Page 33 of Die for You
I lock the back door and walk toward him. But something off to the right catches my eye.
It’s a bicycle.
Nico points at it with a smile. “For you,” he says with a strong accent, which just makes the gesture even more special.
I want to refuse, but truth be told, this bike is a godsend as it gives me a means of transportation. I don’t have a driver’s license, but even if I did, I can’t afford a car. So this is perfect.
“Not new,” he explains, but I don’t need new.
The faded blue bike has some rust, but its wheels are sturdy, and the cute little woven basket at the front adds a rustic touch.
Many people ride bikes here because of the winding, narrow roads, so I will fit in, which is what I want. Besides, most people underestimate those who ride a bike. It’s the perfect disguise.
“Thank you,” I say and stand on tippy-toes to kiss his cheek.
He freezes, which makes me realize what I just did.
It was innate, but I suddenly pull away, embarrassed for the PDA.
However, Nico softly grips my wrist, rubbing his finger over my suddenly racing pulse.
We lock eyes, and I see it—he feels this too.
Our chemistry is hard to ignore, and regardless that we’re lost in translation with one another, our bodies speak the same language. And right now, my body wants to be closer to his. I don’t know what it is, but he makes me feel…safe.
Deep down, I know that’s because he doesn’t know the real me.
If he did, he wouldn’t want anything to do with me.
I remember that when I gently remove my wrist from his hold.
Whatever passed between us disappears, which I am thankful for because I can’t forget who I am. But more importantly…I can’t forget what I have done.
It’s a lovely Sunday morning, and if circumstances were different, I would appreciate the beauty. But I’m being followed.
The market in town is packed with people. Locals buy their fresh produce, while tourists take it all in. It’s the perfect place to go unnoticed.
But I was trained by the best, and I know the middle-aged man wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and brown pants isn’t here for the infamous cannolis.
He’s here for me.
Friend or foe?
I don’t know.
But I will soon find out.
First, however, I need to ditch Nico.
He has been enjoying the market, talking to locals, and buying enough food to feed an army. I did say I was going to make us dinner, but that’s the least of my concerns now.
We stop by a fishmonger who waves eagerly at Nico.
This is my chance.
Nico introduces me, and I smile politely before saying, “Toilette.”
Both men nod, and the fishmonger points toward a brick building that is far enough away not to rouse suspicion.
