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“I can’t imagine ever trusting anyone again,” she whispered. “Jack…was…more than a fiancé. We were family. We shared more…he shouldn’t have…” And now tears were falling down her cheeks, so Marco spun her with a low, gruff noise and did the only thing he could to dispel her anger and frustration and grief. He kissed her. He kissed her with all the passion that ran so freely through his veins, kissing away any sense of disbelief at what had happened, kissing her not just with desire but with impatience too, because he believed Portia deserved so much better, and he was showing her that, bit by bit.
She lifted her hand, clinging to his shirt, surrendering completely to the kiss and the man, and the perfection of this villa.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered into his mouth. “This isn’t about Jack. It’s about…everything I lost that day. It’s about the fact my parents still keep pressuring me to forgive him.”
“What?” Marco’s brows knit together.
She nodded once. “It’s his birthday this weekend. His thirtieth. They can’t believe I’m not going.”
He swore under his breath in his native language, but the curse resonated around the kitchen, drawing, surprisingly, a smile from Portia.
“He cheated on you. No matter how many camping holidays you shared, he does not deserve you. He does not deserve any part of you.”
Her heart twisted and her body warmed. She smiled up at him. “Thank you,” she whispered, as the heaviness of the moment infused her soul. “I’m starving.” She wasn’t, but she needed a break from the intensity of this, from the sense that he was a heavenly body and she was being pulled into his orbit in a way she might not ever be able to escape.
“Then let’s go eat,cara.”He hesitated, as though there was something else he wanted to say, something to share, but a moment later, he reached down, linked their fingers, and drew her towards the front door.
“A motorbike?”She stared at it, one brow lifted, then ruefully looked down at her dress.
“Si,” he responded, grabbing the spare helmet and carrying it to Portia, fastening it carefully into place. It was a shame though, because it shielded her completely from his view and he liked looking at her beautiful expressive face and puzzling out what she was thinking and wanting.
She was as fascinating to him now as she had been the first morning they’d slept together, and she’dthankedhim then too. Just as she had tonight. As if he was doing something important for her. As though she needed him.
But she didn’t need him.
She didn’t trust him.
I’ll never trust anyone again.
It was good for her to keep her shields up. But not forever. Portia was too kind for that. There was too much of her to share and give, too much in her to sacrifice forever because some bastard had gone around behind her back.
And even though he knew this was temporary, that they’d probably be done within a few short weeks, he was glad they were together now. He could feel the honour of what she was letting him do: bring her back together, piece by piece. No matter where life took her—or him—he would always be, in some small way, a part of her salvation, and he liked that.
He really liked it.
“Ready?” He asked, his voice hoarse.
She nodded once, the helmet obviously heavy on her head.
He grinned. “Okay. Hold on tight,bella.”
And she did. Nestled behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist, skirt bunched up to stop it flying around, he was flooded with feelings and desires the whole drive along the winding, coastal road into the historic town.
The restaurant wasabout a thousand times more beautiful than Portia had imagined. Small and cozy, run by an elderly couple who clearly did things exactly as they always had. There were chianti bottles on the tables, long-since drained of alcohol and replaced with tall red candles that had oozed and spilled over the sides to create stalactites of colour. The tablecloths were white and crisp and the food, when it came, was exquisite.
Marco had asked Portia if he should order, and she’d agreed, simply because she was enjoying being a passenger on the Marco train, seeing how he did this, lived his life, dated women, even when the thought ofotherwomen experiencing these things dampened her happiness a little.
But after what she’d been through with Jack, that jealousy was normal. It wasn’t appropriate to what she and Marco were, though, but she could still experience the emotion without indulging it.
The first meal to arrive was a selection of seafood. “Caught locally,” the waiter said with a proud smile, topping up their wine glasses. Marco put a hand over his though, indicating he didn’t want any more, and her heart shifted, because she knew this was for her. Because he was driving. And he was looking after her, being far more sensible and mature than she’d ever thought him capable of when she’d first started this whole thing.
Then again, what had she really known about him?
“I think I misjudged you,” she said quietly, sipping her own wine before reaching for another scallop and cutting it in half. It was quite possibly the tastiest thing she’d ever eaten.
“Did you?”
“I always thought you were…” Her cheeks darkened as she searched for the right words.
