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He says it too quickly––I can't resist staring at him with wide eyes. Who would admit that? But he doesn't look ashamed, not smug, either. Marco looks at me evenly. I'm learning how matter of fact he is about everything.
Taking my chin, he kisses me gently. His tongue glides across mine. I close my eyes, waiting for more.
"Filia," he whispers, "If you're worried about me being a playboy, I'm not. I love women... I love sex... No point in pretending I don't. But fucking around, hurting people for selfish reasons, that's not me." I open my eyes––his are burning like twin stars. "I'll never be like that."
"You don't want to be like your father."
He flinches. "Of course not."
"His actions had a profound impact on you and your brothers."
"Well, not all of us." Chuckling dryly, Marco puts his chin on my head. I want to know what he meant by that. But the moment is gone. He's chosen pensive silence, and I'm not about to argue when it feels damn good to be wrapped in his warm, muscular arms with Rome cast in the purple and oranges of a beautiful sunset behind us.
I'd joked that this was Heaven.
But maybe it is.
Chapter Seven
It's dark when I wake up. Marco is asleep beside me. I smile at his peaceful face lit up by the slowly lighting sky through the windows. He's done so much for me in such a short space of time. He even demanded I quit fighting against him and accept everything he’s offering. I agreed, sure, but I don’t want to be the sort of person who takes without giving back. I will need to find a way to soothe my ego and make it up to him. I’ll start by treating him to breakfast in bed.
Quiet as possible I dress myself in one of the more casual outfits he bought for me. All the outfits from the store had been hung in the hotel closets when we returned from our shopping trip. The ankle length red skirt and white blouse are impossibly chic. Being in Rome has upgraded my look so much I could be mistaken for a woman with legit taste.
Slipping from the room, I walk down the lit hallway until I reach the stairs. The elevator is convenient, but I have too much energy in me, I need to expend it somehow.This situation went from a horror movie to a missed connections romance.I still can't believe how lucky I am.
The beautiful lobby is quiet. There's a clerk behind the front desk, the only other face around. She gives me a look; I incline my head to indicate I'm fine. She nods back, returning to the book she was reading. Out on the street I stretch my arms overhead and groan. It's a perfect cool temperature. The sun will be fully up within the hour. Rome has been busy as a kicked anthill every day, but now, at this hour, I have the city to myself.
I find a quaint little bakery around the corner. The older man behind the counter is in the middle of helping another customer––a man with short dark hair wearing black joggers and a white tee. I don't mind waiting, it gives me a moment to scan the offerings and prepare my slowly growing Italian vocabulary.
"Grazi," the man says. His voice has a smooth quality that makes me perk up. Then he turns, letting me see his sharp cheekbones and angled jaw. His veryveryblue eyes. He scans me with them, saying with his smirkYes, I know I'm handsome, and I'm used to being stared at.He pauses to give me a second, longer look, as if he likes what he sees.
I have no interest in flirting with this man. Marco is probably still asleep back at the hotel, his muscled arm resting on top of the sheet. A little shiver passes through me thinking of returning to him, and at his face when I tell him I’ve brought breakfast. No, I have no interest in flirting with this admittedly handsome man at the bakery, because I have an even more handsome, attentive, and generous man waiting for me.
"Excuse me," I say to the baker. He nods as I lean over the glass counter full of treats. "Posso averne due..." I point at the glossy, curved pastries. "Cornettos? And, um, due caffè."
He grins indulgently. "Sei euros." I guess I did okay.
I pay him, then take the bag of pastries and the small tray with two paper cups of hot coffee. I'm so proud of myself I nearly walk into the man waiting for me just outside the bakery. "Buying breakfast for two?" he asks. "How romantic."
"It is," I agree, hurrying to walk towards the hotel. To my surprise the guy follows. "He's expecting me back soon, in fact."
"Don't get the wrong idea," the stranger snorts. "I'm not stalking you with some kidnapping plan."
My mind races back to the men in the alley. Is this guy with them? Is he pissed that Marco kicked his friends' asses?
My skirt swishes loudly in the quiet street as I increase my pace and stare straight ahead.Stay calm. It's okay.The serenity of the empty streets feels sinister now. I see the hotel, my breath coming fast and hot. It's still cool out but my skin is clammy.
The man is on my heels.
Bursting through the front door of the hotel, I feel his heavy shadow on me. My panic explodes; I whirl, screaming at him, hoping to make enough noise that the clerk hears me before I'm smuggled away by this scary man.
He gasps as my hot coffee splashes onto his joggers. "What the hell!" he roars.
"Get away from me!" I shout, dropping the tray, chucking the bag of pastries. They bounce off his chest. He stands there with his arms held at his sides, his face a mixture of shock and rage.
I pant heavily. I won't go down without a fight. I won't--
"Filia?"
