Page 67 of His Captive
Massimo looks up at me. He tries to smile, but it doesn’t fully form.
“Spend the day with you,” he says. “Doing anything.”
“Well, you don’t have a bucket list, so what about your lasts?” I ask, taking a deep breath. “Any of those?”
“Hmm,” he ponders, intrigue flashing in his icy blues. “You’ve given me some amazing lasts, Lea. Better than I could have ever imagined.”
Even with the chaos inside me, I can’t help blushing. “I’m sure there are a few things, right? Surely? There are so many things you’ll never get to do again.”
The intrigue turns into a solemn glance, and he nods. “I suppose there are, but they don’t seem that important now.”
“Tell me what they are.” I walk over and sit down next to him on the couch. “Humor me, Massimo. I’m—honestly trying to hold it together here.”
I’m distracting myself with conversation, because as long as we’re talking, I can’t dwell on my thoughts. Can’t dwell on the heartache. I may not be able to make today as exciting as some of the others, but I’ll do my best not to make it miserable.
Massimo takes a deep breath. Maybe he senses it, too. The need for something to distract us from the inevitable.
“I always planned to get more ink,” Massimo admits, lifting his shirt and motioning to a few spots that are open on his chest and torso. “I had some designs in mind, but never found the time for sit for a tattoo.”
“Do you want to do that today?” I ask. “I saw some tattoo parlors when we drove through town on our way to see the ruins and statues.”
“Sit for a tattoo?” Massimo shakes his head. “Nah, that takes too long.”
“Then tell me what you’d get if you could,” I suggest, glancing at the spots that could be filled in across his impressively inked physique.
“Right here, between the skulls and two skeletons, I always wanted to add something to connect them. I thought about extending the line of skulls or getting another skeleton to match the other two.” Massimo shrugs, then points to another spot. “I left this spot open because I was going to blend the Vegas designs and the macabre ones with some sugar skulls covered in poker chips, or sugar skulls with poker hands for teeth.”
“Interesting,” I reply, trying to picture it. “They would fit the theme and bring everything together. You’ve got some skulls with roses that blend into the other arm.”
“Yeah, and I wanted to do that with my back, as well,” he continues. “Skeletons drinking wine, or skeletons stomping wine. Something like that. I had a few ideas.”
I move closer and shift Massimo’s shirt so I can look at his back. There are several bare spots where the tattoos could go. I can’t resist tracing them, feeling the tingle of electricity between us as my fingers roam across his back.
“Maybe roses and wine on the left, and Vegas and wine on the right?” I say, tracing several spots. “Along your shoulders, at least.”
“Not a bad idea,” Massimo agrees. “Maybe I should have let you design all my tattoos.”
“Yeah, right,” I laugh, feeling a little more at ease. “If I was designing them for you, you wouldn’t have any.”
“Seems like a waste. You wouldn’t even want me to get your name somewhere?” he asks. “I bet Eleanor would look great across my stomach. Big bold letters, too.”
“Hah!” I laugh again. “You’d go with Eleanor instead of Lea? Nobody calls me Eleanor.”
“I’d even add your last name, except it wouldn’t be Fuller.” He glances at me over his shoulder. “Not after I put a ring on your finger.”
“Don’t say that.” I look down at my hands but can’t stop myself from sayingEleanor Morandiin my head a few times. “That’s not fair.”
“I know, but if circumstances were different, that’s what I’d be thinking about right now,” he sighs. “Making you mine in every way, and that goes a lot further than the bedroom.”
“You barely know me, Massimo,” I mutter, even though I feel the same connection to him—one that dances inside me likeloveshould, despite our short time together.
“What about wine?” I ask, trying to shift the conversation away from marriage and things that make my heart ache. “Is there a bottle you were saving for a special occasion?”
“Not really,” he answers. “Although, I always said I wanted to hunt down another bottle of red from the year I was born. My dad sent them to the family, clients—literally everyone he could think of. He was so happy to have a son.”
“Think there’s one on the island?” I ask.
“Theo might have one,” Massimo says. “He has a lot that isn’t on the menu. But it’s a little early to crack open a bottle of wine.”
