Page 22 of The Fixer

“And now they’re going to be watching me too.” She takes a deep breath. “It’s okay. I’ll get used to it.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell her and mean it. This is my world, and while I might be used to it, Rosa’s being tossed into the deep end of the pool.

“None of this is your fault.” She reaches across the table and links her fingers with mine. “It’s a good thing I like acting. What else happened?”

We’re holding hands because Santini undoubtedly has someone watching us. That’s the only reason. I’m not marveling at how soft her skin is, such a marked contrast to my own callused hands. I’m not gliding my thumb over the small scar on her fingertip, wondering how she got it. I’m not being driven insane by the distracting sliver of midriff that shows every time she moves.

I yank my thoughts away from the dangerous quicksand they’ve found themselves in. “The deal is done,” I tell her. “And your brother is safe. But Santini’s suspicious, which complicates things. We need to move in together right away, and our wedding needs to happen next month.”

Her mouth falls open. “Next month?” she asks faintly. “Sure. Why not? It’s not as if this isn’t spectacularly bad timing or anything. Any other surprises?”

“Your family needs to leave Lecce within the week.”

Her head snaps up. “Where are they going to go? What about the house, my mom’s job, my dad’s garage. . .” Her voice trails off, and she pushes her plate away. “It’ll be safest if they move back to Venice, won’t it?”

She sounds less than thrilled. She lifts her cup to take a sip of her coffee, but she’s too stressed to enjoy it. “You don’t sound excited by the prospect of your family moving back.”

“I love my family,” she replies immediately.

“Your love for them isn’t in question.” I squeeze her hand. “Their love for you, on the other hand. . .”

She rushes to their defense. “They love me.” She hasn’t pulled her hand away. Her wrist is so slender I could snap it like a twig. “They just don’t understand my choice of career. My grandparents worked long and hard to give their children a better life. My parents value stability and a steady paycheck. My dad works in an auto shop, doing oil changes and tire rotations, even though his passion is auto restoration. My mother is an extremely talented painter, but she’s so busy at the bank that she rarely finds time to do her art. If it were up to them, I’dmake similar choices and prioritize a steady paycheck over my passion.”

“You’re not the one who got into trouble with the Mafia. Shouldn’t they be more critical of Hugh than you?”

“That’s just the way they are.”

From what I saw last night, Rosa’s parents clearly favor their son over their daughter. Who stands up for her? Who praises her accomplishments? Who tells her they’re proud of her? No one. And she’s used to it, resigned to the way things have always been, and she loves them so much that she’s sacrificing the rest of her life to keep them safe.

She deserves better.

“You said that this is spectacularly bad timing. Why?”

“I’ve applied for a spot in Milan Fashion Week,” she says. “The application only needed me to provide sketches, but if I’m selected to participate in the next round, I’ll have to sew samples of the portfolio. I’ll hear back from them on Friday. Three clients are coming in for wedding dress fittings this week. Next week, Gisele, my shop assistant, is heading home to Lyon for her annual holiday, and the woman I usually hire to watch the boutique while she’s away emailed me two days ago to tell meshe can’t do it. And in the middle of all of this, I need to find my parents a place to stay in Venice at the height of tourist season.” She takes a deep breath. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m unloading my problems on you. You’ve already done so much more than you need to. It’ll be fine. I’ll figure it out.”

I can’t offer her love. But I can be there for her in a way that her family isn’t.

“You don’t have to solve this alone, principessa.” I cradle her hands in mine and give them a reassuring squeeze. “We’re going to be married. Your problems are my problems. I’ve already arranged an apartment for your parents. My friend Ander runs a garage, and he’s ready to hire your father. Tomas, who handles my finances, will give Hugh a job and make sure he stays out of trouble. I also have a call scheduled with the president of your mother’s bank on Monday. I’m a client of some value. I’m sure that in exchange for me agreeing to bank with them, they’ll move her to whatever branch she wants to work at.”

She stares at me. Her eyes are brown, but that mundane word doesn’t come close to describing them. Up close, there are amber and hazel flecks in them, compelling and hypnotic. “Why are you doing this?” she says softly. “Why are you helping me?”

I’m solving her problems because the world expects me to. That’s all. But those aren’t the words that come out of my mouth.

“You take care of everyone,” I say quietly. “Let me take care of you.”

The wind gusts just then, whipping her hair in front of her face. She pulls her hand away from me to tie it back into a ponytail. Her top rides up as she raises her arms, exposing her midriff even more. Desire punches me in the gut, and I fight the urge to leap across the table and stroke that bare patch of skin. “This is a really good tart,” she says, not meeting my eyes. “Do you want to split the corn one with me, too? If I eat the whole thing, I won’t be able to eat the almond croissant, and that’s my favorite.”

I can’t take my eyes off her. Echoes of my dreams run through my mind like aftershocks. “If it’s your favorite, why don’t you eat it first?”

“You have to eat your vegetables before you can eat dessert.”

“That’s very proper of you.” She has a crumb at the edge of her mouth. I reach out to brush it away and glide my thumb over her lower lip. “Do you always deny yourself pleasure, principessa?”

Everything recedes. The sound of the ocean waves, the chatter of the other patrons. . . everythingfades into the background, and only Rosa is in focus. She stares at me with her luminous eyes, and I feel like I’ve been hypnotized. I lean in, drinking her in, all the little details that make her who she is. Her pert little nose, the small mole on her right cheek, the fullness of her lips I can’t stop touching. I need to kiss her, squeeze those lush, round breasts until she moans, and when she does, I want to slide my tongue into her mouth and devour her. I want to comb my fingers through her long tresses. I want?—

My phone beeps, the noise jerking me back to reality. What the fuck am I doing? Rosa is pretty, yes. Beautiful, even. But this attraction I’m feeling—I have to put a stop to it. I loved Patrizia, and I promised her my love and loyalty. It’s bad enough that I’m marrying another woman. But to touch her the way I touched my lost love? Impossible. That would be a betrayal of my vows, and I won’t do it.

13

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