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She bit down on her lower lip. “I know.”
“I checked the helicopter this morning. It’s sound to fly, so long as the weather holds.”
She looked towards a window. It was dark outside, and for the first time in nights, the sky showed a blanket of stars twinkling overhead, pinpricks of light against a black velvet backdrop.
“But it’s your family Christmas.” She bit down on her lip – a habit she had when she was nervous or searching for words.
“What else are you going to do, Isabella? You have no accommodation booked, and being Christmas, you’d struggle to find anywhere with availability. Come stay with me, and I’ll take you to the airport after Christmas.”
“The airport?”
“So you can go to America as planned,” he reminded her with a quizzical lift of his brow.
“Right, of course, America.” She was parroting him in yet another sign of uncertainty. He expelled a slow breath, trying not to show frustration. Just because he was firmly of the opinion that this was the right course of action didn’t mean she would necessarily agree. He busied himself in the kitchen, collecting coffee cups and dinner plates, carrying them to the sink.
“You could just drop me in Florence,” she said quietly, and every cell in his body rejected that idea. He didn’t want to leave her in some enormous city to spend Christmas alone. Knowing what the holiday meant to her, how could he do that?
“It doesn’t mean anything,” he said, cutting to what he instinctively felt to be at the root of her hesitation. “You don’t need to worry that I’m offering you more than we’ve discussed. Nothing’s changed.”
He had his back to her so didn’t see the way consternation strained her features.
“No, I know.” Her voice though was a little unsteady. He looked over one shoulder, but she’d turned to the Christmas tree where she was neatening the tinsel.
“Bene, do not complicate a simple invitation. Come to Villa Fortune; eat, drink, be merry with my family and then I will take you wherever you want. Okay?”
He couldn’t say why, but Gabe found he was holding his breath, waiting for her to agree. He stood perfectly still, waiting, one hand pumped into a fist at his side.
“Well, I can’t exactly stay here once you’re gone,” she said quietly. “And you should go be with your family right away. You should have left this morning.”
Yes, he should have. It had been the first thing he’d thought of when he’d woken, and he’d checked the helicopter with that in mind. But then one thing had led to another and he’d been hesitant to walk away from her. He supposed he still was – why else would he suggest this? It was, in many ways, ill-conceived. His family spent their lives on Gabe-watch, permanently worried about him, analysing his moods, interfering in his life, miserable at his state of perceived loneliness despite the fact he was exactly how and where he wanted to be.
He was torn between manoeuvring her into fitting in with his suggestion and facilitating her wishes. With a slow exhalation of breath, he turned to face Isabella.
“Would you prefer to go to Florence straight away?”
She bit down on her lip. “Do you really think I’d struggle to get accommodation?”
He thought of the apartment his family owned in that city – a plush penthouse near the duomo – somewhere she’d be more than welcome to stay until her flight. Ashamed of his instincts, he nodded. “The hotels would be booked. But you could try.”
Her face was impossible to read; he didn’t know what she was thinking and frustration nipped at him. Finally, she nodded. “I’ll see what’s available online.”
His gut clenched. He wanted to fight that decision with everything he was. He hadn’t expected her to opt for that. Pride held him silent though. Gabe Montebello was not a man to beg, and begging Isabella for a little more time felt like the wrong hill to die on. After all, her departure was imminent and necessary. This was a snatch of something out of time, but she would leave, and his life would resume its usual rhythms.
Gabe looked toward the window with a frown.
His usual rhythms?
Something like frustration rolled over his central nervous system. The last seven years felt as though he’d been living in black and white. Everything was dark and monochromatic, and largely silent, too, as though he’d been living in a Charlie Chaplin film but without the slapstick comedy. He couldn’t pinpoint when that had changed, but in the last few days, everything was bright again. The world was a multi-coloured orb and he a part of it. He couldn’t pinpoint when but he knew why.
Isabella.
Her head was bent, her finger zipping over the screen of the phone, a frown on her face.
Something worrying like uncharacteristic nervousness flittered through him as he strode towards her, his hands catching her wrists and separating them, drawing the phone towards the kitchen bench.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
