Page 43 of Beneath the Sapphire Sky

“Who are you trying to kid, Casellati?”

A beeping horn somewhere far over to his right answered him. He swirled the wine in his glass and sighed.

Belle had been under his skin for longer than he could remember. The thought of her being with someone else was enough to make him feel ill. And angry as hell.

Jealous.

He cared about her a lot. Loved her as a friend.

Loved her, period?

He tossed the idea around and gnawed on it, this way and that. The more he tried to disprove it to himself, the more the truth screamed at him.

“No…” His whispered word went unnoticed in Sydney’s busy Rocks. Faint music wound up from somewhere below, with the scent of freshly made pizza wafting on the warm evening air.

I love her.

He swore, closed his eyes, and shook his head. Why did he go and do something stupid like that?

Should he confront her, ask where she saw things headed, or did he leave it and just wait and see?

Did hewantto wait?

Part of him yelled a firmno. The saner, more rational part cautioned to bide his time. They had a great basis for a relationship; they’d been friends forever. That wouldn’t change.

“No,” he said, more firmly this time, and sat up straight.

He’d drop hints, mention things about the future, let her get used to the idea that he cared and see whether she’d want something more than casual. And maybe a sprinkle of romance.

Yes. That was the right way to go.

He stood up and peered over the edge of the balcony at the wide winding street that led to the restaurants and cafés of The Rocks and sniffed.

“I’m gonna get me some of that pizza, that’s for sure.”

His easy acceptance of how he felt proved that it had been there for a long time, perhaps all along. He’d waited this long for her; he could wait a little longer. He grinned into the night and tipped his glass at the Harbour Bridge, saluting it.

Belle wouldn’t know what had hit her.

Chapter Sixteen

“So, Belle …”

Belle glanced over at her brother. They’d ridden in comfortable silence most of the way to Bialga. Jack nursed a takeaway coffee, sipping occasionally, while she’d made do with an orange juice.

“Yes?”

“This thing with you and Dante, is it official?”

Belle clamped her lips closed and looked out the window at the early morning view.

She shrugged.

“That’s not an answer.”

She slumped back into the seat of his dual-cab ute and picked at a bit of window tint that had lifted in the corner.

“No. Not official.”

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