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Ax in hand, I continued splitting logs for firewood. The backbreaking work was keeping me occupied. Maybe I’d exhaust myself and stop worrying whether I made a mistake with Alessio earlier.
Had I misread him?
I didn’t think so.
He definitely wanted me. Those were signs I definitely recognized. And he’d stalked me for months. But maybe he wouldn’t act on it if I could get inside his head.
Cazzo. I had to figure out what to do, and jogging with him every morning wasn’t the answer. After today I suspected he would become frustrated. He wouldn’t want me using his attraction for me against him. That meant he had to decide to either fuck me or kill me. Hard to say which he’d decide on at this point.
I was leaning toward killing.
The ax cracked apart the log and sank into the stump below. I hung my head and panted. My arm muscles ached. I was not cut out for farm living. The men at the castello would laugh their asses off if they could see me right now, playing the part of a lumberjack.
And being stuck in my own head was not helpful. I needed another opinion on Alessio.
Months ago I would’ve called Frankie. She was my closest friend and confidant. Except she was married to my father and this complicated things. I didn’t want him to know about my current situation on Canna.
There was Benito, my cousin, but he worked for Fausto. I couldn’t ask him to keep this from my father. It wasn’t fair.
There was one other person. An Italian friend from when I lived in Belgium. Theo and Paolo had been close, and Theo and I stayed tight after Paolo’s death. He was good at reading other people and he definitely knew a lot about men.
It was what made him a talented fashion designer. Since leaving Bruges, Theo had gone to Paris and worked his way up through the design houses. Now he was the head designer at a world-famous luxury brand.
Deciding I was done with chopping, I carried the split wood into the farmhouse. I took my jacket off and started a fire, then found Theo’s number in a small journal I carried with me. The charged burner phone powered up and I began dialing.
“Allô?”
“Theo?”
A long pause. “Qui est à l’appareil?”
“It’s Giulio,” I said in Italian.
“Bello! Is it really you? It has been forever since you called me.”
I smiled, though he couldn’t see. “It’s me. How have you been?”
“Is this your new mobile? I tried to call you a few times, but the old number had been disconnected.”
“No. I’m without a permanent phone at the moment.”
“Oh.” I could hear shuffling, like he was moving around. In the background, a deep voice asked, “Où vas-tu?”
Theo answered back in French, then I heard him kiss someone quickly. I immediately felt guilty. I said, “I can call you later.”
“No, absolutely not. I’ve been worried about you.” A door slid open and I heard street sounds. “Besides, Nic can wait. I just let him fuck me into the mattress.”
“How long have you kept this one around?”
“Two weeks. It is a record, bello!”
I grinned, happy for my friend. “Congratulations. Maybe he’ll be the one.”
He made a noise of disgust. “There is no one. This is what I keep trying to tell you.”
This had been Theo’s way of consoling me when Paolo died. At the time it had felt as if I’d lost the greatest love of my life. Now Paolo was a dull ache in my heart, ever present but not crippling. I might never love someone like that again, so blindly and completely, and I was fine with it. I didn’t ever want to experience that pain again. Once was enough.
“But,” Theo said in a low, almost hushed tone. “I really, really like this man.”
