Emilia (Part 1)(43)
“Fucking Alessandro. I really hate that guy.”
“So it is true?” My voice quivered on the last syllable.
“There’s nothing going on between Lettie and me. I don’t like her. I already told you that.”
“You promise?” I searched his face for any signs he wasn’t telling the truth. I didn’t see anything except anger.
“Lettie’s married.”
“So?”
“I already told you how I thought Pietro had something to do with my dad’s death. Why would I get tangled up with his wife?”
“To get even.”
“He doesn’t give a shit about his wife. She’s a trophy on his arm, that’s all. He’s still with Alessandro’s mom.”
My eyes widened. “What?”
“Shit. I shouldn’t have said anything. Look, don’t tell Lettie. I’m pretty sure she knows, but I don’t think she wants it known, if you understand what I mean.”
“If Pietro is still with his ex, why’d he marry Lettie?”
“Because his ex’s parents threatened to disown her if she kept Alessandro or married Pietro. She married someone else ten years ago, but apparently she refuses to give up Pietro or he won’t let her. Who knows? And frankly, I don’t give a shit either way. The whole family is twisted as fuck, including Alessandro.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
He framed my face with his hands, his eyes searching mine. “I am right. Now are you going to stop ignoring me? Because I can’t do this anymore, Em. I miss you. You haven’t touched me in a month. It’s killing me.”
“I’m sorry. I miss you too.” I slid my hand around his nape and pulled his lips against mine. My reservations about him, about us, ceased to exist, along with my conflicted feelings for Marcello.
“So much, Sal.”
“Don’t do that again.” He shifted onto his elbows, breaking our kiss. “Promise me you’ll talk to me when you’re worried about something instead of bottling it all up.”
“I promise.”
“Good, because you’re the only one I want. Will ever want.” His body melded into mine and he kissed me everywhere—my lips, my cheeks, my forehead, my eyelids, and I was lost in him.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
The last few months were filled with a flurry of preparations and so much love. It was true. I loved Sal so freakin’ much. I’d been dying to tell him those three magic words for the last months, and I would soon because I couldn’t imagine my life without him, his kisses, and his heated touches. The way he looked at me when he didn’t think I was watching made my heart swell twenty times its size, and for the first time in my life, I felt full rather than half empty.
Footsteps echoed outside of my closed door, and I stuffed the clutch wallet filled with fifteen thousand dollars into my duffle bag and slid it to the back of my closet behind the rows of neatly hung pants. Only two weeks until Easter, and Sal and I had everything we needed to vanish without a trace. Money; clothes; bus tickets; a route; a plan.
Love.
My door hinges squeaked, and I whirled around, my hand pressed to my chest.
“Did I scare you?” Sal said, closing the door behind him.
“Yes. Jesus. I was going through my getaway bag again, and I thought you were my dad.”
He crossed the room and lifted me into his arms, spinning me into a circle. “Stop digging in there. Everything’s ready to go, and you are going to get caught one of these days if you keep double checking it.”
“I know, I know. I can’t believe it’s all coming together, though, and I have this weird compulsion to make sure the money hasn’t disappeared.”
“I have something for you that might alter our plans.” He pulled an envelope out of the pocket inside his navy suit jacket and handed it to me.
“What’s this?” I grabbed it, twirled it around in my hands, then opened it. Inside was a business card from the Royal Conservatory in London. Hope rushed up from my stomach like a balloon. “What’s this for?”
“Your dad told me your piano teacher had some things of yours and he asked me to swing by and pick them up. I was expecting books or a lost jacket. She handed me that envelope asking that you contact Darryl Wright. Apparently, he’s holding a place for you this fall.”
“What’s the catch?”
“You have to show up sometime before June for an in-person interview, but according to Mrs. Vitali it’s nothing more than a formality. There’s a place there if you want it.”
“I can’t believe it. It’s too good to be true.” I stepped back until my legs hit the bed, and I plopped down on top of the mattress.