I went upstairs and called Uncle Jason first, updating him on the villa. He was relieved. Then Johnny called, because apparently the man had a sixth sense for bad timing, and spent twenty minutes rambling about some database issue that could've absolutely waited until tomorrow.
By the time I hung up, it was nearly eleven.
I opened the bedroom door and stopped dead.
Dante was already there.
He was freshly showered. His hair still damp and curling slightly at the ends. Sitting on the edge of the bed in a plain white T-shirt and sweatpants, a book open in his lap.
He looked up when I walked in. Our eyes met.
And then he looked away like I was just a ghost passing through.
I stood there for a second too long, my bag still on my shoulder, trying to figure out what the hell I was supposed
