Chapter 8: The Terrace

Renata's POV

"Reading my notes," I said. "That's an interesting way to say it."

"It's the only way I can say it without being sure."

"Be sure, then."

"I'm trying."

I put the pencil down and closed the Don's ledger, because my hands needed something to do.

"I need air," I said.

He opened the glass door at the end of the study without a word, and we stepped out onto a stone terrace above the garden.

The night was hot and smelled of cut grass and the sea.

Below us the pool glowed blue, empty, with one white lounge chair pushed against the edge.

I leaned on the stone rail and pushed my braid back over my shoulder.

Gianluca stood a careful step away from me.

"You have graphite on your face," he said.

"Where?"

"Here."

He lifted his hand and drew his thumb along my cheekbone, once, slowly.

His thumb was warm, and it was rough at the edge.

I held still. I did not lean into it. I did not move away either.

He didn't take his hand back.

I felt my breath go shallow and I made myself breathe slowly, because he was close enough to count it.

"Gone?" I asked.

"Not quite."

His thumb stayed where it was, on the bone under my eye.

I saw his throat move. His eyes dropped for half a second to my mouth, and then came back up.

I told myself it meant nothing, that anyone would look at a mouth that close.

"Why did you write to me?" I said, because I needed to say something. "Really. Not the alliance."

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