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“I don't know if I want to leave,” I confess softly, and Vittorio tilts his head.
His thumb still on my face moves once up, then down, before his hand leaves my cheek. The blue gaze studies me in a way that no other has ever done before.
“No one but me, Gabriella.” The words, spoken from his lips for the second time, but hovering between us for the third, sound very much like a promise, but I dare not suggest it.
“Any time,” I whisper instead.
“Except for tonight. Tonight, I have a plan for us.”
“Plans?” Once again, Vittorio just nods, agreeing. I bite my lip, having no idea what him saying those words, one after the other, could mean.
“We leave at seven.”
“I'd like to have my clothes back,” I say, feeling a sudden need to forget what just happened and, of course, I had to choose the most unlikely topic of all.
The look I expected to receive last night arrives late, but it comes. Vittorio looks me up and down, even though I'm sitting, my body reacts once again. There is something different, something I don't recognize in this reaction. It's probably due to the short circuit in sequence that my nerves have suffered just now.
“Those look great to me.”
“I didn't say there was anything wrong with them.”
“You say a lot of things, actually,” he murmurs, and I frown.
“Should I keep quiet?” The question takes him by surprise, I notice.
“You won't get those clothes back.”
“Why not?” Another of those smiles that irritate me appears on his face.
I must be some kind of comedian in this man's head. Rafaella says Vittorio never laughs, and yet every time I find myself facing his scrutiny, I find myself getting this impression that he is somehow having fun at my expense. I let out a deep, impatient exhale.
“Can I please have my clothes back? I promise to only use them between these walls.”
“Polite words will not convince me to do your will, Gabriella.”
“What will?”
“What can you give me in return?”
“Bargaining?” I question and turn my neck, looking at the brigadeiros still untouched on the counter.
“Have you finished?” he asks, pointing at my plate instead of answering my question.
“Yes.”
“Alright.” Vittorio waves, indicating the direction in which I should walk, and I get up.
With bare feet, because I have been refusing to wear shoes indoors, now that I have this option, I walk in the direction indicated. Behind me, the Don gives me directions like “right” and “left” every time we come to a fork.
After a certain point, we reached a part of Vittorio's wing that I don't know. Even though I spent a lot of time exploring the place, the castle is huge. Even though this wing is only a fifth of its size, it is still a fifth of a castle. And to be honest, after a while, I kind of got bored of looking at the same rooms.
“That door” he says when we enter a corridor with walls completely covered in paintings, except for the last one, where there is a dark wooden door.
As great as my interest is in each of the paintings hanging around me, I really want to know what Vittorio is about to show me, so I make a mental note to come back here another time. It will probably take me days to see all the paintings the way I want.
I look over my shoulder as I stop in front of the door, Vittorio has his hands in his pants pockets and his shirt sleeves have been rolled up to just before his elbows on the walk here.
“Open,” he orders, and I reach for the doorknob. When I turn it, the door opens.
