Once Upon a Rose(99)

That hurt so much. “It’s just a fight,” he said anxiously. He was one of five male cousins. They had fights all the time. Most of the time they didn’t even bother to make up but shrugged and went on as if it had never happened. Once the dust settled, it was settled, after all. No sense stirring it up again. If any extra calming of the waters needed to happen, someone made a joke or someone shoved the other in the shoulder, and it was all good.

But she was an only child. Almost as bad, she was a girl.

Maybe she didn’t know how to make up after fights by going on as if they’d never happened.

Maybe she didn’t know how to forgive a man for acting like a jerk.

“I just misunderstood.” He rubbed her back more and more coaxingly. “I thought—you know, for a songwriter, you really need to work on your word choice.”

“Hey!” She lifted her head and glared at him. Her eyes were still wet, but at least the tears stopped actually falling.

So the pushing-her-buttons had worked, a little bit like that would work with his cousins. He gazed at her helplessly, not quite sure of his next move to smooth things over. Probably not punching her in the shoulder and saying something rude.

“You certainly seemed to have some nasty assumptions about me ready to pop out at the least misunderstanding.” She scowled at him.

“I had a crappy experience with my last celebrity girlfriend.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry, Layla.”

“Okay, quit saying that,” she said as her eyes filled again. “It makes me cry.”

Saying he was sorry made her cry? So…did that mean it was a good thing she was crying? It would be so helpful if he had had a little more exposure to women growing up and could actually figure one out.

“Well, I am sorry,” he said firmly, and scooted them back on the rock, until he was sitting against the cypress and she was tucked between his upraised knees. The position anchored them into the very solidity of the earth and at the same time hovered them on the edge of the whole vast world, falling away below them and rising blue above them to the heavens. “Tell me what you meant?”

“No.” She scowled at him, very stubborn. But she wasn’t crying anymore.

He sighed. This was what he got for trying to defend his heart when he was supposed to be opening it. He kissed her hairline, and a little part of him still could focus on the pleasure of the texture of her curls against his lips. “Layla. I don’t want you to give me back the land, all right?”

“You don’t make any sense whatsoever!”

Well, at least it was mutual. “I want you to have it,” he said, and loosed his hand from her back to show her what he held.

“What?” She jerked her head up to stare at him, not even seeing what he offered.

He nudged it at her again, making her look down at what he held in his palm. A small, enameled gold oval depicting the valley, exactly as it looked from where they sat. The hills that framed it. The fine thread of the river. The tiny patch of limestone cliffs the river cut through to enter the valley.

“That’s beautiful,” Layla said, instantly distracted from anger and hurt by her own wonder. She was so generous she couldn’t stay wounded and mad worth a damn, could she? She stroked her fingers over the smooth enamel. “Is it a copy of the old seal you were telling me about? The one your ancestor had made…Niccolò?”

“It’s not a copy.”

It took her a second. And then she gasped. “You found it?” That fast, she had forgotten all about their fight. “Matt! That’s wonderful.” She hugged him.

“You’re a really nice person, aren’t you?” he said softly.

A sulky frown hinted its way back. “I thought I was the kind of person who cared more about whether people were clapping for me than anything else.”

He sighed and rested his forehead against the top of her head. “I was stupid,” he said. “Sometimes I’m a little sensitive.” That idiot soft heart of his. She’d slipped in under all its shields, and it made his heart a little jumpy to have someone in so close where it could get hurt.

She tightened her hug enough to rest her head against his chest. So maybe this was the way he made up with her. Not a punch on the arm or a rough joke, but a touch of her hair or a kiss of the top of her head.

Well, then. He could definitely do that, too.

It made him feel a lot more vulnerable than punching somebody’s arm, but he was going to try to handle it.

“Tante Colette had it all this time. She gave it to me.”

“Well, I’m glad she finally did the right thing,” Layla said approvingly. “It’s your valley.” She stroked his chest. Look at that, she was already petting him. She was lousy at grudges. “You are here and here you’ll stay.”