Page 65 of A Winter Wedding Adventure
‘I’m not sure I want you to understand.’ The breathy quality of her voice, the tentative words sent a shiver through Mattia. Not I don’t want, but I’m not sure I want. For Kira, that was like running into his arms.
‘It’s all right, Kira.’ He kept his voice steady. ‘It’s just me.’
Her quick glance from underneath a lopsided brow gave him a spark of hope for – quite a lot. ‘Just you,’ she repeated with a huff. ‘Mattia, you don’t know me very well.’
‘I politely beg to differ.’
Turning, she looked him square in the face and the flash of longing that shot down his spine took him by surprise. ‘You know all that stuff I said in the van on the way here? About how I don’t do commitment?’
‘You don’t get attached to people who could hurt you.’
Her eyes narrowed and he was glad he had a vivid memory of that conversation – of every conversation he’d shared with this prickly, colourful woman who possibly didn’t realise she held everyone else at a safe distance because she felt too deeply.
‘This is about Christian, yes? Why everything changed for you after you broke up with him?’
Another snort. ‘I did not break up with him.’
‘That’s a yes,’ he said on a sigh. ‘What happened? Why don’t you want me to know?’
Crossing her arms in a gesture she’d probably meant as combative, but only made her look vulnerable, she said, ‘Because it makes me a liar and a hypocrite.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m sure?—’
‘I was about to marry him! I was wearing a long, white dress covered in lace, my hair done up, in heels and a lace garter, for fuck’s sake. They were playing Pachelbel’s fucking Canon.’
Oh. Mattia’s eyes swung shut, blinking open again as he tried to make sense of what she said. Oh. He sucked in a deep, shaky breath, blowing it out again on a cloud of moisture particles in the cold air.
‘He didn’t show up,’ she said with a caustic smile. ‘Lucky near miss for my marital status.’
But a lasting blow to her pride. ‘How old were you?’ He grimaced even before she answered him, knowing the answer could only be: too young.
‘Nineteen. I thought I was in love. I was an idiot.’ Her jaw set, she turned back to the stump and swung the axe again. She didn’t quite find the middle that time and a smaller piece splintered off the wood. She cursed under her breath.
Her words echoed in his mind. She thought the story made her a hypocrite, but he could picture it so clearly. Kira head over heels in love – bravely, faithfully, loyally.
‘Christian was the idiot.’
She dropped the axe. ‘Don’t say that. You can’t possibly mean it.’
‘Why not? Because we’ve only known each other for four days or because you’re trying so hard not to let me see who you really are?’
The breath left her mouth on a sharp exhale and then she shoved him half-heartedly on one shoulder. ‘You play all innocent and weak, but you have superpowers,’ she said accusingly. ‘You can make people feel things, even when they don’t want to.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m only telling you what I see, what everyone would see, if they looked more closely.’
‘If you look closely, you’ll find crooked teeth and brown hair growing back under the bleached bit.’
He stared at her, marvelling at the vibrant image of her imprinting on his mind – his heart – in real time. ‘I am curious about the natural colour of your hair, but I like the blue. I love how you rebuilt your pride even bigger and stronger than before. I wish more people saw what I see when I look at you, but I can also understand why you protect your soft heart, why you make people earn the real you. I hate how the memory of this one mistake colours your world still, but I love how you hold onto things so tightly.’
Her smile died. ‘I don’t have a soft heart. I can’t. Maybe I did once, when I was reckless and too trusting, but now… It won’t do you any good to believe I’m like you.’
She wasn’t like him. She’d been brave and loved as she found, while he floated with the dreams and ideals of a child. She’d been more grown up at nineteen than he was at twenty-seven.
He gave a single nod. She’d been right, the way he thought about her had changed with the knowledge that she’d nearly married someone once, but not the way she’d feared. From a disjointed bundle of instincts and impressions, she’d come into focus. No matter what happened – or didn’t happen – over the next few days, forming that image had been important to him, proof that the mess of real life could be just as gripping as art and ideals.
He gestured to the axe, its crude blade lying harmless on the snowy ground. ‘Will you show me how to do that?’
‘What?’
