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His eyes shine like dark pools of water, and I feel too unnerved to keep eye contact.
Needing to say something to break the silence, I ask, “Did you enjoy the dinner with your mother?”
He relaxes, and lifting his arm, he rests it on the back of the sofa.
His voice is deceptively soft when he answers, “Yes.”
Silence falls heavy between us, and I struggle not to fidget.
“Relax, Gabriella,” he mutters.
Yeah, that’s not going to happen.
I scoot backward in the seat and force my muscles to loosen.
When I glance at Damiano, I see he’s watching me, and I wonder if he can make out my facial expressions.
“You don’t want to return to your parents.”
The statement catches me off guard.
I wet my lips before I say, “No, I don’t.”
“Tell me about your childhood,” he demands.
I shrug, and unable to hold his intense gaze, I glance at the doorway.
“There’s not much to tell.”
“I doubt that,” he mutters. “Have they always abused you?”
His question has my eyes flying back to his.
I don’t know why he’s asking the questions, and not wanting to give him anything he can use against me, I keep quiet.
He stares at me for a moment, then nods. “It must’ve been bad if you’re not willing to talk about it.”
I fold my arms around me, then say, “It was nothing I couldn’t survive.”
He tilts his head, and it feels like he’s trying to pry my darkest secrets from me.
“You don’t fear dying.”
A frown forms on my forehead.
“Last night, you were more worried about being sent back to your parents than the possibility that I might kill you.”
That’s because I’ll suffer worse things than death at my parents’ hands.
Remembering my concern about being forced to marry Stefano, I ask, “If you send me back to Sicily, will you give your permission for Stefano to marry me?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I never change my mind once I’ve made a decision.”
Intense relief washes through me, and I whisper, “Grazie a Dio.”
“You should be thanking me and not the heavens.”
My gaze darts to Damiano’s. “Thank you.”
