As he opened the box and pulled the big watch out, she said, “It’s a Ducati. I thought it was hot.”
His grin seemed sincere. Though her detection skills were imperfect, she generally understood Luca—at least better than she did anyone else. So when he grinned and said, “I love it—and I love even more that you think it’s hot,” she believed him completely.
He put it on right away and showed it around. Everybody gushed. She’d done okay.
When she got to the end of her pile, which included a couple of funky sweaters and a beanie that Sabina had knitted with her actual hands, she realized that there had been no present for her from Luca.
She went through the tags of her gifts again. Nope.
Ouch.
As she stared at her stack of suddenly deficient booty, she felt Luca lean over her shoulder, and his deep voice filled her ear—low, so only she heard. “Sorry, bit. It’s hard for me to get around right now. I’ll make it up to you, though. I promise.”
“It’s okay.” That was a lie, and it tasted sour on her tongue, but it was the thing she was supposed to say right now, and in front of all of his family, she didn’t want to say the other things in her head.
That was progress, in a way. Holding her tongue.
“It’s not. I know. But I’ll make it worth the wait. I love you.”
She turned so that they were almost nose to nose. His nose was actually almost perfectly straight now; the last break seemed to have fixed the fault in it from previous breaks. But he did have a new scar across the bridge. And another under his left eyebrow. She liked them.
“I love you, too. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, little bit.”