Page 48 of Broken Rules
He nodded.
A glint of excitement shone in the old woman’s eyes. “He has something of yours,” she said to Savannah who turned and looked expectantly at Damien.
He stood and reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a silver bracelet.
Savannah’s gaze darted from Damien to her nonna, and then to the bracelet. Confused, her brows drew together, and then suddenly, she was awash in a flood of memory. A soft gasp fled her lips. She remembered...the field trip to the children’s home, getting lost when she went to the bathroom, and then the sound of a child crying...“I remember you,” she whispered.
His lips curved in a slight smile. “I remember you, too. I remembered you the first moment I saw you standing on the bed, wielding that lamp like a sword.”
“Sister Maria thought the world of you,” Nonna interjected, drawing Damien’s gaze.
He nodded. “She stayed in touch with me, even after I was placed in foster care. I doubt I would have finished high school had it not been for her encouragement.”
“Clearly, my granddaughter thinks the world of you, too.” Nonna gave him an assessing look. “You’ve not lived up to your potential.”
“I know,” he said simply.
“It’s not too late.”
Damien squeezed the old woman’s hand. “I will be a better man. I promise you.”
Nonna smiled approvingly.
Savannah witnessed their exchange, dumbstruck. She shook her head, at last finding her voice. “I...I can’t believe I didn’t see it.” She continued to shake her head in bewildered awe, and then she was struck by a new realization. “No wonder I couldn’t keep away from you. I’m not just some weak glutton for bad boys. Somehow, I knew...I knew we had met before.” She took the bracelet from his hand. “I remember now.”
“I never forgot.”
They locked eyes. For a moment, he was the little boy and she the little girl. She reached out, took his hand, and turned it so that his palm faced up. Then she placed her bracelet in the center and closed his fingers over it. “I gave this to you once. I’m giving it to you again.”
His gaze held hers. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Savannah’s heart brimmed fuller with every passing moment. Then she stretched on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I can’t believe its you. I always wondered what happened to you.”
He flashed his devastating smile. “I never stopped wondering about you.”
“This calls for a celebration,” Nonna exclaimed. “Music, we need music.” She held up her gnarled hands. “What I would give to play the piano again, but my fingers refuse to cooperate these days.” Then she pointed over to where her piano stood, covered in family photos and stacks of sheet music and said to Damien, “I’m certain it’s out of tune, but would you humor an old woman?”
Savannah smiled. “Nonna, I don’t know if he plays.”
Damien laughed. “That’s because you’re not psychic.” Then he turned and dipped his head to her grandmother. “It would be an honor. Have you a particular piece in mind?”
Nonna didn’t hesitate. “Moonlight Sonata.”
Breathless, Savannah’s gaze followed his tall, sleekly-muscled body as he crossed the room, folded back the piano lid and sat on the bench. His back straight and long fingers extended, he closed his eyes and began to play.
Slow, anguishing beauty poured forth from his fingertips. Savannah had heard the haunting melody a hundred times before, but that night it’s sadness struck her to her core. She watched him play, taking in his beautiful profile, his nimble, confident fingers. What a life he had known. She could not get the image of a baby being thrown into a dumpster out of her mind or the image of him as the little boy in the vast, cold dormitory. Her heart broke over and over again with each mournful note.
After the final notes faded, Damien surprised Nonna with a lively Italian folk song. It was a magical evening, and for the first time in more than a year, Savannah wished that Nonna would remember every detail.
When it was time to leave, Savannah carried her to bed and tucked her in and said what she always said. “Your overnight nurse, Janet, will be here soon. I love you, Nonna. You’re my woman.”
“You’re my gal,” came her grandmother’s practiced reply.
As she and Damien stepped out into the night, she wove her arm through his. “So really, we’re like old friends.”
He smiled. “We certainly are.” Then his expression grew serious. “After I took my mask off, I waited to see if you recognized me. When you didn’t, I just thought it might be best to make a fresh start.”
“You don’t need to worry. I’m not mad. I love that we have a history. It also makes me feel way less reckless, which is a massive relief.”
