Then, because I’m weak where she’s concerned, because I’ve missed the feel of her and I know I’ll spend the rest of the day wanting more, I tilt her face up and press a kiss to her mouth.
It’s brief. Chaste, almost. But it sets something off in both of us, recalling the memory of our unfinished business three days ago. Her lips part in surprise. Her eyes flare wide, startled, soft. I pull back just enough to see her reaction. Her cheeks bloom with color. Her breath hitches.
She's fucking glorious.
I pull back regretfully. I sign, Have you eaten?
She blinks, still dazed. Then nods slowly.
My mother answers for her, her tone easy and amused. “We ate together.”
I glance at her, nod once, then return my eyes to Liliana. I need to freshen up, I sign. She doesn’t reply, just stares like she’s still recovering from the kiss. It pleases me more than it should.
I step away, turning toward the house, but I don’t make it far before I glance back over my shoulder.
My mother has already begun ushering her away from the garden, one hand on her back, the other waving her off. “That’s enough sun for today,” she says with mock sternness, like she’s scolding a child she’s already forgiven. Liliana looks up at her, smiling faintly, then back at me.
I don’t look away.
My mother wraps an arm around her shoulders and leads her down the path, talking as they go. Liliana listens, her hands loose at her sides, her steps easy.
Something swells in my chest as I watch them. My mother loves her. It makes my heart full.
Dinner is warm and alive with conversation. The kind that wafts through the air and winds its way around the clink of cutlery, the scent of roasted lamb and garlic, of fresh tomatoes still steaming in their skins, and the faint, herbal sharpness of basil.
Mother’s done something extraordinary with the risotto tonight. She'd insisted on making it. It's creamy and rich, each bite grounded in saffron and lemon zest. The wine is deep, red, full-bodied, and smooth on the tongue.
Tomasso is seated across from me, his sleeves rolled. He has a glass in hand. He speaks animatedly, gesturing with a fork like it’s an extension of himself. He and my mother speak easily, like they always do. She treats him like a son, and has done so since we were boys. He calls her "madre" as easily as he does his own mother, and she doesn’t correct him.
Now, she watches him like she would a second son, laughing at something dry and sarcastic he just said.
Liliana sits beside me, dressed in a slate-blue dinner dress. The neckline is simple, the fabric soft. Her hair is pinned up, delicate strands falling at her nape. There’s a smear of pink across her cheeks that isn’t just from the wine. Her eyes flick between us as she signs, her hands graceful, measured.
I’m trying not to touch her, and it's a battle I'm losing by the minute. My fingers itch to graze her skin. Her profile stirs something deep in me. The delicate curve of her neck. The way she dips her head when she signs. I watch her more than I eat. She's so beautiful, it hurts just to look at her.
She’s getting more comfortable. She signs a joke, and Mother and Tomasso burst out laughing, obviously delighted. I feel myself smiling before I even realize it. I glance at her, and she catches me looking. She ducks her head slightly.
Dio, I want her. I reach for my wine to distract myself from the way my body tightens in reaction to her.
Soon, we're done with dinner. The dishes get cleared, and the wine gets replenished. Mother turns to Tomasso. “What have you been up to these days? Still chasing danger, or has peace found you at last?”
He grins. “Depends on who you ask. Giovanni says I attract chaos like perfume.”
“I'm not wrong,” I say, sipping.
Mother chuckles. “And are you still unattached, or will I finally see you walk down an aisle one day?”
When he doesn't answer, mother says, “I never thought your friend would either, but look at him—” she gestures to Liliana, a smile on her face, “—married to the woman of his dreams. Aren't you going to follow in his footsteps?”
I steal a glance at Liliana. Heat suffuses her cheeks. She brushes her hair behind her ear, hiding a smile behind her wineglass. The light catches her eyes and the curve of her throat, and my fingers twitch with the urge to reach for her. I tear my gaze away from her with deliberate effort.
Tomasso laughs. “Gio doesn’t like to be called my friend, so I’ll say this cautiously. But if my friend Giovanni can settle down, maybe there’s hope for me yet.”
I glare daggers at him.
Mother nudges Liliana playfully. “See the effect you have?”
Tomasso’s eyes flick to her, and his voice softens in the way it does when he's teasing. “Maybe when I find someone like Liliana, I’ll know it’s time.”
