Page 55 of Be Still My Unbeating Heart

“I know, under house arrest,” Bastian said. “But we have to consider it. Right?”

De Luca bit his lip, then nodded, though he clearly didn’t like the idea.

“I’ll make some calls,” he said. “But first…”

He stepped past Bastian and into the shop.

“What do you think is up with them?” Whitby asked. “Ex-lovers?”

“He already denied that.”

“When?”

“In the boat.”

The giddiness returned as he thought about the kiss. He smiled as he squinted up at the sun. It stung his eyes, but the rest of him felt good. Light. Sunlight warmed his skin and he almost wanted to twirl in its rays, but he stopped himself, knowing Whitby wouldgrouch at him. She might even make him go inside again, and he couldn’t do that. They had to keep going. If Arianna wasn’t the killer, they had to regroup. Come up with a new course of action. His life depended on it.

“What else happened in the boat?” Whitby demanded. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that little touch on your arm just now.”

He touched his lips. “Mind your own business. And shhh, I’m trying to listen.”

Standing at the door, he turned his ear, trying to pick up the voices within. De Luca and Arianna must have gone into the back of the shop, though, because their speech was muffled, and they spoke rapidly in Italian. Bastian caught only snatches, and even those he couldn’t be sure of, because he was struggling to focus.

He thought he heard the words forcareandungrateful, but then more words piled in, and his head got in a muddle.

“Perhaps he blabbed the secret ingredient around town and she’s upset,” Whitby suggested.

“Secret ingredient?”

“In the gelato.”

Bastian recalled the poster by the counter, which claimed their selection of ice cream contained a special ingredient kept secret by the family for generations.

“I get the feeling it’s more serious than that,” he said, straining to listen again. He tried to concentrate, even though the urge to tap his feet and twirl was overpowering. He swore he felt the sun in his veins. On the table beside him, Whitby whispered something in Latin, which only added to the confusion.

“Please, Whitby, I can’t hear with you doing that.”

“I’m trying to help you hear better.”

Another incantation.

“It’s not helping.”

“Just give me a moment,” the cat said, and Bastian felt a judder of worry for her. Whitby kept trying, but her conjurations never conjured anything. He didn’t want to ruin her attempts to learn witchcraft—if nothing else, it gave her something to focus on—but what if the delusion backfired? What if it got in the way of their investigation?

Or worse. What if she thought she could saveherselffrom a speeding scooter using magic…and failed?

Finally, Bastian heard footsteps approaching on the other side of the door, and he leapt into one of the chairs, crossing his legs and lowering his shades, facing the street.

“Let’s go,” De Luca said, voice gruff.

“Oh,” Bastian said in mock surprise, peering over the rim of his Wayfarers. “That was quick. I was just enjoying the sun.”

“You need to be careful, Bastian—” Whitby began, but Bastian hushed her and hurried after De Luca, who strode stiffly down the street.

“Is everything okay?” Bastian asked.

“It’s fine.”