Page 61 of Promise Maker

Domenico kisses the back of my hand before walkingaway.

Collecting myself, I enter the room and leanagainst the door after shutting it.

My heart’s finally calming now that Domenico isn’taround.

Shit. My emotions are intensifying.

Despite everything—the grief and the danger—I’mstarting to fall.

Are you disappointed, Dad?

A gentle caress pulls me from a peaceful dream.

My eyes flutter until the fog clears, and Domenicofills my view, looking like a mythical Italian God in the sunbeams filling thebedroom. He smiles down at me, and my poor heart leaps.

“Buongiorno. I hope you don’t get seasick.”

“Not at all.” I’m beyond enamored and ready to gowherever he wants. At this point, if he asks me to jump with him, I’ll gladlydo it.

“Good. Get ready.” He presses a soft kiss at mylips, then straightens from the bed and heads for the door.

I toss the sheet aside and quicken into thebathroom to shower fast.

Domenico is exceptionally great at this courtingthing. If he keeps it up, he’ll have me in love by the end of the day.

We drive to a pier in PortoEmpedocle,which isn’t too far from the Martelli warehouse.

Rodrigo and two security guards accompany us whilethe others wait behind, staking out the pier.

Domenico tows me to a yacht. He helps me on board,where a gentleman dressed like a chef greets us and motions to a table and seatat the side.

Once we settle down, he serves cappuccino andtraditional Italian biscuits, then leaves to prepare our breakfast.

I admire the backdrop, ever captivated. It’s solovely out, clear sky and a light breeze coming off the Mediterranean. Not toohot.

I smile at Domenico when our gaze connects. “Thisis nice. I’ve never had breakfast on a boat.”

He holds my hand between us on the seat and givesit a gentle squeeze. “We’re heading out on the water once we finish eating.I’ll show you more of the ports and towns.”

“Cool.”

My pulse quickens as he caresses my fingers. “Tellme all the things you never posted. I want to knoweverything that you love.”

I compose myself to speak. “There’s so much. Ofcourse, photography is at the top, but I enjoy music and dancing aside fromthat. There’s baking, too.”

“Baking?” he repeats as if impressed.

“Muffins are my specialty. I burn everythingelse.”

That makes him chuckle.

“Keep going,” he urges. “Tell me more.”

“Um, well, I liked going to the basketball courtnear my neighborhood. Playing with the kids. It’s fun.”

“Hm.” I notice how his gaze softens. “Do you wantchildren?”

“Someday.” I’ve fantasized about having a familywith him. My sixteen-year-old mind was out of control.

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