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“I can –,”

“She’ll do it,” Nico interjected. After all, if he left it to Michael, he might choose to stay heaven knew how long. Nico wanted him gone within hours of arriving. “I’ll see you soon.”

“You like that, huh?” She smiled as Dante bit into the crisp pear, her eyes shifting from the affectionate dog to the hillside they’d found their way to, covered with the fruit. Dante had led the way, she presumed it was somewhere he came to often. Either that or the fragrance of this sun-warmed fruit had caught his nose from the villa.

She reached down and ran her hand over his shaggy mane. Beyond them, the ocean glittered, shades of turquoise and silver, with beautiful boats bobbing on its surface. The outlook was one she wouldn’t – couldn’t – forget. Looking at it now, she realised this could very well have been the vantage point for the artist of the print that she’d first seen at Michael’s. That painting had come to be a touchstone for Maddie, and looking at the view now, she couldn’t help but think there had been something almost other-worldly about her pull to this place.

Had she known, on some level, that Nico would be here? The one person on earth – surely – with the ability to stitch all the pieces of who she was back into place?

It had been the view at first, the promise of a picturesque setting with the power to heal, but meeting Nico just seemed too fortuitous. She planted her hands on her hips and turned, her eyes chasing the villa. She could make it out from here, the beautiful white-washed walls, one covered with hungry bougainvillea, the sun glinting off the top of the roof, and she smiled, because Nico would be home soon, and when he arrived, she intended to be waiting for him.

“Come on, Dante. I think I hear his car.”

Chapter 11

“CAN YOU NOT BRING your laptop here?”

“I could,” she hesitated, fork halfway to mouth, her eyes devouring Nico in that way she’d developed, as though she could somehow store up all her sightings of him and drop them like breadcrumbs through her post-Nico life to make his absence somehow more bearable.

Unless…

Yes, that word had been coming to her a lot in the last few days. Unless. Unless what? Unless she stayed a bit longer? She couldn’t. Not without officially moving in with Nico. A new tenant had already been organis

ed for la villetta, when she vacated it. Plus, she had a real life she had to get back to at some stage. Ondechiara had been the perfect balm to her soul but it was a Band-Aid. She couldn’t hide out here forever.

Unless?

Unless what?

Unless Nico asked her to?

Her heart shuttled through her body but she quelled it instantly. He didn’t want that. He’d been emphatic from the beginning and she understood it. He’d been burned – badly – by Claudette. If he wanted anything more with Maddie than he’d have to spell it out. She would never presume this had meant anything more to him than he’d suggested it would: a bit of fun over summer.

And what did she want? It was a question she’d been assiduously avoiding asking herself. The answer nearly terrified her because on some level she knew she wanted the impossible.

She wanted Nico – all of Nico, for all time.

“So?”

She drew her thoughts back to the present, forcing a teasing smile to her face. “I think I’d likely find the view a little distracting?” She pointedly glanced to his naked torso, warmed by the sun and glowing bronze.

“I could wear a shirt.”

“Don’t do that.” She shook her head, her smile lifting.

“Ever again?”

“Well, maybe once I’m gone,” she forced herself to acknowledge, as though saying the words would make that prospect hurt less. They had three nights left. How had this last week flown by so quickly?

His expression didn’t change. It was impossible to think he felt anything in response to that, whereas she felt more than enough for both of them.

She barrelled past it. “I’ll just be a few hours. I haven’t been back in days. I should check the place is okay, get a change of clothes,” she gestured to the shirt of his she wore, not admitting that she far preferred it to anything else. “These are delicious.” She rushed on, changing the subject, indicating the eggs on her plate. He’d baked them in a ramekin, adding bell pepper, spinach, and a type of hard cheese. “Another recipe of Yaya’s?”

He grinned. “Naturally. She would add prosciutto and enough chilli to make your eyes water.”

“I like it your way.” Oh, no. Out of nowhere the sting of tears was cloying at her throat so she shovelled the eggs into her mouth then reached for her orange juice, taking a sip and turning pointedly to look towards the ocean.

“What will you do when the summer’s over?” She heard herself ask, as though she were some kind of glutton for punishment. As though the idea of life going on beyond this wasn’t something that stuck in her sides.

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