Page 15 of I Would Die For You

“You do?”

She smiles softly. “Don Giacomo has told me about her.”

It still surprises me to reckon these two are peers—they went to the same local school, grew up alongside each other. No wonder she dared go up and ask him to be her son’s godfather.

“She doesn’t talk to me much.”

Again, the same words I uttered with Valentino make it out. What is wrong with me? I’ve never been so hung up on a woman before.

At this, my mother laughs. “Do you give her an opening to talk, Stef?”

Same response here, too. Guess I am too gregarious sometimes.

Her face softens. “You like her.”

Wait, what? Well, yes, of course I do. I wouldn’t be craving so hard to fuck her every single chance I get if I didn’t like her. But it sounds like she’s referring to something else.

She laughs and waves a hand at me. “A mother knows.”

I rear back, miffed. “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?” She cocks her head and nods toward where the piano is making music. “He’s thinking ofheragain. Can’t you hear? He’s playing Debussy’sLa Fille Aux Cheveux de Lin. What girl does he know with flax-colored hair?”

I shrug. Beats me if I know. Valentino and I aren’t peers—he’s almost five years older than me. We mainly got close when he came here a couple years ago. He’s never spoken of any girl, flax-haired or otherwise.

Mammaruns a gentle hand along my cheek. “Tesoro. The heart wants what the heart wants.”

“Did your heart wantPadre?”

I want to take the question back as soon as it’s out, but that’s impossible now.

Her face grows pained, then that quiet Mona Lisa smile is back on. “Very much so. It still does.”

I’d venture a guess he doesn’t feel the same. He wouldn’t treat her so much like shit if he did. One more reason I don’t want to be anywhere near him right now. And speaking of, he could come back anytime. It’s his home, after all.

“I should leave.”

Mammahugs me. She knows her two men best avoid meeting each other for the foreseeable future.

“Take her out,” she says at the door. “And Stef, listen, for once.”

I kiss her on both cheeks and decide to take her advice in stead as I make it out onto the street. The nearby Madama Cristina market is closed, but it gives me an idea. I check my phone to confirm and let out a whoop when I see it’s a special market day in another part of Torino today. My finger finds itself opening the messaging app, sending Kaya a text asking if she’s free this afternoon.

She is. We agree to meet on the outskirts of the biggest flea market in town on Via Vittorio Andreis. I arrive well ahead of her, and she’s a sight to behold as she approaches theGran Balonunaware I am watching her.

She’s got her hair in a high ponytail again. I’ve come to love slipping my hand beneath the band holding it in place, sliding down the long locks to then fan them out over her chest to cover her breasts like she’s a mermaid come out of the water to lure unsuspecting men with her voice.

Kaya definitely lures me with the husky tone she uses in the bedroom—or all over her studio or my apartment when we make it there, really—but here I am thinking I don’t really know what she sounds like outside of a sexual sphere. I suppose that’s whatMammaand Valentino both mean by letting her talk and listening.

“Ciao, ama,” I greet her when she reaches me.

Her smile is wide and free, uplifting her from mermaid to ethereal sprite in the loose linen shirtdress she’s got on, a wide leather belt cinching at her waist. A cross-body bag is slung across her chest, the dark purse a contrast against the pale pink of her dress. She lifts her big sunglasses when she reaches up to air-kiss me on both cheeks.

I grab hold of her waist and press our cheeks together before actually kissing them soundly.

She peers at me with a small frown. “What was that for?”

I shrug. “Missed you, is all.”

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