He flashed a charming smirk. “Call me Edward, please.”
I glanced at Rennie, who was still gaping at the cannon, hands on his hips and mouth open as if he hadn’t seen anything more beautiful.
“I will,” I said.
Edward pointed a discreet finger to his left. “Follow that passageway and turn right. Sandro is waiting for you there.”
“Sandro is—thank you!” I squeezed his hand on impulse and, after checking that Rennie was still engrossed by the dull cannon, I scurried away. Escaping had been easier than I’d thought.
My heels clicked on the white stones as I half-ran, half-walked towards the end of the passageway. When I turned right and found myself in another cosy yard, Sandro’s name left my lips in a whisper. For a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of a tall, dark-haired man watching me from underneath the portico. Eyes the colour of midnight lured me in. I ran towards him, my feet barely touching the ground. “Sandro!”
But the image must have been a trick of the sunlight and my imagination because, when I blinked, he was gone. I skidded to a stop. Wisps of my hair escaped my bun and were brushing against my cheeks. I rushed from one corner of the yard to another, checking the stone columns that enclosed it, but no one was there.
“Sandro?” I called.
Only the breeze answered. I stomped a foot on the ground. Tarnation. I was sure I’d seen him.
“Monia!” Rennie’s deep voice thundered in the yard. His heavy footsteps were beating at an angry tempo.
Wheezing, I leant my back against the cool wall and silently cursed him.
Oh, he was furious, if the hard slant of his mouth and the ice in his gaze were any indication. But the crushing disappointment souring my mouth was too strong for me to care about his mood.
“Why did you leave the group?” He took my shoulders with gentle hands, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “What are you doing here?” Fear sneaked into his words.
“Can’t I have a moment for myself? I’m a tourist. I was... touring.” Blazes, I’d never been a good liar, but at that moment, I sounded on the verge of madness.
“What were you doing here?” The tone of his voice dropped dangerously. The fear was gone, replaced by suspicion. His delicate touch on my shoulders was a stark contrast to the harshness in his question.
“You don’t answer any of my questions. I don’t see why I should answer yours.” I tried to shrug free, but he held me in place.
His grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm enough to make me feel the strength of his fingers. “Monia, this is serious. Tell me the truth.” He sounded concerned now, but I didn’t care.
“Sorry, but I can’t.” Throwing back his words at him, I shrugged free from his grip.
“Monia,” he hissed, but I didn’t bother answering.
I rushed away from him, angry tears burning my eyes.
