Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Grazie, bambina.” Marcus’ voice became softer. “But I’d rather do this alone. The circumstances around my father’s death aren’t...ideal.”
“Okay.” I told myself I had no right to feel rejected. “Just let me know if you need me.”
“Si.”
There was a pause, almost as if he wanted to say something.
“M-Marcus?”
“Nothing.” He breathed hard. “Ciao, bambina.”
As Marcus ended the call, I couldn’t help thinking this was the first time he had used the words to say goodbye.
The next day, I did my best to follow the news coverage of his father’s death, which turned out to be as controversial as he had hinted. Not only had his father passed away in his mistress’ company, but he had also done so while in the middle of a rather kinky setup, one that involved a long list of sex toys. I couldn’t even figure out what some of them was for despite having researched their English translations.
The day before his father’s funeral, I sent Marcus a text message, asking if he wanted me to fly over. Marcus replied moments later.
No.
I didn’t text back.
I got the picture, more so when I got a hold of Italian newspapers and found out that Marcus had attended the funeral accompanied by a woman believed to be his on-off girlfriend.
Eight
Present time
Over the years, I had secretly fantasized about how I’d bump into Marcus Ravelli.
The best fantasy: I’d be with a guy who was better looking than him, someone more accomplished, and Marcus would glance at me, and I’d glance back at him, thinking, Take that!
Another favorite scenario of mine was how I’d receive an excellence award for my work at DKE and he’d be part of the audience. He’d be so impressed that he would come up to me and ask me out, and I’d smile regretfully at him, saying, Sorry, I’m already taken.
Just your typical revenge fantasy really, and I supposed I could be more imaginative if I wanted to. Dreams were free, after all. But the thing was I didn’t really care to be creative about his comeuppance.
I just wished there’d be a day that he would realize he was wrong. Or maybe just a day where I knew he would feel as much pain as I did—-
But this wasn’t how I wanted it to be.
The mood in the parish was somber, made heavier by the dim light cast by the wrought-iron chandeliers overhead. Only murmurs of condolences occasionally broke the silence, and as I came closer and closer to where Marcus stood, I still couldn’t think of anything proper to say.
His grandmother – the only person in his family that Marcus loved – had died.
Was there really something proper one could say about it?
In front of me, my three brothers extended their condolences, and I heard Marcus murmur in reply, his tone unusually grave. That one summer he had been with us, he had been everything that was wicked and fun. He had been the very definition of danger, forbidden and intoxicating—-
But the Marcus I saw now was so different, I thought.
The older Marcus was a stranger. He was too quiet, too serious—-
Too much like the person I used to be, I realized.
And that didn’t feel right.
My brothers moved away, and Fleur moved forward. I watched her give him a peck on the cheek, saying softly, “I’m sorry, Marcus.”
“Thank you, little sister.”
I lowered my gaze as Fleur walked away to join the rest of my family.
Nine years. The words started to hammer my brain, the thought making me feel faint. I hadn’t seen Marcus Ravelli for nine years, and if I were honest – it wasn’t long enough.
Nine years, I thought dazedly, and somewhere deep inside me, the last memory I had of him still hurt.
I forced my limbs to move.
Act normal, I advised myself.
I cleared my throat.
Please act normal, I pleaded with myself.
But in the end, I could only stare at the knot of his silver tie as I mumbled, “I offer my deepest condolences.”
Riiiiiiight.
I should have known that things could never be normal between Marcus Ravelli and me.
The silence between us stretched, and I knew from experience he was waiting for me to meet his eyes.
Crap.
He was still a sadist after all these years.
Taking a deep breath, I reluctantly lifted my gaze to his.
Oh.
Marcus Ravelli had already been astoundingly handsome at eighteen, but now he was devastatingly so. His raven black hair was cut a little shorter now, and the angles of his face more pronounced. It seemed as if age and maturity had only added to his looks, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he had grown a few inches taller.
He had buffed up, too, I couldn’t help noticing. His shoulders, outlined prominently under his handmade black suit, seemed more massive than I remembered.
So much about him had changed, but even so—-
Staring at him still ended up hurtling me back into the past.