“Enjoying the view?”
I jumped up at the sound of that Italian accent behind me. Turning around, I found Camillo standing in the middle of the garden, his hands in the pockets of his black sweatpants, a gray T-shirt clinging to his muscular body, and the morning light shining in his jade eyes.
It was a beautiful and dangerous image.
“I like to watch the sunrise,” I replied in a whisper. I hated noise in the mornings. There was something magnificent about them. The chirping of birds waking up mingled with the songs of insects. Human voices always ruined it.
Camillo smiled lazily and stepped forward, the sun covering him entirely and turning his exposed skin to copper and gold.
“Are the clothes enough?” he asked, that dangerously intense, heavy-lashed gaze sliding over my body and making my skin tingle. “If you need more, let me know.”
“Okay,” I simply said, wondering if he had noticed the T-shirt I had stolen from him.
“Luca is worried,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on the horizon behind me. I, on the other hand, couldn't tear my eyes away from him. Camillo used to comb his black hair backwards with some kind of gel, but at that moment, it fell in silky waves around his face, framing his masculine features. I noticed hiswell-defined jawline and the perfection of his upturned nose. “He told me you went out last night and didn't come back until dawn. That you went to the hills.”
I hesitated a little and held my breath when his heavy-lashed gazed turned to mine. The jade outshone the golden hues of the sun, taking on a vivid shade of green.
“I thought I was free to go wherever I wanted to...” I murmured, even though I remembered perfectly well what I had promised Luca. I swore I would wait for Camillo's permission, but I didn't keep my word.
Camillo nodded slightly. “You can. But just because we have eyes in every corner doesn't mean the dangers disappear completely,” he explained, his voice purring like a lazy cat. “The hills are steep and rugged. If you fall, you could hurt yourself. Not to mention that you could get lost.”
“I have a good sense of direction.”
“But no word, it seems.” The harshness of his voice stung me and made me straighten up, holding his gaze. “You should apologize to Luca. He was hurt.”
Guilt washed over me. Luca had been so kind the day before, and what had I done? I didn't keep my promise. I disrespected him, even though it hadn't been my intention.
“I... I'll do that,” I murmured, lowering my face and focusing on my little toes peeking out from the brown straps of the sandals. “Since you took so long to come back, I... I didn't think it was that serious.”
“It's dangerous to go into the hills at night, Signorina Parker.” I swallowed hard when I heard his drawling voice, feeling my hands sweat profusely. I didn't want to be locked up at night anymore. “Why didn't you keep the promise you made to Luca and wait? Was it that important to go for a run?”
I turned slightly toward the sun, shifting my weight from one leg to the other. “As I told you when I first arrived here, I don't like being alone at night.”
“You're alone when you go running.”
“Yes, but I'm not locked up in a dark place.” I explained as best I could, not wanting to give too many details.
“Did you do that in Mississippi too?”
“Only when Aunt Lizzie was out or... or there was too much noise.” I admitted reluctantly and dashed toward the villa, hoping he would drop the subject.
I was out of luck.
As soon as I climbed the steps to the back porch, I saw his reflection behind mine in the huge glass doors.
“What is that ‘noise’?” he asked, keeping pace with me.
I didn't stop.
“Noise in my head, that's all.” I dismissed it, breathing a sigh of relief when I finally saw the huge white marble countertops, full of pink veins, and the light-yellow tone of the kitchen furniture. In one corner of the counter, white cardboard boxes filled with cakes were already resting, because Italians had somekind of pact with the devil that allowed them to eat a huge amount of sugar every morning without dying of diabetes.
Or perhaps those were the perks of living in a country with public healthcare.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Camillo drag the chair where he usually sat. He ate there every day, at the small round kitchen table. That is, when he actually showed up.
I made him his morning espresso and put a pistachio cornetto on a plate. When I set breakfast in front of him, he wrapped his hand around my wrist, pulling me closer.
“Did that ‘noise’ go away when your aunt was home?”
