“I get the feeling you enhance everything, Georgina—Gigi—Dolce.”
“A simple kiss becomes—”
“Me discovering a spice that’s not on the shelf anywhere.” He took my hand, licking and sucking the smudges of chocolate from my fingers. Then he turned and headed toward the car.
* * *
He was quiet as he took in my villa in Costa Smeralda.
The light was bright as it streamed in through the many windows and bounced off the whitewashed interior. The villa itself was nestled between Mediterranean vegetation and natural stone rocks, which reflected the exterior. The entire place was a tribute to the island and the many beautiful colors it reflected, but no room could match the natural beauty of what existed beyond the walls, windows, and doors.
An infinity pool gave the impression that it touched the edge of the property, running over the slope of the land, flooding the second story of the villa. Beyond that were unrestricted views of Pevero Beach, bright white sand and water more like stained glass than liquid. Yachts rode the clear barrier, while below dark blue melted into the teal of the surface.
It was so beautiful that it was almost blinding, and it was so peaceful that I always felt as if I could breathe. The tightness in my chest, the one that kept my heart prisoner, set me free.
That was why it had been named “Le Grotte.” It was the most picturesque grotto—one with unmatched views.
“This your hand?”
I turned around to find Harrison staring at a picture done in black and white on canvas. The hands, drawn with charcoal, clearly belonged to a woman and a man, and they were intertwined, holding on tight. The same way he’d been in the car, when he accused me of being reckless because of how fast I was going.
“Sì,” I said. “How did you know?”
“I’ve seen your hands,” he said. “The guy’s hand—who does it belong to?”
Even though he’d seen my hand, not many people made the connection. He was perceptive.
“Ah.” I stalled for a second but decided to be honest. “Elias.”
He showed me a framed picture. My father was looking down at me. I was holding a white German Shepard puppy around the neck. His tongue lolled to the side. We were in a sunflower field. I was around ten. “This your Da?”
“Dad?”
“Da, for us.”
“Yes,” I said. “That was taken right before he left.”
“Left as in…?”
“He met an American woman vacationing in Italy.”
“Sorry to hear it,” he said.
“Do not tell my mamma that,” I said with a slight grin. “She said we were better off. You can always feel when someone does not want to stay. And that is worse than them staying out of pity or obligation. The feeling they do not truly want to be there.”
“You still talk to him?”
“No.”
“The dog?”
My smile grew even wider. “Vito,” I said. “He meant a lot to me. I would have another, but...my schedule does not really permit.”
Harrison set the picture down and then picked up two more. “I’ve seen these women before,” he said. “In Rome. My flight went there first. Who are they?”
“My family, both famous women. The woman on the left is Grazia Angeli. The woman on the right is Monica Attigliano. Grazia was my paternal grandmother’s sister. She was married to Marzio Fausti and was a popular Italian actress back in her day. Monica is a distant cousin on my mamma’s side. She’s also a model and an actress.”
“Must run in the family.” He set the pictures down, then turned to face me again. “You decided to follow in their footsteps.”