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“Even strangers are capable of having polite conversations.”
“Is that what you want?” She turned back to him, sipping her ice water.
“I want to know more about you,” he admitted, with a grudging note in his voice. He’d changed too, from the business shirt and jeans and into khaki shorts and a polo shirt that emphasized the contours of his ridged abdomen.
“Such as?”
He visibly weighed his words. “Where are you from?”
A weight settled in her chest. Her past was hard enough to contemplate, let alone discuss. She took a sip of water, then placed her hands in her lap, pleating a napkin several times.
“Is it some great secret?” He prompted cynically. “Perhaps a criminal record you don’t want to expose?”
“No,” she forced a tight smile, but it was obvious that he wasn’t fooled. Curiosity stirred in the depths of his gaze. “It’s just not particularly interesting.”
“Then bore me,” he said. “We’re stuck here together, for days.”
Butterflies flapped their wings inside her tummy. She would keep the details brief. He was asking a simple biographical question—he didn’t need to know the awful truth of her childhood. He wouldn’twantthat knowledge. “I lived in rural Victoria, then moved to Melbourne when I was fifteen.”
“And London?”
“A year and a half ago. I think you already know that?”
His eyes narrowed. “Why did you move overseas?”
“Why not?”
He leaned forward a little. “If you don’t want to answer, just say so.”
“I thought I had.”
“Then what would you prefer to talk about?” He sipped his wine. “Where I grew up? But you already know that. You know far more about me than I do you, courtesy of my father.”
She couldn’t deny it. “He was very proud of you. He spoke of you often.”
Anastasios straightened, his body very still. “We agreed not to discuss him.”
But the words were tinged with regret, as though he wanted to hear her recollections, even when the circumstances bothered him.
“If that’s what you want.”
The silence that fell between them was prickly, punctuated only by the gentle hush of the waves against the boat’s edges. “Where are we?”
“Just out from the Ligurian coastline. See those lights over there?”
She followed the direction of his finger, trying not to be overly aware of the way the breeze rustled his hair. She made a noise of agreement, focusing on the twinkling city in the distance.
“That’s Genoa.”
“Italy?” She sighed softly. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“Where, in particular?”
“Rome, of course.” She pulled a face. “Florence, Venice. The tourist hotspots.”
At his dubious expression, she bit back a genuine laugh. “Iama tourist,” she said with a shrug. “What do you expect from me?”
“I suppose it’s understandable. But Italy has so much to offer, so many places of beauty.”
