Page 24

C ontessa

I come around to the heat of the sun on the side of my face and the feel of someone’s fingers teasing my hair behind my ear. I open my eyes and see Benito Bernadi hovering over me with a look of concern on his face.

“Still alive then.” His furrowed brow doesn’t ease up.

“I’m sure you can do many things Bernadi, but don’t add ‘death by orgasm’ to your repertoire just yet.” I push myself up to my elbows and note that at least he had the decency to close my legs.

“Damn.” His lips break a smile and he holds out my two-piece and skirt.

I slowly sit up and slide off the hood of the car. Bernadi turns away while I dress, which seems a little counterintuitive now I have no modesty left to protect.

“Done,” I say in a slightly shy voice. I avert my gaze as he turns back around. Setting eyes on him, even after what we just did, makes me feel weak.

Though I’m not looking directly at him, I know his feet are braced on the sand but his stance is relaxed. I know his jacket was discarded long ago and his sleeves rolled up before he opened my legs. I know his hair is mussed up from where I grabbed at it.

“You ready to go home now?”

And I know his voice has never sounded so soft.

I nod because I don’t feel confident enough to open my mouth.

He tips his head toward my car. “Let’s go.”

I buckle myself into the passenger seat and lift the towel-wrapped jewelry box onto my lap, then fix my gaze straight ahead as we drive back along the freeway. Every now and then, I can’t help my gaze from drifting to the side. The muscles beneath his forearm dance each time he turns the wheel and his thumb taps against it to a beat I can’t hear. On anyone else it would look like a nervous tic, but I’m pretty certain Benito Bernadi doesn’t do nerves.

My gaze slides upward and I get a glimpse of inked chest through the button holes of his shirt. Up some more and I take in his jawline. It’s so angled and precise, jutting occasionally as his thumb taps the wheel. I can’t see his scar from this side but the rest of his face is untouched and frighteningly beautiful. His eyes glisten bronze beneath unreasonably perfect, thick lashes and his dark hair cut close to the nape, longer on top, gives him a tense, controlling edge.

“What is that?” His voice makes me startle.

I follow his brief glance to the bundle on my knees and I carefully unwrap the towel. Once free, I lift up the box and inspect it from every angle, hoping it didn’t acquire any bumps when I hit the brakes earlier.

“It’s a jewelry box.”

“It looks special,” he says, glancing at it again before focusing his gaze back on the road.

“It is. It belonged to my mother. I always wanted it, but I never told her and she gave it to Trilby.”

Bernadi doesn’t respond and I don’t feel any judgement coming from him, so I feel safe to continue.

“I couldn’t ask her for it. Not after everything she went through.”

When the car slows and the wind dies down, I can hear Bernadi’s breathing, It soothes me, so I hold onto each breath I hear.

“So, why do you have it now?” Bernadi asks, quietly.

“Trilby gave it to me this morning. I guess she feels she doesn’t need all those things anymore. Not now she has Cristiano and a full life ahead of her to look forward to. And she knew how much this box means to me. It’s what inspired me to dance in the first place.”

He turns his head briefly. “You were inspired by a box?”

I’m about to give him a piece of my mind when I realize he has no idea what’s inside it, so I lift the lid and wind up the handle at the back. Music fills the car and I watch as the little ballerina spins on her pedestal, the diamonds flickering in the sunlight.

“Ah. Makes sense now.”

I let the ballerina dance until she winds down then I close the lid. “What about you? Do you have anything sentimental from when you were growing up?”

The light smile falls from his face and his jaw clenches. After several seconds of silence I turn to look ahead. I don’t know why but whenever I find myself in an awkward situation I have to make a joke. It’s a character flaw, I know.

“You probably don’t remember. I mean, it was likely decades ago.”

To my dismay, he doesn’t even quirk a grin.

Silence fills the car and my skin starts to itch with discomfort. I hate long silences. Normally, I try to fill them with sarcastic nonsense but this one feels unfillable.

I try again. “Or, anything sentimental from the modern era?”

He grinds his teeth and pulls the car off the freeway. We’re not far from my home but I don’t want to end the conversation here. It feels unfinished and as though the second he leaves he won’t want to speak to me ever again.

I remind myself that wouldn’t be a bad thing, because I hate him, right?

“I don’t believe in sentimental value,” he says, finally .

I open my mouth to challenge his claim but see his clenched jaw and snap my lips shut. Why would someone not believe in sentimental value? Perhaps if they’d never been the recipient of something worthy of being sentimental? The idea that Bernadi might not have experienced that makes me feel sad to my bones, and that shocks me. I’ve always been an empath but I’ve never felt sadness for someone else so deep in my core.

Something ill-advised but tenacious makes me probe him further.

“Didn’t your parents ever give you anything meaningful?”

He swings the car round a corner. “I don’t have parents.” I can see our driveway looming ahead, getting closer as Bernadi puts his foot to the floor.

Disbelief unhinges my jaw. “Then, who raised you?”

The tires of my car screech against the sidewalk and Bernadi pulls up hard and cuts the engine. When his gaze pans to me, he looks tired.

“If I answer that, can we consider this conversation closed?”

I hesitate, then I nod.

We both get out of the car and shut the doors, staring at each other over the top of my convertible. Then he tosses me the keys and replies, “I raised myself.”

The retort is out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Then no wonder you’re such an asshole.”

A devastating smile picks up the corners of his eyes.

“Get your butt in the house, Castellano.” He takes a few steps backward, in the direction of the main street .

“And where are you going?” I ask. “You know, your car is still parked on the freeway.”

“No it isn’t,” he says, a note of smugness on the tip of his tongue. “It’s at Cristiano’s.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh right, you had your men collect it?”

He doesn’t reply.

“You need a ride to Cristiano’s?” I kind of don’t want him to leave.

He shakes his head, his steps taking him further away.

“Your men are coming to collect you, aren’t they?”

His lips twitch but his expression gives nothing else away.

“Do you still hate me, Contessa?”

Time seems to stop as the growing distance between us heats up. His feet pause and he pulls one hand out of his pocket to wipe a thumb across his mouth. His focus on my response is unwavering.

I wet my dry lips then swallow. “With every fiber of my being, Bernadi.”

My heartbeat fills the next few seconds and just as the fire licking at my skin becomes too much, Bernadi tips his head back with a smile, spins on one foot and walks away.

I stand at the side of my car and watch him reach the street where a black car pulls up right on cue. He gets in without looking back and drives away, leaving me with a sentimental old music box and a head full of questions.