Page 42 of Promised to the Don of Naples
"For me or for you?"
I thought for two seconds.
"For me. But it's possible this benefits you."
"I see."
"Possible."
"Bella," he said, low. "Come with me."
"Where to?"
"Walk with me." He held out his arm, without quite touching me. "I'll show you the arbor."
"The arbor?"
"The old vine, the first one my great-grandfather planted. It's in the south corner of the vineyard. I go there when I need to think."
"And do you need to think now?"
"You just told me you're playing for yourself. I need to do a lot of thinking, bella."
I put my hand on his forearm. Without ceremony, without caution, feeling the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt.
"Andiamo."
The arbor was about two hundred yards from the house, down the slope of the vineyard by a side path I hadn't come across on my night escape. An old stone path, with cypress on one side and vineyard on the other, descending slowly to a covered area—a dark wood structure, the kind from the last century, with vines climbing the pillars and forming a green roof so dense it filtered the sun into golden stripes on the ground.
Under the arbor there was a stone bench. Old, marked, smooth from so much use.
Then we sat down, me on one side, him on the other. But the arbor was narrow—so was the bench.
"Tell me," he said.
"Tell you what?"
"What you found out in Palermo."
"I already told you I can't tell you yet."
"Bella." He leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm not asking to coerce you. I'm asking because I want to know."
"What's the difference?"
"The difference is that coercion is what I did to you two weeks ago. A request is what I'm doing now."
I looked at him.
The light filtered through the arbor hit his face in uneven stripes. The scar through his eyebrow was in shadow, his black eyes weren't.
"Why did you change?" I asked.
"Because you came back."
"Was leaving Palermo all it took for you to change?"
"It took you leaving Palermo for me to realize I'd already changed."
