Page 90 of Bound to You

I let go of a big breath before pulling away. “Can I show you something?” He nods and I drag Miles back over the wall and lead him along Main until we get to Nora’s studio.

I push open the doors and lead him inside to the little corner of the studio that I’ve made mine.

“Are these all yours?” he asks as he begins to flick through the canvases I’ve got stacked up, all the work I’ve accumulated in the last couple of weeks.

“Yeah, I’ve be?—”

“Andwhois this?” Nora says, appearing out of nowhere. She walks up to my brother with wonder in her eyes and I can’t help but laugh.

“Nora, this is my brother Miles. Miles, this is Nora, she owns the studio.”For nowis what I leave out. I can’t bear the idea of this place being anything but exactly what it is right now.

“Nice to meet you ma’am,” Miles says, and I roll my eyes.

Nora just floats over to him and grabs both of his hands in hers as she surveys him. Taking in his tall frame and dark brown eyes, the light mustache that he’s grown in his time away.

“Oh my, you have such beautiful genes, don’t you!” She looks over to me and I snort. Miles looks over to me for guidance, but I just shrug. “It is so lovely to meet you, Miles.” She reaches her hands up and he brings his head down so she can give him a kiss on the cheek. “Is our Isla showing you her work?” She asks.

Our Isla.

“She is.” Miles walks back over to the paintings in question and crouches down, beginning to flip through them again. “They’re amazing. You’ve improved.” He smiles over at me. Nora gives me a pat on the shoulder before she disappears again.

“Well, I’d hope so. It’s probably been four years since you saw any of my art in person.” I see his eyes drop. “Sorry I?—”

“No,” he cuts me off with his hand up as he stands up. “I should’ve come back more.”

I sit down on a stool behind me, unsure if I’m ready for this conversation. “I don’t blame you.”

“You should. When I left, I was selfish. I didn’t think of you.”

I shake my head. “You never had to; I was fine. At college, I was fine.”

“Still, I should’ve been home more. I should’ve come to see you,” he sighs. “I didn’t think about what Mom and Dad would think of your painting or how they would treat you. I was so glad to be able to fly my own wings that I didn’t look back.”

“Looking back wouldn’t have done you any good,” I say.

“But it would’ve done you good.” He pulls over another stool and sits in front of me. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

I nod, fighting back the tears. “You’re here now. And hey, look where I ended up. If you hadn’t been jet setting across the world buying property in Italy, I probably never would’ve endedup here.” The words flow out of me before I really let them sink in. But it’s true.

If Miles didn’t have a house here that we thought we could stay at, we might’ve gone to Tuscany instead, or even Rome. If his place wasn’t being renovated, we would’ve had somewhere to stay when Caio found us. We never would’ve even seen Ruby Cove. Caio would’ve been a pretty stranger we met along the way, not someone who has quickly become maybe the most important person in my life.

“There’s that look,” he says.

“What look?”

“The look that says you’re never going back.” His words settle in my stomach, but not without creating a wave first. A wave of guilt that washes through me every time I even think of staying here. A wave of fear of the unknown. Of not knowing if I’m setting myself up for failure here, or for heartbreak. A wave that I can’t get rid of no matter how hard I try.

chapter thirty-eight

CAIO

It’s beentwo weeks since family dinner at the D’Angelo’s, when Isla and I decided to be completely transparent about our feelings for each other, and since then we’ve fallen into a comfortable rhythm.

She basically lives in my apartment now, only going back to her original room to visit May every now and then, and it’s perfect. Well, I think so anyway.

We’ve created an almost daily routine. We have breakfast together every morning. She heads to the gallery in the late mornings while I work here at the hotel. I offer to walk her to the studio most mornings, but she refuses every time, not wanting to risk me seeing any of her art, which I hate. I want to see what she’s spending all of her time on, but she keeps hitting me with “not yet.”

She works her shifts at the bar at night, bringing home some form of takeout that we devour before we devour each other every night. Fuck I’m addicted to touching her, there hasn’t been many nights where I haven’t fallen asleep next to her naked body.

---