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His eyes widened. “You’re really that curious?”
She nodded.
“Maybe you found your calling,” he said, coming to stand next to her. “Maybe you are meant to be an accountant or perhaps a forensic accountant.”
She thought about it for a moment. She did like numbers, but not enough to devote a large portion of her life to it. “I don’t think so. I just can’t imagine me sitting and staring at numbers day in and day out. But right now, the curiosity is eating at me.”
He ran a hand over his still-damp hair. “What about Venice? It awaits us.”
She worried her lip. She was torn. Was it wrong that she wanted to do both things?
He held his hand out to her. “Come on. There’s gelato to taste and perhaps another gondola ride.”
“But—”
“And if you still feel like it when we get back to the ship this evening, we’ll work on the reports—together. Deal?”
She liked the idea of working alongside him. They did make a pretty great team. She closed the laptop and placed her hand in his. “It’s a deal.”
He gripped her hand as she got to her feet. She expected him to let go once she was standing, but instead he laced his fingers with hers and headed for the door. For the first time in a very long time, she didn’t feel alone, even when she was in a crowd of people.
When Lukos had gotten sick, she hadn’t noticed it at first, but over time, she started doing everything alone. When he’d been resting, she would grocery shop. When he’d been awake but had no energy, she would clean and cook. As time had passed, she’d grown used to going it alone. She’d forgotten what it was like to be part of us.
Roberto was helping her to remember how life could be. And for that she was grateful. And when it was over, she would help him with his project. Together it would be a good day.
DAY TEN
Sibenik, Croatia
EVERYONE WAS HAPPY.
Too happy. And that made him worry.
His grandmother sat across from Roberto at the table in her suite. They’d just finished a light breakfast. And he had yet to learn why he’d been summoned.
His grandmother held up the teapot. “Would you care for some?”
He shook his head before checking the time. He was supposed to meet Stasia soon for another excursion and he didn’t want to be late.
“I can see that I’m keeping you,” his grandmother said. “So I’ll get to the point. I owe you an apology.”
He sent her a puzzled look. “No, you don’t.”
“But I do. When you first told me about Stasia, I didn’t believe you. I thought you were dodging my attempts at matchmaking, which your grandfather said would never work. But I watched both you and Stasia over the course of the cruise. I’ve seen the way you look at each other and the way your face lights up when she’s around. I’ve never seen you happier. And I’m sorry I doubted your love for Stasia. You obviously didn’t need my help after all.”
Roberto sat there taking in his grandmother’s words. She was a wise woman. Had she seen something he’d missed? Was it possible he was falling in love with Stasia?
“Don’t let me keep you any longer. I’m sure you’re anxious to get to Stasia.”
It was true. He was anxious to see her. But did that equate to love?
He hugged his grandmother and left. All the while he wondered how he had let things get so far out of control. He replayed every moment they’d spent in Venice from her birthday to the engagement to dancing with Stasia at his cousin’s wedding. He knew he’d never ever visit that city without thinking of her. From this point forward, they were indelibly entwined.
Venice had changed everything for them. First, there had been the photo—the romantic photo—that had led to the kiss. He could still clearly recall the tenderness of Stasia’s lips pressed to his. His blood warmed at the memory of her curves pressed up against him.
She’d felt so right, there in his arms. And then as she’d opened herself up to him, it was all he could do to hang on to some semblance of reality.
How exactly had he gone from showing her the sights to giving her his grandmother’s ring?
He knew he’d gone a little over the top for her birthday, but there was just something about that day that had him acting out of character, or maybe he should say that he was in character as the besotted lover. He wanted to blame it on the prosecco, but he knew that wasn’t the case.
