Page 78 of The Thief

“No, it’s. . .everything.” She gives me another soft smile. “Give me ten minutes to get dressed, and then we can go to dinner?”

Once again, she’s looking at me as if I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to her, but this time, a faint undercurrent of guilt tugs at me. She’s wrong about me. I’m not a hero—I’m the selfish asshole who’s putting her in danger by refusing to let her go.

41

LUCIA

Ihave ten minutes to get ready. If I were a better person, I’d have already figured out what I was going to wear on my date, but I was busy with Angelica yesterday, and I thought I’d have plenty of time to sort it out today after I got back from work.

Oops.

I turn my closet inside out, trying to figure out what to wear. A black, knee-length, fitted sheath dress gets discarded as too business casual. I try on a soft, cream-colored sweater dress that hugs my curves in all the right places, but knowing me, I’m likely to ruin it by spilling pasta down my front.

Finally, I decide on an emerald-green wrap dress that was part of Antonio’s shopping spree from the day I got soaked in the rain. The V-neck is deep, the dress nips in at my waist, and the skirt is full and flowing, falling just above my knees. The fabric is a blend of silk and wool jersey, and it feels warm against my skin.

I don’t have enough time to do anything elaborate with my hair, so I just run a brush through it and leave it down. I pair my dress with knee-high brown suede boots and add a wrap for extra warmth, race through my makeup, layering on three coats of mascara and adding a bright red lip, and then, I’m ready.

I glance at my watch. That took seventeen minutes instead of my promised ten. I quickly put on my mother’s pendant, take one final look in the mirror, and head to the living room.

“Sorry about the delay,” I apologize. “It turns out that ten minutes was an optimistic estimate.”

He takes in my appearance, and heat touches his eyes. “You’re always worth the wait.” His gaze trails down my body and rests on my boots. “Those heels look like weapons, Lucia.”

I flash him a grin. “I guess you’ll have to remember to behave.” Those are fighting words to a man as dominant as Antonio. I might as well wave a red flag to a bull.

“Why would I do that? It sounds boring.”

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a flat box roughly the size of my hand. “I have something for you.”

“That looks like jewelry.” I give him a wary glance. “Antonio, you can’t keep buying me things.”

“So you say.” He hands it to me. “Open it.”

His tone gives him away. Whatever is in the box, it’s important to him that I like it.

I flip the lid open.

It’s a bracelet. But not just any bracelet. Six rubies, each the size of my thumb, are cradled in intricate filigree, with golden tendrils twisting and curling around the gemstones like vines. The rubies glitter and shine against the gold, catching the light with every movement.

I swallow the lump in my throat. This jewelry has been designed to match my mother’s pendant, which I wear daily on a chain around my neck. The filigree work is identical. The colorful stones are a perfect match.

This is. . . incredible.

I lift my gaze up to meet his. “You had this custom-made?” I whisper.

He nods carefully. “Yes. Do you like it?”

“I love it.” I blink the tears away before they have a chance to fall. If my mother were still alive, she would pull me aside and tell me that Antonio is a keeper. “When did you commission it?”

He doesn’t answer my question right away. “Show me your arm,” he says instead. I extend my right hand toward him, and he fastens the bracelet around my wrist. “I had it made the day you stole my painting from Daniel’s apartment.”

“Once again, not your painting,” I reply automatically, and then his words sink in. “Hang on, the day I stole the painting from Daniel Rossi’s apartment? But that was only the second time we met. You didn’t know me at all.”

“But I wanted to. Besides, I like to think positively.” He winks at me. “What is the thing that self-help books recommend you do? Manifest.”

I have to struggle not to giggle. “You manifested that I’d sleep with you?” I tease, but his expression turns serious.

“I didn’t know what would happen between us, Lucia. I hoped something would, yes, but I would never take you for granted.” His fingers stroke my wrist. “I commissioned this because I thought you’d like it.” A pause. “I would do anything to make you happy.”

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