Page 107 of Marry Me Not
“Really?” She looked back at the painting. “Did you go there often?”
“For a while. We started going every few weeks when I was around eight and kept going until I turned twelve.”
“Why did you stop?”
“I don’t know. We just did.” I had my suspicions though. I was around twelve when Dad discovered the burns on my arms. When he chose to do nothing about it.
“Could we buy this one, please?” Fabiana asked the artist.
I pushed the unpleasant memories away and leaned down, bringing my lips close to her ear. “Are you getting me a gift?”
She turned her head, putting her mouth an inch from mine. “I’m not missing an opportunity to buy a piece of art you seem to actually like. Maybe there’s still some hope for you.”
I grinned, my gaze dropping to her mouth. The urge to kiss her nearly overwhelmed me, but I held myself back. Once I started, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop.
“Enjoy your honeymoon,” the artist said, snapping me from my trance and handing me the painting.
“Oh look. This must be the central plaza,” Fabiana said, pulling me down the street. “Let’s go look at the Christmas lights there and then grab something to eat.”
She took my hand again and tugged me along. The central plaza was small with yellow Christmas lights glowing overhead. Kids ran between families, a crowd spilled out of a café, and a busker played guitar somewhere nearby. The town might be small, but it was alive and welcoming.
“I love it here,” Fabiana said as she turned in a circle, taking it all in.
Longing panged through me. It was easy to imagine this being our real honeymoon. Easy to imagine spending weeks here with her, losing ourselves in each other, losing ourselves in this town that was far removed from our lives in New York.
It was a fantasy. The day we returned, reality would set in.
But maybe I could let myself live in that fantasy until then.
CHAPTER 37
FABIANA
The dining roomof La Capasa, the smallosteriaCosimo and I had picked for our dinner spot, felt like it had existed in Grottaglie for centuries. A vaulted limestone ceiling arched overhead, elaborate iron sconces lined the walls, and a fire danced behind the blackened grate of the hearth, sending a steady crackle through the room.
Garlic, butter, and the smell of grilled meat wafted through the air. It was enough to get my mouth watering. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until now.
I settled into the chair next to Cosimo and picked up the menu. We were seated beside each other at a round table nearest the hearth. “I have a feeling we’re about to have a very good meal.”
His menu lay unopened in front of him. He stared at me intently, and for a moment, I forgot about my hunger—at least the type that food could sate. The other hunger was impossible to forget as long as he was around me, holding my hand and playing the role of a man on a honeymoon a little too well.
“Your brother told me once that you like to cook. You’ve never cooked for me.”
His comment took me by surprise. “You have a private chef. I didn’t think you’d want me to.”
“I want you to.” He tapped his index finger lightly against the menu. “If you enjoy it.”
I rolled my lips together, strangely flattered by the request. I did enjoy it. In Geneva, I cooked a lot, but I stopped once I came back to New York. I shot him a small smile. “When we get back, I will.”
I was going to leave it at that when I remembered Mia’s advice.Lean into it.
“My mom taught me how to cook.” I kept my gaze on the menu, scanning the list ofantipastiwithout actually reading the words. “Dad left her alone when she was in the kitchen. We spent a lot of time in there together before she sent Elena and me off to boarding school.”
Cosimo’s attention didn’t waver from me. “She wasn’t at the wedding.”
“She’s a bit reclusive these days. Doesn’t like to be in big crowds, to be seen by people…” I swallowed. “She never looked good enough for my father. Couldn’t do anything right. None of us ever could.”
I looked over the top of the menu to Cosimo’s hands. They were clasped together on the table in front of him, the knuckles white. Something scared and vulnerable wavered inside my chest as I slowly lifted my gaze to him. To his face. To his eyes.
