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“I’ll be here,” I said, mindlessly allowing myself a few moments to admire his rugged beauty. If he were mine, would we live a peaceful life? Or would he hurt me like Desi does just because he can?
I looked away. He wasn’t mine. His intense yet peaceful aura wasn’t mine either. I was helplessly committed to a storm. I had to weather that storm.
Vito searched my face, then reached out and touched my cheek.
My heart leaped inside my chest. I hoped the bruise underneath the makeup in the very place he touched was still covered by the best foundation the little money I had could buy. With my luck, it had faded away.
I leaned out of his reach. “Do I have something on my face?”
“No. It’s not what you have on your face. What you don’t have on your face bothers me,” Vito replied.
Flinching, I raised my hand to the spot he touched. It was on fire, not from pain but from something I couldn’t understand. “What is it?” I asked with unavoidable nervousness creeping into my tone.
His hand went to my face again. This time, he raised my chin so that our eyes met. “Your smile. It’s too beautiful not to share with the world.”
Something that rarely happened, happened. A genuine smile spread across my face at the same time it entered my heart and made it flutter. This man was trouble, so much trouble.
“Perfetto,” he said, bringing out his Italian accent. Returning to his American tongue, he added, “Simply beautiful. You should smile more often. It really looks good on you.”
No longer concerned with the time or being discovered with him, I glanced at him with hope. “Thank you.” It was the nicest thing anyone had said to me all year. “Now, I really have to go.”
“Next week, beautiful,” were his parting words before he hopped out of my car and disappeared inside his Jeep.
A hint of sadness came over me. Pulling out of that parking lot and heading home meant I had seven more days of hell before I would make it back to the grocery store to see the light shining in Vito’s dark eyes when he looked at me.
