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"To warm up, while I begin dinner?"
I blinked, feeling the blood rush up to heat my cheeks as I realized that of course, he didn't mean to join me.
"Er, yes, that would be great. Thank you."
The barest glimmer in his eye made me wonder if he knew what I'd been thinking. "Come, I will show you," he said, leading me down the hallway. There were two doors at the end of the hall, and he stopped in front of one, pushing it open to reveal a small bathroom. "Leave your clothes by the door and I will dry them for you."
Inside, I fiddled with the taps until the water ran hot, then proceeded to strip off my soaking clothes and fold them into a pile. I hesitated, a little uncertain at the thought of leaving my bra and underwear there for him to dry. But what other options did I have—put them back on soaking wet? You're a freaking adult, I reminded myself. I set the clothes by the door and stepped under the spray.
The water was blissfully warm on my chilled skin, and I took my time, turning over the events of the past few days as I thawed out. I couldn't help but remember Luca's reaction to my words in the lab earlier, the intensity of his gaze on me when I'd mentioned the book. Or even the day before, when he'd urged Dr. Blanton not to take it to the university. What had been going through his head? What did he know?
I wondered if I should tell him about my own bizarre experience with the book. Would he believe me? I had a feeling he might. Would he have an explanation for what had happened? And if not, even just someone to listen to my story would be a relief. I wasn't ready to tell Vanessa, who would use it as definitive proof that the site was cursed, or Raheem, who would poke fun at me for letting my imagination run wild. But it hadn't just been my imagination. The denial I’d clung to earlier had faded. That flash of light had been real. The heat had been real. And the way the book had aged overnight—no, it had all really happened. And I had to tell someone. I just wasn't sure if Luca was that someone. I needed to dig a little deeper.
I finished rinsing off and shut off the water. My clothes had been replaced by a fluffy white towel and a pair of pajamas in dark blue: men's, with a button-down shirt. I'd be swimming in them, but at least it wouldn't matter that I wasn't wearing undergarments. See, at least one of you is an adult. I dried myself off and pulled on the pajamas, shivering a little at the scent of unfamiliar laundry detergent and a faint hint of Luca's cologne. The fabric was crisp and didn't cling at all, thankfully. I cinched the pants tight, rolled the sleeves as best I could, and set off in search of Luca.
I found him in the kitchen, his own clothes dry and his hair messy and damp. It looked soft, and I carefully didn't imagine running my fingers through it. Instead, I took a seat at the island. The smells wafting from the enameled Dutch oven were mouthwatering: rosemary and thyme and braised meat, rich and delicious.
Luca looked up, something flaring in his expression when he saw me, but he turned away before I could see what it was. "It will still be a while yet," he said, sounding apologetic.
"I'm just glad to be dry," I said, although I was ravenous. "Thank you for cooking."
"Certo," he said, reaching for a glass decanter of red wine. "In the meantime, here—from a vineyard owned by my cousin's family. I would be delighted if you would try it."
I watched him pour, the liquid as dark as blood. "Cabernet?" I asked.
Luca looked scandalized. "Absolutely not," he said, sliding a glass across the counter to me. "Montpulciano."
I inhaled, breathing in tones of flowers and berries, and took a small sip. I momentarily questioned the wisdom of a glass of wine when I hadn't eaten since breakfast, but the flavor burst on my tongue. "This is delicious."
He answered with a smile and took a sip from his own glass. "Would you like to move into the living room? It is more comfortable."
"Actually, yes," I said, "I was curious about your book collection."
He arched an eyebrow, a look of delight appearing on his face, and he opened his hand to gesture for me to lead. I did, crossing to the living room and running a hand along the spines of the first shelf as I peered close. It appeared that I'd been right, on all counts. His collection was mostly in Italian and eclectic, arranged seemingly at random—tattered Greek classics were piled atop a shelf of antique archaeological reference books. I saw autobiographies, classical fiction, and mysteries, as well as a collection of science fiction and what looked like pulp novels from the 1950s.
"Not what you expected?"
My expression must have betrayed me. I turned to find him perched on the edge of a leather armchair, long fingers loosely cradling his wine glass.
"Is there anything you don't read?" I asked.
He shrugged. "I am curious about a great many things."
It wasn't much of an opening, but I decided to take it anyway. "Are you curious about the book we found at the dig site?"
He paused, his eyelids lowering a fraction, but his expression gave away nothing. "I am curious about anything that gives such an unusual reading on my radar."
Feeling awkward to be standing while he was sitting, I gingerly took a seat across from him on a matching loveseat. "Is that why you suggested Dr. Blanton should…keep it to herself for now?"
I hoped I wasn't being rude, but he only tipped his head to the side, his gaze piercing. "I always recommend caution when dealing with artifacts of a sensitive nature. Especially with a site such as this."
“So you believe the site is cursed?” The words spilled out before I could stop them.
To my surprise, he laughed, his teeth gleaming white in his tanned face. "Cursed? No. But it is very old, and it tells a story we do not yet fully understand. What harm is there in exercising caution? Tell me," he said, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees, "what do you think of this book? What were your thoughts when you first saw it?"
There was nothing in the question to imply that he thought I had seen it before the others, no hint of suspicion in his clear green gaze. And yet, somehow, I felt that he knew. He knew that yesterday morning when we'd opened the lid of the stone box it had not been the first time I'd laid eyes on the book. My breath caught.
This was my chance to tell the truth—to see if he knew what it meant. And yet I couldn't seem to bring myself to speak the words. I took a long sip of wine to recover my balance, then simply said, "I thought it was an incredible find. I can't wait to learn more about it."
