Chapter 13
Gemma
Shutting the door to my father’s room, a wave of inner peace washed over me. Enzo loafed in a chair by the door, face lit by his phone screen. As if sensing me, he peered up, his gaze locking on mine. A TV murmured from a nearby room, competing with the rhythmic beeps and buzzes of machines. I clasped my hands, pressing my lips together. “Thank you again for bringing me here.” He had driven me here every day since our first visit. I always thanked him, afraid if I refused to show gratitude, he’d put a stop to these daily visits. Still, he seemed unmoved by my appreciation, his narrowed gaze assessing.
Stuffing his phone into his pocket, he stood from the chair. “How is he?” He bit the words out, his expression deadpan.
Why bother asking? Did he even care my father was sick? He’d probably grown tired of carting his prisoner to these endless hospital visits. My gaze drifted back to Papa through the glass panel of his door, the sight of him resting in bed, a fresh stab of pain. “Anxious. The medicine’s making him a little queasy.”
He tweaked the bridge of his nose, and something unreadable flashed in his eyes. Boredom? Annoyance? Or something else? I couldn’t tell.
A nurse nodded a greeting when passing us. I started down the hallway, ready to get out of here before he changed his mind about bringing me again. After the second day, I’d suggested hedrop me off, figuring he had more important matters to tend to. His sharp sneer obliterated the idea.Hewould chaperoneme, he’d insisted. I’d hit a nerve. Did he believe I’d run? Not a chance. Not with the threat of my parents’ lives at risk. If Enzo neglected his duties to play chauffeur, fine. I never asked to be kidnapped. My own predicament aside, Papa’s update on Mum added another layer of worry.
Carina had threatened her to leave Sicily, and so she returned to Australia a few days after the church ordeal.
“I’m worried about her, Gemma. She wants to speak to you, hear your voice again. I fear she won’t rest until she does.”
He’d suggested we call her, but his phone struggled for coverage in the room. My parents kept in contact with the cell phone the nurse provided him at night. No chance of sneaking the same nurse in the room when Enzo had waited outside the door the entire time. I assured Papa I’d find a way to call Mum, even if it was the last thing I did.
Outside, the sun beat down on us. The weather report on the TV in my father’s room predicted a storm later today. I fixed my wide-brim hat on my head, shielding my gaze from the glare. The headwear suited the blue floral summer dress, but the entire getup earned me Enzo’s grumble.
“Still refusing to wear the clothes I ordered you.”He’d snapped his disapproval before opening the car door for me this morning when we’d left.
He had several packages delivered since my abduction, plus Rosetta, the boutique stylist who helped me choose a few formal outfits. I didn’t want him to view me as his property or, worse, feel like he’d won this crazy vendetta game. I wore my own clothes as a shield, refusing to give him any sense of victory.
We hopped into his black, sleek sports car and glided off the hospital grounds, leaving behind the sterile white building forthe vibrant blues and greens of the coast. He gestured toward the coastal scenery. “Have you been to Del Ringo beach?”
Out the window, the seaside sprawled in a vastness of crystal blue. “Maybe once… I don’t remember.”
“Let’s go for a walk.” Not an offer, a demand.
I rolled my eyes. Always a demand. At this rate, he’d drop dead if he used manners.
He parked along the curb and cut the engine, making no move to wait for my response, clearly indifferent to my feelings about the beach visit.
Given little choice, I unbuckled my seatbelt. We ambled in silence across the road and onto the pebbled sand. I bet the mesmeric beach attracted many people, but this late in the afternoon, the few figures scattered near the water’s edge packed away their belongings, hurrying to leave before the storm hit. A lone fisherman cast his line, oblivious to the changing weather, his back turned toward us.
The wind picked up and whipped strands of hair across my face, carrying the tang of salt and a gritty sting of sand. The promise of the storm to come thick in the air. For a moment, I could almost convince myself I was back home in Brighton. My eyes fluttered closed, and I inhaled a deep breath, soaking the salty air into my lungs.
I opened my eyes and swallowed at Enzo’s taut features. The air crackled around him, charged with a current I couldn’t resist. My pulse leaped at my throat, a frantic drum against my skin. His mere presence was a force of nature. Gazing into his eyes, I glimpsed an intimacy I wasn’t prepared for—so invasive; I felt it to my core. And his hand hadn’t even brushed my skin, but I could almost feel the heat of it, of him.
A strong gust blew. I patted my suddenly empty head. “My hat.”
Enzo charged for the headwear, his jaw tight with barely suppressed annoyance.
I smacked my lips together, but laughter bubbled in my throat. Crouching down, I shielded my hair with one hand, the other braced on my knee as the giggles escaped. Every time he closed in on the hat, it skittered away, cartwheeling down the beach as though mocking him. Then, without preamble, he lunged, landing on the woven straw. I snorted again, my chuckles vibrating my entire body.
Squashed hat in hand, he jumped to his feet, and dusted sand off his clothes. As he approached, his sneer didn’t quite vanish, but the corners of his lips twitched, threatening to curve upward, betraying a flicker of amusement he clearly tried to suppress. “Glad you find this funny.”
“Sorry.” I tapered my lips together to cease my laughter. “The hat was taunting you.”
His eyes widened. “It has a mind of its own. I came this close,” he pinched his thumb and finger together, “to shooting several bullets into the darn thing.”
I sealed a thumb over my lips and snickered once more. “I better take this in case you murder it.” I extracted the sunhat from his clutches, dusted sand off the woven straw, and reshaped the boater back to its former glory.
A ghost of a smile played on his lips, and he nodded to the cafe across the street. “They’re closing for siesta soon. I’ll grab us coffee. Are you hungry?”
I glanced back at the calm water, not eager to leave just yet, especially when the earthy scent of sand reminded me of home. A sliver of long-absent comfort pierced through my current tension. “Can I wait for you here?”
