You’d go with Eleanor instead of Lea? Nobody calls me Eleanor.”

“I’d even add your last name, except it wouldn’t be Fuller.” He glances at me over his shoulder. “Not after I put a ring on your finger.”

“Don’t say that.” I look down at my hands but can’t stop myself from saying Eleanor Morandi in my head a few times. “That’s not fair.”

“I know, but if circumstances were different, that’s what I’d be thinking about right now,” he sighs. “Making you mine in every way, and that goes a lot further than the bedroom.”

“You barely know me, Massimo,” I mutter, even though I feel the same connection to him—one that dances inside me like love should, despite our short time together.

“What about wine?” I ask, trying to shift the conversation away from marriage and things that make my heart ache. “Is there a bottle you were saving for a special occasion?”

“Not really,” he answers. “Although, I always said I wanted to hunt down another bottle of red from the year I was born. My dad sent them to the family, clients—literally everyone he could think of. He was so happy to have a son.”

“Think there’s one on the island?” I ask.

“Theo might have one,” Massimo says. “He has a lot that isn’t on the menu. But it’s a little early to crack open a bottle of wine.”

“Is it?” I chuckle. “Are there rules you have to follow on your last day?”

“No,” he admits. “I suppose there aren’t.”

“Then see if he has that year,” I suggest with some insistence in my voice. “Come on, if that’s something you wanted to do, let’s do it.”

“Alright,” Massimo relents. “Let me grab my phone.”

Poison, as Massimo would say. Delicious poison. Wine might be what we need to relax some. I’m not sure it’s genuinely possible, but it’ll be another distraction.

Minute by minute.

Hour by hour.

I have to find some way to get through today.