“And we are a clan who doesn’t discriminate because of those factors,” Nico shot back. “We welcome a lot of strangers here. She’s no different.”
“She is different. The last two nights—”
“Be careful. You protest anymore, and we are bound to think that you do not trust Angelo’s judgment.”
That had the man’s mouth clamping shut, stupefied over Nico’s words. The scowl disappeared, too.
“Has he not always been fair to us no matter what bullshit we give him?” Nico added. “I think we caused enough trouble as it is. We don’t need to start again now.”
Guilt flared in Michael’s eyes. It became obvious that it was no longer about her, and she watched in fascination as the two brothers silently communicated before jerking their heads in acknowledgment. Whatever had been decided, it had the broader man backing off without looking at her.
“Don’t let a stranger impair your judgment,” Michael reminded.
“I won’t.” Nico hesitated. “Give Peachy some time. You hurt her and there’s no taking that back.”
Something dark glissaded in the man’s eyes, but he nodded and stalked off. She noted everything down, from the struggle in Michael’s body language to the regret in Nico’s. Then he turned to her, reading her curiosity.
“He slept with my then-girlfriend, and he broke a mutual friend’s heart,” he explained. “I found out it was the ex-girlfriend’s fault and he had no clue, but that doesn’t excuse him from hurting Peachy.”
Peachy, the gorgeous woman from earlier. That woman practically glowed, a brightness that encompassed everyone she surrounded and had Anne torn between wanting to move closer or staying far away. She wanted to comfort Nico. But she didn’t. Instead, she waited for him to speak once more as he watched her so openly.
“I want to ask you questions, but not now,” he finally said. “Not until you are ready. I hope you can answer when you are ready.”
The lack of pressure and force, unlike Michael’s confrontation, had her body easing. The mess of her history and how Michael hit it spot-on had trepidation swirling deep inside, but she nudged it aside as she fought to live in the now. One look at Nico and she knew that even if she declined, he would still welcome her here—and that had her deciding.
Anne nodded her head. Then she held out her hand to shake on it.
Chapter 7
Anne remained a mystery for the rest of the week, but Nico didn’t pressure her and let her adjust to a society that wasn’t hers. It wasn’t easy with her inclination to be a recluse and her silence, but there was a slow, slight shift as she started coming out of her tent most mornings to pick fruit.
“Oh, you picked these for me?” Rosalia asked, dumbfounded while carrying a basket already half-filled. At Anne’s shy nod, the woman eagerly held out her basket while Anne carefully placed the fruits she had accumulated inside. He watched the exchange from a corner, understanding they already knew each other.
Rosalia engaged her in conversation, was contented with her nods, and left. Without missing a beat, Anne found the clearing where the kids were playing and where he often visited, too, to remind them of their class schedule. He did so now, finding Harry staying behind before an apple in Anne’s hand caught his attention. He bit back a laugh when he pointed at it and Harry’s eyes bulged out.
“Is that for me?”
She nodded. Harry eyed it, perused her, then plucked the apple and took a bite. A smile broke out as juices flowed down the boy’s chin.
“Thank you, lady. It’s delicious.”
“Her name’s Anne,” Nico said.
“Thank you, Miss Anne,” Harry corrected politely, waving the apple in the air. “Can I keep it?”
“Keep it.” Nico nudged the boy. “Go to class now, Harry. You are always late.”
Harry took more bites as he hopped along the way, trailing after the other kids. Nico blinked when another apple was held out to him, but he took it with a grin and met her gaze.
“How many more do you have hidden in there?”
She flushed, then shook her head to indicate it was the last one. His comment had him perusing her form, the dress she was given a plain brown but draped over in such a way that her curves were on display. No pockets, and he knew what those curves had felt like pressed against him. He swallowed and looked away, feeling like a lecher.
“I have to go,” he said reluctantly. “Do my tasks. Are you going to be…?”
She nodded, less wary than she had been the first time she came here. She walked away first. He stood where he was, watching her form from the back, a thorough perusal that he convinced himself was to assess her condition. Abruptly, he turned and shook his head, willing himself to think about his tasks.
The day passed swiftly. Instead of returning to his room, he wandered over to the secluded tent where the light was still on. Nico checked the time, hesitated, and sat outside, scraping the tent material until he felt a distinct stilling inside.