Page 43 of Promise Maker

Mrs. Martelli enters the kitchen when the loaf iscoming out of the oven. She’s lovely as ever with her auburn hair in aponytail, makeup subtle on her tanned face, wearing a high-low dress and flats.

“Solari.” Sympathy gleams in her expression. “Howare you feeling after that scare?”

“Not too bad. Thank you.”

Francesca walks in a minute later. She pauses onme. “You seem in better spirits.”

I motion to my camera. “This is helping a little.”

“Ah, it came. I heard Nico instructing someone onthe phone.”

“That was kind of him,” I remark and genuinelymean it.

Francesca joins her mother at the table.

Domenico appears in the archway, now dressed in aformal shirt and pants, hair slicked back, causing sweet pricks of heat allover my body.

Man, he looks good.

“Paoletta, quella pagnottaappena sfornata ha un profumo incredibile.”That’s too much for me to figureout.

Paolettalaughs.“È il mio amore che odori.”

I watch in awe as he walks around the island tokiss her cheek.

“Why don’t you use English, so Solari willunderstand,” Francesca calls out to her brother before biting her sausage.

He throws me a sly look. “It should motivate herto learn.”

I roll my eyes at him.

“I saw your clothes from last night,” Mrs.Martelli states, and it falls dead quiet in the kitchen. “You forgot to get ridof them.”

Domenico’s face hardens. He looks at me again,this time only briefly. It’s almost like he’s ashamed.

“Devi sempremenzionarlo?”he says to his mother, and I have a feeling he doesn’t want me to understandthatparticular conversation.

Mrs. Martelli slants on the chair, casting him asad glance.“Nico, ho paura per te.”I’mafraid for you. Even if I didn’t understand the words, it’s easyto discern her worry.

Setting the coffee mug on the island, Domenicoreleases a weighty sigh and goes over to kiss her cheek.

Then he waves toPaoletta,changing his mind about breakfast.

A jolt of electricity shoots through my body whenhe lightly touches my arm before leaving the kitchen.

It requires a few seconds for me to catch mybreath.

When I steer my gaze back to the table, I noticeFrancesca watching me with blatant curiosity.

Following breakfast, I roam the residence,snapping pictures. I do so until my camera runs out of space.

My heart doesn’t hurt so much today. Photographyseems to alleviate the grief somewhat.

On my way from the flower garden, I glimpseFrancesca in the main entry with a slender redhead. They’re holding hands andsmiling affectionately.

Francesca utters sultry words in their language,and the woman leans in for a long kiss.

She gently caresses her cheek before turning away.

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