Page 110 of For Your Eyes Only

And my heart went with her.

With Michele gone, I’m alone in this small apartment where she grew up, where she came for comfort after I threw her out. It is a warm place to heal with the view and the scents and the sounds.

After all that went down, I’m not ready to return to the states. Franco said I could crash with him if I needed a place, but I declined.

Our family has a villa in the south of France, but I decide to steer clear of any obvious places like family property.

Hell, staying here was a gamble, but I took the chance since Andre was dead—not to mention, I thought I was soon to follow.

DJ shows up after lunch to hang out as I shower. These days, I can change my own bandage, and I don’t really need him anymore.

I glance over the door at his thick, bald head. “You know, you could head back to New York whenever you're ready.”

“What about you?” His husky voice is concerned.

“I’ll stay until she comes back, then I’ll go somewhere.” He doesn’t answer, and I quickly add, “I owe you my life, friend. I’ll never forget it.”

“Just doing my job. Glad I was there to save you.” He looks at his watch. “I figure I’ll stick around til Franco gives me the all-clear.”

Shaking my head, I’m hit with a surge of gratitude for this guy who saved my life, who brought me here for a second chance and waited as I recovered.

He leaves me to pass the afternoon alone, and I spend most of it searching for places to rent in Milan—just out of curiosity—and petting the black-and-white village cat I named Figaro, from the moviePinocchio.

He started snooping around a few days ago, and Gia threatened me with my life if I fed him. How could I resist this guy? He’s a charmer like me with a black handlebar mustache on his white nose, so I slipped him a few pieces of tuna. Now he’s my friend for life, or until the food runs out. Pretty much like most of my friends.

Walking slowly to the window sill, I scratch his neck. He responds by jumping onto the bed where I’m spending less and less time and curls up beside me. Stroking his black and white head, I miss her with an intensity I’ve never felt for anyone, not family or friends… What is left for me to do to prove myself?

“If she tells me to go, I’ll have to go, Fig.” I slide my thumb along the markings on his muzzle. “But I really hope she doesn’t.”

Later that night, when I climb into the bed alone, I look over at her side, thinking how accustomed I’ve become to seeing her there. Even if she’s fully clothed with her back to me, knowing I could reach out and feel her warmth brought me comfort.

Of course, I would fantasize about all the things I wanted to do with her, but none of it felt right without her invitation. I longed for things to be the way they were before with us—excited, eager, hungry, trusting.

Taking out my phone, I send her a text.Did you have a good first day?

Gray dots float, and I’m happy she’s there. I’m waiting for a text when the screen changes to the picture of us in bed from her Instagram. I told her she couldn’t tag me in it, but I also saved it to my phone, making it her contact photo.

Now she’s calling me.

“Hey, how’d it go today?” I can hear the change in my voice.

I’m not casual. I’m not indifferent. I’m eager to hear her words.

I’m in love.

“It was amazing!” Her cute little accent has grown thicker, and she sounds so good. “I got inspired on the train ride, so I sketched out two more dresses and a pantsuit. I wanted to show them I could do more than just costumes.”

“I’d like to see them. Can you send me photos?”

“They kept all my sketches, but I’ll take pictures tomorrow. They want to give me a tour of the studio, then I’m done. I’ll be home tomorrow night.”

Her words squeeze my chest, and I can’t wait to see her again. We end the call, and I’m already planning. It’s my last chance, and I’m making the most of it.

* * *

Bouquetsof fresh peonies are in crystal vases around the room. I think about the night she had planned for me, the night I nearly destroyed us both.

She had made her signature spaghetti, which I can’t possibly replicate. I bought spaghetti and marinara sauce from a restaurant down the street. I grabbed a bottle of Barolo, flowers for every corner of the room, and a bottle of champagne to celebrate.

---