Page 5 of His Vow
Chapter two
Lucia
As far as the eye can see, the sparkling blue ocean stretches from the base of the cliff to the horizon. And I breathe the fresh, salty air in deeply. The simple things are always the best, and being able to escape from life, even if only for a few days, is definitely one of life’s pleasures.
No work. No paparazzi. And no more Pierre.
Antonio steps through the glass doors onto the terrace, carrying two glasses of red wine. Another of life’s luxuries: spending an entire weekend with my friend, doing whatever the hell we feel like.
Being with Ant eases the pinch of failure that comes with the ending of another relationship. The red wine from his family’s vineyard goes some way to helping too. He hands me the long-stemmed glass, then positions his body beside me, throwing a loose arm around my shoulders.
“You good?” he asks in his deep baritone voice that is so smooth it could lull a baby to sleep.
“I am now. Thanks for being here,” I mutter, peering up at his sharp jawline, softened by a day’s worth of stubble.
I’ve always found Antonio attractive. My teenage crush is a habit I’ve found impossible to kick, especially when he’s more handsome than any guy I’ve ever dated. The cute boy I spent five wonderful summers with turned into a six-foot-four, broad-shouldered, imposing figure of a man. All lean, hard muscles that not even Michelangelo could have sculptured more perfectly. When he enters a room, heads turn, and women stare with blatant desire before vying for his attention with laughable preening and overtly flirtatious moves.
While I completely get their reaction and sometimes share their awe, that’s not what we are to each other. Our friendship runs deeper than a pretty surface and is more essential to me than any other relationship in my life.
He taps his glass to mine with ating. “Cin cin. I needed this too.” The words are spoken so softly that I’m not sure he meant for me to hear.
I take a long sip, savoring the ripe blackcurrant flavor as it slides over my taste buds.Delicious. But still, a heavy sigh falls from my lips as my head drops back against his shoulder.
“I know it’s not the wine that caused that reaction, and you love being in Capri, so …” He leaves the words hanging between us before continuing, “Do you want to talk about what’s making you sad?”
“Not really,” I say, not bothering to deny his assumption that I’m sad. He’s always been attuned to my emotions without me voicing them and knows I’ll share my thoughts when I’m ready. Ant is a great listener, never judging me for making poor decisions. And I’ve made my fair share of those.
Why do I always pick the wrong men?
He squeezes my shoulder, and my sigh is softer this time. But I don’t elaborate.
“Fine,” he says, acknowledging my silence. “But just answer me this. Do I need to mess someone up for you?”
I know he’s half joking, but there’s still an underlying seriousness laced through his words, making my chest tighten. I love how protective he gets with me. It’s like being wrapped in a fluffy blanket on a cold winter’s night. I gaze up into the fiercest of scowls and chuckle.
“I’m serious,” he grumbles. “If someone has hurt you, then they’ll have to answer to me.”
“I’m okay, so you can stand down, big-guy,” I tease, using the nickname I gave him the summer he arrived in Capri standing a head taller than me. “Pierre is not worth the effort. He was more a plus-one when I needed a date. Good-looking, charming when he could be bothered, and flirty when my ego needed a boost.”
I step away from him, walking over to the low brick wall surrounding the terrace. The gentle sea breeze blows a few loose strands free from my ponytail. “I guess that sounds horrible,” I muse, brushing the hair back from my face before turning to face him. “What I really mean is that we weren’t that serious. It was a convenient arrangement.”
Nothing eases in the frown lines marking his handsome features. “Was sex involved?”
My eyebrow ticks up. “Should you be asking me that?” Whenever the question of sex is raised between us, the conversation becomes awkward, so I’ve learned to steer clear of the topic. If only he would too.
“Lucia?” he growls my name, demanding an answer. Ant’s protective streak sometimes has its downside.
“Sì, occasionally. Not that it’s any of your business.” Though this is my usual retort, it’s all a cover for my lack of sexual partners. Three—that’s all, and sadly, none of them were very notable.
He huffs out a breath, walking toward me, but this time, he leaves a couple feet between us as he faces out to sea. Tensionripples from the straight line of his broad shoulders and his clenched jaw.
I place a hand on his arm. “Ant, every time I mention having sex with a guy, you get pissed. So please stop asking. You know it’s been years since I gave up on my stupid, childish dream to hold on to my virginity until I got married. It’s old news.” I don’t want this to fester between us over the weekend, as discussing sex is the only time we ever come close to arguing.
Ant seems to think it’s perfectly fine for him to have numerous conquests, while I should live the celibate life of a nun. Honestly, imagining him making love to some faceless—but no doubt beautiful—woman is something I don’t want to do, so I get his issues with the topic. While we share every other aspect of our lives, he’s still a guy, and thinking about him having sex is just wrong. Plus, the days of wondering what he looks like naked are long past.
I slant my eyes sideways. “Are we good?”
“It wasn’t a stupid, childish dream,” he mumbles, but as is often the case, he doesn’t stay grumpy for long. And in the blink of an eye, he’s grinning again. “Now we’re good.”
