She snorted, but there’s no judgment in it. “Charming.”
“I was a different man then.”
“Were you?”
I paused, the question settling between us. I turned off the water, drying my hands on a towel, and turned to face her fully. She was watching me with those eyes—the ones that see too much, that pierce through every wall I’ve ever built.
“I was lost,” I admitted. “Angry. I didn’t know what I wanted, so I took whatever I could get. Women, drugs, violence—it was all the same.”
“What changed?”
You, I wanted to say.
The moment I saw you sitting at my bar, drowning in your own misery, looking like the world had chewed you up and spit you out. The moment I realized I’d burn it all down just to see you smile.
But I don’t say that.
“I found something worth filling the void,” I said instead.
She didn’t ask what. She just looked at me, and I see the walls around her heart—the ones she’s been so carefully lowering—flicker.
Then she kicked a spray of bubbles at me.
They landed on my chest, my arms, and a few on my cheek. I blink, stunned, and she bursts into laughter—genuine, surprised laughter that lights up her whole face.
“What was that?” I asked, my voice low.
“Bubble fight.” She grinned, scooping up another handful. “You’re too serious.”
“Am I?”
“Very.”
She tried to kick up bubbles again, but this time I caught her ankle and gently pulled her toward me. Her legs wrapped around my waist as she slid off the counter into my arms. Wet, soapy bubbles smear between us, but I ignore them, instead focusing on her laughs and squirms, trying to escape. Her laughter ringing out as I held her.
“Let me go,” she gasped between giggles.
“Never.”
“Lorenzo—”
I kissed her, cutting off her protest. When I pull back, her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright, her lips parted.
“Now you’ve done it,” I murmured.
She raised an eyebrow. “Done what?”
“Started a war.”
She attempted to slip free, and I let her go because watching her run was almost as good as catching her. She darted through the kitchen, bare feet slapping the tile, glancing back with her hair wild and my shirt floating around her thighs.
“Catch me if you can, old man.”
The villa was a maze of rooms and hallways, and she’s fast—quicker than I expected, darting through the dining room, skidding around the corner, her laughter echoing off the walls. I let her think she’s winning. I let her believe she’ll escape.
But I know this house. I grew up in it. And I know exactly where she’s headed.
Sure enough, I heard her footsteps slow as she reached the double doors, I heard her breathless pause as she realized it was a dead end. When I round the corner, she was standing with her back to the shelves, hands up in mock surrender, chest heaving.
