Page 13 of Enduring Caine
Giovanni knocked on the table, cutting off the discussion with a pointed look at Leonardo. “You’d be wise to remember she’s our guest. If you can’t, you can eat with the others.”
Leonardo’s face flushed, his shoulders tightening. This man was not happy about our visit. “Mi dispiace, signore.”
“And in English at the dinner table, so Cesca can practice.”
“Of course, sir.”
Gio turned to address someone who entered the room from the door behind me. “All arranged?”
I picked up my wineglass as the man—dressed in the black pants and T-shirt outfit all the guards wore—approached Giovanni from the side. In my periphery, he didn’t stand out, at home with the other men at the table with their rich olive complexions and variations of short to medium black hair.
The newcomer leaned down to whisper in Giovanni’s ear. I made out snippets of the conversation, about a half-hour drive, a studio, and Antonio’s name came up a few times. The context was lost on me, but it seemed to be about what they were doing tomorrow.
I took a sip and swallowed, placing my glass down as the man straightened. The motion caught my attention and I looked at him.
Oh, god.My stomach clenched and all the breath rushed out of my lungs.
The man’s gaze locked on mine.
This was not happening. He was not here.
“I’m tired.” I tugged, dragged, forced my eyes to move over to Antonio. To my rock. My words tumbled out too fast, but my brain was fuzzy and heart raced. “I think I’m going to skip the rest of the meal.”
“Of course, amore.” Antonio stood from his chair and pulled mine out, leaning close enough to whisper, “You look rather gray. Are you alright?”
The man was Vincenzo Romano.
We’d gone through art crimes postgrad together ten years ago. Threw our coins into the Trevi Fountain. Spent every waking moment in each other’s company—and beds—for months.
He’d sworn he loved me and would move to the States to be with me. Memories of Vin’s empty promises had made me doubt Antonio’s feelings for far too long. And here he was. Inspiring a rapidly shifting series of emotions, from shock to anger to sadness and back to shock again.
I was going to be sick.
“I can’t…” I swayed closer to Antonio, inhaling his vanilla and amber cologne, feeling the heat of his body next to me, searching for calm. “I don’t feel well. I think I need to get to bed.”
The other men all stood.
Gio spoke to Vincenzo. “Escort her up to her room.”
“No, I—” I gripped Antonio’s good arm. “I can go myself.”
Vin’s eyes bored into me. There was no hint of surprise on his face. Someone must have told him I was here. “I’d be happy to.”
I needed to run. Get away from the room, from him, from all the attention on me. I slipped my fingers off Antonio’s arm, rubbing them together to combat the pins and needles shooting up my arm.
Antonio took my elbow. “I’ll take her and come back to finish the meal.”
“This is why I have staff, Antonio.” Giovanni’s smile slipped from his eyes, the pleasantries obviously neither an offer nor a request.
“I insist.” Antonio’s hand traveled down to mine and he gave it a squeeze. He knew my numb fingers were a sign of panic. “She’s not feeling well and I’d be remiss in my boyfriend duties if I didn’t.”
“Indeed you would.” Giovanni nodded. “My man will take you both up and ensure you don’t get lost on your way back. We have a great deal of catching up to do.”
Chapter 7
Antonio
Thereflectionstaringbackat me was almost a stranger. Haggard and beaten. The bandages around my right bicep sported a hint of blood, a consequence of over-exerting myself with my bag, plus sleeping on it on the plane, not to mention every damn thing I dinged it on.