Page 7 of Spring Break with a Mafia Prince
He shrugged one tired shoulder. “I don’t know.” The kind of helplessness that rolled off him stung.
I dithered at the front door to the beach house on the hill where I could see most of Love Beach that we had owned most of my life. “Do you want me to stay?”
His mouth twitched. “No, Bella. Have fun. Who are you?—”
The doorbell rang, and I nearly left the mortal plane.
I opened the door, cussing in my head, though I stopped when I saw his shadow hovering just on the other side.
“I left some of my years behind thanks to you,” I informed Falcon. “You told me to find you at the marina.”
He had the grace to look abashed, and it was cute as hell on his carved face, the dark brows and hair, his arched lips and olive skin. Something told me this man was not anywhere near as innocent as he seemed—I knew who his father was, after all—but Falcon had proved to be nothing but sweet in the short time I’d known him.
I refused to judge him by the actions of his family’s reputation rather than his own.
“This is your date?” My father broke into my reverie.
“Yes. This is?—”
“Falcon Gianio.” Falcon grinned and extended his hand.
I blinked. Somehow, I expected something to pass between them, seeing as we met on his boat the night before, but Falcon didn’t hold back, clasping my father's hand firmly.
Dad looked slightly mollified. “And you know how to sail?”
“Yes, sir. The captain gave me a refresher course, but I’ve failed many times. I used to race maxi yachts a few years back, actually.”
“No kidding?” Dad slipped his hands into his pockets, looking between us. “Alright, then. Not too late, and call me if you need me. I’ll be…” Dad nodded toward the study.
I bit my lip, wishing I would say something but also knowing I wouldn’t. Work kept him busy, and not thinking about Mom. Or her absence. “I know. I’ll be safe.” I reached back blindly, my fingers extended.
Falcon’s hand closed firmly around mine. “She’ll be back at a reasonable time, sir. Good weather all day. I checked twice.”
“Neil. And that’s good to know.” Dad’s shoulders relaxed a fraction more. “I’ll see you later.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek, squeezing my shoulder and wandered off to the other end of the house.
I watched him leave, itching to follow, to say something, but what? We lost Mom years ago, and his grief had never matched up with mine. Besides, it wasn’t fair of me to ask him to put a hold on his life to remember her.
“Ready?” Falcon traced his fingers through my hair, tucking a few strands behind my ear.
I nodded, suddenly keen to leave the house. “Yes. I am.”
“Good.” He pressed a kiss to my temple that jolted me with its familiarity and the secure presence of him as he drew me out of the house and down to the marina.
“Feel better?” Falcon ran his knuckles across my shoulders.
I suppressed a shiver as I looked over my shoulder at him, trying not to strangle the boat’s steering wheel — excuse me, the helm. I was still getting used to the language that flowed so easily from him, and was well out of my depths. But as before, Falcon didn't make me feel stupid or insignificant about not knowing something.
Rather, his passion shone through as he showed me how to steer and to use the little tails in the equally small clear panel in the sail spread wide above me to gauge the wind and when to tack.
I had the impression I’d never conquer that last part. My first attempt left us stalled in the water while he howled with laughter, set us back up and had me try again. My second attempt actually caught the wind, and I was determined to keep those little tails in their square, flying.
Mind, with the way he couldn't seem to stop from touching me, that made concentrating a hard call.
We left from the marina early in the morning but that had been hours ago. He had charts out, and we were headed for the lee side of a small island I remembered hearing about ages ago that the kids often used to ride out to when I was younger to go swimming. I was never allowed to go when they did and by the time I came back the next summer, those same kids seemed to have formed friendships I never broke into after that.
“You’re doing amazing.” Falcon resting his hands on my hips, his thumbs turning small circles over my white denim capri pants. “Are you sure this is your first time?”
“On any boat that wasn’t attached to the jetty by a strong rope,” I reassured him. “Your instructional technique is good.”
