Between Loyalty and You

Chapter 4 (Elena's POV)

For two days, Luca became very busy.

Breakfast arrived with Rosa. Marco accompanied my walks in the garden. In the evenings, the library stood empty.

By the third night, I was tired of pretending not to notice.

“Does he intend to eat?” I asked Rosa as she cleared my dinner plate.

“Eventually.”

“That sounds optimistic.”

“He forgets.”

She glanced at the untouched tray on the sideboard.

I looked at it, too.

“Where’s his study?”

Her mouth twitched.

“End of the west corridor.”

The tray became heavier halfway there.

I stopped on a narrow table beneath a mirror, irritated by the tremor in my arms. A bowl of soup should not have required planning.

Luca’s door opened before I could knock.

He looked at me, then at the tray.

“What are you doing?”

“Delivering your dinner.”

“You shouldn’t be carrying that.”

“I’ve established that. You can take over.”

He lifted it immediately.

I followed him inside.

The study smelled faintly of coffee and the rain drifting through an open window. Papers covered the desk, though he turned one face down before setting down the tray.

I noticed.

For once, I let it pass.

“Rosa says you forget to eat.”

“Rosa talks too much.”

“She’s worried about you.”

“And she sent you?”

“No. This particular nuisance was my idea.”

He loosened his tie.

“You could have called.”

“Would you have answered?”

His hand stilled.

I lowered myself into the chair opposite his desk.

He watched until I was settled, then closed the window.

“Elena.”

“You’ve missed three dinners.”

“I work.”

“So do I. I still manage to acknowledge people who live in my house.”

He looked toward the door.

I wished he would stop doing that.

“If I’ve made you uncomfortable, tell me.”

“You haven’t.”

“Then sit down.”

A pause.

“Please.”

He took the chair beside mine instead of the one behind his desk.

That small choice made it harder to remain annoyed.

For a moment, I could hear only the rain touching the glass.

“Have I done something wrong?” I asked.

“No.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?”

He leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees.

“I thought some distance would be sensible.”

There it was.

I had expected to feel pleased at being right. Instead, my mouth went dry.

“Because of the library?”

His eyes lifted to mine.

“Yes.”

I glanced at his hands. He had a small scar across one knuckle, pale against his skin.

“You touched my hair,” I said.

“I remember.”

“That was all.”

“I remember that, too.”

The quiet answer warmed my face.

He stood abruptly and went to the desk.

“Your dinner’s getting cold,” I said.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Neither was I when everyone insisted I eat.”

He looked at the soup as though it had betrayed him.

Despite myself, I smiled.

After a moment, he picked up the spoon.

I stayed while he ate.

We talked about harmless things at first. Rosa’s certainty that I needed more blankets. A disagreement with my supervisor over when I could return to work. The little harbor painting.

Then Luca asked about my first apartment in Florence.

“It had orange walls,” I told him.

“Deliberately?”

“I assume so. Nobody achieves that by accident.”

“Did your father see it?”

“He stood in the doorway for eleven seconds before offering to buy the building.”

Luca laughed.

Properly this time.

The sound surprised us both.

I wanted to hear it again.

“I refused, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“I was proud of that terrible apartment. I could afford it myself.”

His smile faded into something gentler.

“I understand.”

“I think you might.”

He set the empty bowl aside.

I should have left then. I had brought him food. We had spoken. The awkwardness between us had eased.

Instead, I asked the question that had been sitting beneath all the others.

“Did you stay at the hospital every night?”

His gaze shifted to mine.

“Your father was there.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

He leaned back.

“For the first few nights.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to know you were all right.”

“Papa could have told you.”

“Yes.”

He offered nothing else.

I looked at the lamp beside his desk.

“I remember you asking me to stay awake.”

“Elena—”

“I remember being afraid to close my eyes because of how you sounded.”

His face tightened.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not blaming you.”

“I know.”

I gathered my courage.

“When I woke up, I kept looking for you.”

He became very still.

“At first, I thought it was because you’d been there when it happened. That seeing you helped me remember I’d survived.”

“And now?”

“Now I notice when you miss dinner.”

He lowered his eyes.

I let the words remain between us.

When I finally stood, stiffness caught beneath my ribs.

I stopped, waiting for it to ease.

Luca was beside me at once.

“Slowly.”

“I am going slowly.”

His hand hovered near my elbow.

I took it.

That silenced us both.

His fingers closed around mine, warm and careful. He could have let go once I steadied myself.

He didn’t.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes.”

I wasn’t looking at my feet anymore.

Up close, the tiredness showed around his eyes. I wondered how many hours he had spent working in this room while I interpreted his absence as rejection.

Then I remembered he had admitted avoiding me.

“Luca.”

His thumb moved once over my knuckles.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said quietly.

“Like what?”

He drew a breath but gave me no answer.

I stepped closer.

There was still room between us. Enough for him to move away. Enough for me to pretend I only needed help reaching the door.

Neither of us used it.

“I know you’re my father’s friend,” I said.

“His best friend.”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“He trusts me with you.”

“So do I.”

He closed his eyes briefly.

“That makes this harder.”

My heart was beating so quickly I could feel it in my throat.

“What makes it harder for me is not knowing whether I’m imagining it.”

His gaze returned to mine.

“You’re not.”

The words were almost too quiet to hear.

I tightened my fingers around his.

He looked down at our joined hands, then lifted his free hand toward my face. He stopped just short of touching me.

I leaned into his palm.

His breath changed.

For a moment, that was all we did.

His hand against my cheek. Mine holding his. The rain steady at the window.

Then his eyes dropped to my mouth.

“If I’ve misunderstood,” he said, “tell me.”

“You haven’t.”

He bent slowly enough that I could have stepped back.

I rose a little to meet him.

The kiss was gentle, almost uncertain. His lips touched mine, then paused, giving me a chance to change my mind.

I kissed him again.

His hand slipped from mine to my waist, settling carefully above my injury. I caught the front of his shirt.

He made a small sound against my mouth and drew me closer.

For those few seconds, I forgot the hospital. The locked gates. Every question nobody wanted to answer.

There was only Luca, warm beneath my hands, kissing me as though he had been trying very hard not to.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.

I kept my eyes closed.

Neither of us spoke until his hand eased from my waist.

“Are you hurting?”

I shook my head.

“Good.”

He moved just far enough to look at me.

The tenderness in his face frightened me more than the kiss had.

Then his gaze traveled to the open study door.

I felt the change immediately.

“Please don’t apologize,” I said.

He looked back.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“But?”

He let his hand fall from my cheek.

“We need to think.”

“I’ve done quite a lot of thinking in that guest room.”

“So have I in here.”

I glanced at the desk, the papers, the cold coffee.

That admission would stay with me.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” I said.

“I know.”

“I need you to understand that.”

“I do, Elena.”

Some of the tension left my shoulders.

He reached for my hand again.

This time, there was no practical reason.

He walked me back to my room.

We let go when footsteps sounded near the entrance hall.

It happened so quickly that I looked at him.

Rosa crossed the far end of the corridor carrying folded linen. She wished us goodnight and disappeared upstairs.

We continued walking, our hands at our sides.

At my door, I turned toward him.

“That was horrible.”

His expression tightened.

“The kiss?”

“No. Letting go.”

He looked down the empty corridor.

“I know.”

I wanted him to promise it wouldn’t happen again.

I knew enough about the two of us not to ask.

“Will I see you at breakfast?” I said.

“Yes.”

“You’d better.”

A faint smile touched his mouth.

I went inside, then turned before closing the door.

He was still there.

For once, he wasn’t pretending he had somewhere else to be.