“You’re doing a great job.”
That sticks. Not just because it’s kind, but because it feels real. Athena never says things she doesn’t mean.
“Thanks.”
We end the call. I get dressed—choosing wide-leg trousers, a cropped blouse, and low-top tennis shoes. I check my reflection in the mirror, and for the first time since landing in Italy, I feel more like myself. Fashion meets “flee the scene on foot” practicality.
I swipe on lip gloss, zip my suitcase, and grab my purse. Phone in hand, I square my shoulders with a renewed sense of confidence. I can do this.
I’ve got this.
I open the door—
Confidence takes a nosedive faster than my willpower around chocolate.
Ben’s standing in the hallway, all swagger and sex appeal, like James Bond had a fling with a Calvin Klein model.
I’m in so much trouble.
Chapter 21
Ben
Lagoverde, Italy
Saturday morning
I’ve seen fugitives facing federal prison look happier to see me than Cybil does right now. I set aside the blow to my ego, because as much as I’d love for her to look at me the way she did last night when she was tucked into my arms, I need to focus on why she lied to me.
She freezes midstep in the hallway like I just suggested we elope.
“Heading out?” I ask casually.
Her eyes dart like she’s considering jumping through the nearest window. “Just into town for a coffee.”
“Perfect. Me too.”
Her smile is the kind you give a dentist holding a drill. “Okay, have fun.”
She sidesteps around me like she’s evading a land mine. I let her reach the bottom of the stairs before I follow. Not because I’m polite—because I’m strategic. She’s hiding something. I pat the ring in my pocket, confident I know just how to make her talk.
If I can catch up to her. She’s out the door like she can’t get away from me fast enough, and it fuels my determination to know why.
“Why are you following me?” she snaps over her shoulder once we hit the cobblestones.
“I’m not. I’m going into town.”
Her hair swings off her shoulders as she tosses a scowl back at me. “Shouldn’t you be working?”
“Shouldn’t you?”
Her jaw twitches. One point for me.
Lagoverde is a riot of color and chaos today. The Festival of Masks has turned the quaint town into pure chaos. The narrow streets are a sea of people navigating street vendors, shopping at market stalls, and snapping photos of the curated displays of ornate masks in every color and style imaginable.
Cafés have spilled out on the sidewalks, their tables clustered together under awnings providing shade from the bright sun. We pass another coffee shop and Cybil isn’t slowing down. In fact, she’s weaving through the crowd like—she’s trying to lose me.
I pick up my pace just in time for a street performer in a bone-white mask to block my path and wave glittery ribbons in my face.
