“We’re here for three days and then onto a yacht. Xander gave me a program that makes her phone lose service, and she’ll be none the wiser.”
“Good. I’ll push these papers through and wait for your signal.”
“Good.”
“I can’t believe it’s finally happening.”
“Yeah,” I muttered.
“Don’t sound so excited,” Archer deadpanned.
I rubbed at the growing warmth in my chest, flashing back to Vera’s giggles when we received champagne upon entering the private jet.
Then I remembered my grandfather’s cries when he realized he was losing his wife’s family’s company—the only thing he had left of her.
Like ice water to a fire, I hardened my heart. With an ounce less of confidence than before, I answered. “I am happy this is happening.”
“Good. Keep it that way.”
We hung up, and the long day of travel hit me. I went into the room and found Vera now sprawled, her lithe body taking up every inch of space on her side of the bed, her hand reaching out to my side like she unintentionally searched for me. I lay down and dragged my fingers down her open palm, unprepared for when she latched on and curled closer to me.
No doubts. I reminded myself.
I’d worked for too long and too hard to let this woman hold me back.
I refused to let this heat she created in me burn my goals to the ground.Twenty-SevenVera“Okay, I have to ask. What are you doing?”
My face scrunched while I watched him bend down for the third time that day to pick up a rock and shove it in his pocket.
“Oh, just a tradition we did with my family,” he explained.
He looked away and huffed a laugh. I watched him, intrigued by the soft curve of his lips as he thought over whatever this family tradition was. The Italian sun slowly dropped in the sky as the day turned to night and the reds, purples, oranges, and pinks glowed like the perfect backdrop behind his broad chest encased in a snowy white shirt. His dark complexion made him look more Italian than me, and yet, he still stood out as unique among the straggling tourists around the Trevi Fountain.
“My father started it. He would collect rocks at special locations everywhere we went, and my grandfather continued it for me after my parents passed.”
“I love that.” My family was based around traditions, but none that made me smile quite as much as Nico’s. “I had no idea. I’ve never seen it displayed anywhere at home.”
I didn’t even struggle in the slightest at calling Nico’s apartment home. If anything, I usually had to stop in shock at how easily it rolled off my tongue.
“Because I don’t have one. We’ve always just kept them in plastic bags.
“Were you close with them?”
“Very,” he said, his gaze dropping. When he looked back, he had a small tilt to his lips but tinged with sadness. “We always traveled together. My dad said that just because work pulled him away from home, it didn’t have to pull him away from his family. He was a good man.”
“He sounds like it.”
“When I was too young to travel too much, he’d bring the rocks back to us until we could start collecting them together. Mom complained about them being shoved in a bag in a drawer but eventually rolled her eyes when my dad would tell her there were more important things than decoration. She’d argue because she really did love to decorate, but he’d swoop in and let her know he’d rather dance.”
“My mama and papa would dance around the kitchen all the time. I loved watching them.”
“Did they have an arranged marriage?”
“Yes, and Mama hated Papa when she first married him,” I explained, laughing.
“Then why did she marry him?”
“The arranged marriage. My family was built around traditions. My great-grandparents came to the US from Italy and set up Mariano Shipping with the archaic tradition they brought with them from a strict family in Italy. It just stuck.”
“Until you.”
“Until me,” I agreed. “I always wanted a marriage like theirs. I never saw when they struggled. Of course, I saw them fight. My mother was a passionate Italian woman, which she said was how she earned Papa’s respect. She said after that, they slipped into love without her even knowing. They worshipped each other, and it destroyed the core of my father when she died. I guess I just never realized how much until now. He hasn’t been the man I remember raising me.”
A veil slid over Nico’s eyes like it usually did when I mentioned my father. I assumed it happened because of how we ended up in this situation, but a part of me wondered if there was more.
An awkward silence stretched, and I struggled to fill the void. The day had been nice. We’d talked about the history; he’d explained his favorite parts of Rome, and we ate entirely too much food. We’d been typical tourists, and he’d been kind enough to take pictures of me whenever I asked. He’d even humored me when I asked him to take selfies with me.