Dark Shadows (Gia Santella Crime Thrillers Book 11), Kristi Belcamino [ereader with dictionary .TXT] 📗

her family. Conner was the only one going home on the same plane as the bodies of his friends. He would be the poor soul facing the families when he got off the plane.

The chances of them getting together again seemed slim to me. I even doubted they would ever speak to one another again.

It was like that sometimes.

20

When we got back to Ryder’s place, we made love again.

This time it was slower. In the daylight, we took the time to map one another’s bodies thoroughly, and I found myself caught up in his eyes.

There was something there—a deep knowledge that this was not just a one-night stand.

At the same time, I knew that was impossible. I was leaving for Barcelona in the morning. I’d already bought my ticket. The care home had said that Nico was doing okay, on antibiotics for the pneumonia. But I needed to seem him in person.

Saying goodbye to Ryder would be harder than I thought.

Maybe it was knowing that our lovemaking was short-lived that made it so tender and poignant—bittersweet.

Later, when I said I was starving, Ryder said he would cook for me.

I threw on a loose white linen dress and sandals, and we walked down to a farmer’s market near the promenade to pick out ingredients for our dinner.

Or rather, Ryder picked them out.

“I will make you my specialty.”

He stopped at a fish stand and asked for a large number of fresh anchovies. I wrinkled my nose.

“Um,” I said, touching his elbow. “I was always the odd Italian girl who didn’t like anchovies on her pizza.”

“I am making pissaladière,” he said in an indignant voice. “The main ingredient is anchovy.”

“No clue what you just said.”

“It is a delicious tart made from anchovies, onions, tomatoes and olives.”

“Hmm.”

“It is my specialty.”

“Your only one?” I said.

“That or frog’s legs,” he said, turning and walking away.

“Fine,” I said, huffing after him. “I’ll give it a shot.”

When I caught up to him, he was buying garlic, onion, tomatoes, olives, basil, pecorino cheese, and white beans.

“This all looks good,” I said as sort of a peace offering.

“We will also have soupe au pistou—it’s like a pesto soup. It’s a little early to make it. It’s more in season in July, but we will have to make do.”

“Yes, we will,” I said solemnly, mimicking his serious tone. He’d become French after all these years. The French were such serious fucking snobs about food. It was absurd.

Then we crossed the street and entered a bakery. I closed my eyes and inhaled.

“Now, this is heaven,” I said.

“We will get fougasse,” he said. “I warn you. This also has anchovies. It is superb.”

“Might as well go all in, I say,” I said and winked at him.

The flatbread the woman behind the counter handed him looked amazing. It had olives and cheese on top.

“Can we please go home now and eat,” I said. “I’m dying over here.”

He laughed and threw his arm around me. I tucked my head into his shoulder and wasn’t surprised at how easily it fit there and how damn comforting it felt.

So, of course, I immediately drew back.

I was a lone wolf. I reminded myself that even if Nico weren’t still in the picture, which in many ways he still was, I had vowed to never care about anyone again.

Ryder was fine. Fun. Amazing in bed. Easy company. But that was it.

For what it was worth.

A day or two of fun.

But that was it.

Thank God I was leaving in the morning.

Of course, it wasn’t that easy.

After an amazing meal, that somehow made anchovies my new favorite thing, we had crazy, wild sex again.

With moonlight streaming through the windows into the darkened loft, he leaned on one elbow and took a lock of my hair between his fingers.

“You are so mysterious.”

“Am not.”

“Every time I think maybe I am getting to see the real Gia, you draw back.”

I didn’t answer. What could I say? “I’m leaving in the morning. We’ll never see each other again, and I’m glad?”

But I owed him a little more than that. After all, he’d opened up about his wife and her death.

So I told him even more about Nico.

How we’d spent the past decade together. How we raised Rose. How our life wasn’t easy to begin with.

I told him how I’d left the life of a killer far behind. I told him how Nico and Rose and I had settled into a normal, domestic life in Barcelona, something that I treasured deeply and had never dreamed possible.

I told him, too, how Alzheimer’s had stolen our golden years away from us. Our rather his, since he was so much older than me.

I told him how Nico had pneumonia and how that was dangerous and scary and was breaking my heart.

“He is the love of my life,” I said.

“Aha,” Ryder said, sitting up in bed, his back against the headboard. “You are blessed to have that.”

“I know I’ll never have that again,” I said.

He was quiet for a moment and then he said, “If you have decided it, then it will be so.”

His words made me angry.

“It’s not my choice,” I said.

“Really?”

“It’s my destiny. I’m tired of fighting against it. What you don’t know—what I haven’t even touched on—is that everyone I’ve ever loved has been taken from me one way or another. My parents were murdered. My first true love was murdered. Now, I’m losing Nico…”

“If you have decided it, then it will be so.”

His repetition of those words sent fury coursing through me. I was about to leap out of bed, but he beat me to it.

I heard the shower start up in the bathroom. I sat there in bed, stewing. Furious.

He was gone for a long, long time.

I fell asleep before he returned to the bed.

21

Despite our argument the night before, I leaned over and kissed Ryder awake. He opened one eye and smiled at me.

“Bellissima,” he said.

“You speak Italian, too?”

“A little.”

I got up and made him coffee and toast with jam.

“Thank you for