Racing the Sun(32)

I step out into the waiting room, dressed in the blue hospital gown since I didn’t think to bring my dress, and see Derio sitting there. He’s in his shorts and shirt, his hair still wet. His hands are clenching and unclenching by his sides. When he sees me, he immediately gets to his feet and comes over to me, his brow knitted together.

He says something to Doctor Romano, who smiles and says something reassuring. It doesn’t seem to soothe Derio, who looks to me with an even more worried expression.

“I’m okay,” I tell him. “I’m fine. Really. Just a scratch.” I lift up the side of my hair and show him the bandage on my widow’s peak. “I’m a lioness, remember?”

He doesn’t smile. His dark eyes are almost smoldering in their intensity. “I heard screams as I was swimming back and came around the corner just as you hit the water. I thought I wouldn’t reach you in time.”

I give him a small smile, not wanting to make a big deal about this at all. “But you did. Thank you.” I reach out and touch the side of his arm. He doesn’t move. “Where are the kids?” I ask.

“Felisa came and got them,” he says, “while you were in there. Alfonso told me what happened, what Annabella did.”

I shrug but the skin on my shoulder stings. “It’s fine. She was just being funny.”

He shakes his head. “It wasn’t funny at all. I’m sorry she’s like that with you. I’m sorry they both are.”

I meet his eyes. “They have reasons to be,” I say sincerely. “I don’t blame them.” And I don’t blame you, I think. “So I guess we aren’t going out for dinner now, are we?” I ask, attempting to change the subject.

“No,” he says in a low voice. He clears his throat. “Maybe we can take what you call a rain check?”

“Of course,” I say. “Does it ever rain in Capri?”

“Sometimes. And it’s beautiful when it does. It’s like the island has been holding on to it for too long and she finally lets it all go. Usually in the fall, after the summer season, we get the heaviest rains.”

I breathe out in relief, happy that he seems to be relaxing. “You, uh, wouldn’t happen to have my dress, would you?” I ask him.

He raises a brow. “You mean you don’t find this to be the height of fashion?” He tugs at the sleeve of the gown. “It shows off your legs.”

Before I can say anything to that, he goes back to the chair and gathers our beach totes. He hands me mine and our fingers brush against each other as I take it from him. I really need to pretend it’s nothing, that there isn’t this potency between us every time we touch. It’s all in my head. My crazy, knocked-around head.

I head into the bathroom, laugh at my reflection—wild eyes, wet hair, bandaged head—and get dressed. It seems both Derio and I faced a bit of our fears today. I just don’t know if either of us came out any stronger.





CHAPTER SEVEN


The next morning I wake up feeling groggy, my head and shoulder burning like they’re on fire. But I don’t feel nauseous or dizzy so it’s safe to say I escaped the event without a concussion. I also see that it’s eleven a.m. when I finally pull myself out of bed, and I’ve missed breakfast. I know I should take the fact that I’m injured and use it to my advantage to get some much-needed rest, but I’m curious about Derio, as well as Alfonso and Annabella. I don’t want any of them to worry about me.

When I get dressed and go downstairs, I find the house to be completely empty. At least it seems that way.

“Hello?” I call out as I walk into the kitchen, which is usually the hub of activity in this house. Everything is put away neatly, spic-and-span.

I decide to make myself an espresso and after I wrestle with the noisy machine, I pull up a stool to the island and sip it. In a week, my body has gone from barely tolerating the stuff to finding it delightful and kind of addictive.

Though I can hear the usual birds chirping merrily outside, the house hums with silence. I’ve actually never been completely alone in the house before. It’s kind of nice, albeit spooky in a way. Despite the sunshine that pours in through all the windows, I guess the dramatics of yesterday are casting a bit of a shadow on my subconscious, and when I think I hear something thump from upstairs, it scares the bejesus out of me.

I finish the last bit of dark espresso and slowly put the cup down, listening hard now.

Another thump. Coming from the attic.

Well, actually, it’s a storage space, accessible from a narrow hall between Alfonso’s and Derio’s rooms. I’ve obviously never been up there but this isn’t the first time I thought I heard something funny coming from there. There was a reason why I ended the first week somewhat convinced that there might be a ghost in the house.