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“Yes, of course. He says with the right guidance, you could make your mark on Etruscology. And he told me about the documentary.” My heart sank. He knew all about my discovery. And what did he mean “with the right guidance”? That I was incapable of doing any impactful work on my own?

He squeezed my hand. “Tomorrow, we’ll meet after breakfast, you’ll tell me about it then?”

I nodded. “Of course, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

He smiled and walked away with his colleague, and I let out a deep breath.

There. I’d done it. I’d approached Signore Visconti. I had an interview set up. I was sure I could convince him that I was more than just a gullible grad student who needed guidance. I had ideas. Good ones, and if I got that fellowship, I’d finally be able to finance them.

The world suddenly seemed more expansive, full of potential, and dare I hope—joy.

I pressed my fingers to my lips where I could still the ghost of Levi’s kiss and headed back toward the maze where I’d left him. But when I got back, he wasn’t waiting to sweep me into his arms again. He was facing off with Sabrina.

Uh-oh. I quickened my pace so that I could intervene.

“Well, Simba?” Sabrina asked. “What did you do to her?”

“How do you know I did anything to her?”

“There’s only one thing that would put that blissed-out expression on her face.” Oh god, was I that obvious?

Sabrina came closer and jabbed her fingers at him. I opened my mouth to call her off just as Levi said, “Look, it was nothing. Just a little kiss. I owed it to her. Now we’re good. It will never happen again.”

I skidded to a halt, but not quick enough. Levi’s eyes met mine. “Indy, fuck . . .”

“No, go on, don’t let me interrupt you. I believe you were about to say that I could never be anything more than your friend’s little sister. Just Indy, right?” I spun around blindly and ran for the house.

God, how could I have been so stupid again? I’d promised myself I wouldn’t let him back in, but it was impossible when our lives were so entwined. I couldn’t put up walls around someone who was already a part of me.

Footsteps pounded into the gravel behind me and Levi grabbed my arm. “Indy, you weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you didn’t want me to know that you still see me as an obligation.”

“Dammit, Indy, I didn’t mean it.”

I spun back around. “No? What did you mean, Levi? You didn’t mean it when you kissed me—twice by the way! And you didn’t mean it when you had your hand under my shirt, moaning my name.”

“Stop!” he pleaded. “I was trying to make sense of what I did back there. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore.”

“You regret it then?”

“I . . . I don’t know. I don’t want to ruin things with you. You mean too much to me and I . . .” He looked up at the sky and took a deep breath, “I never wanted to think about you that way. But I did . . . I do.”

The desperation in his voice almost broke me. I blinked tears from my eyes. “I wish I didn’t think about you either. But that’s never going to happen.”

Chapter 22

Diana

Ispent the rest of the afternoon avoiding Levi. I wasn’t sure what excuse he’d use for me not being at the dancing lesson, but I didn’t care. He’d given me whiplash from all the emotions he’d made me feel today, and I was in no mental state to keep pretending we were a happy couple. To think I’d naïvely thought that maybe, just maybe, Levi had feelings for me. When would I ever stop being such a naïve, lovesick little fool?

By the time I had to get ready for the awards dinner, I’d worked myself up into an angry tempest, storming around the room, flinging makeup, lingerie, and my dress on the bed. All while ruminating about Levi’s lame excuses. He didn’t want to think of me as anything other than “just Indy,” his best friend’s little sister. But he’d admitted that he did want me and that he had wanted me even when we were younger.

I wanted to kiss you back then. And it wasn’t the first time.

I thought of all those other “almost” moments in the past. They came to me in flashes—him rubbing sunscreen on my face, hands lingering too long, half-closed eyelids, the time he’d “accidentally” held my hand in the woods, how he’d held me last night as I trembled in bed—not from cold but from being near him.

Then, of course, there was what he’d done to me this morning. His hands up my shirt, lips on my neck. He wanted me, whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not. And I was going to remind him of that fact tonight.