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“Honestly, you smell like B.O. and airplane pretzels. It’s hard to have a serious conversation.”
“You’re so focused on proving you can protect her that you forget to actually care for her.” “I do care,” I growl. “Or at least, I would. If she’d fucking let me.” “Oh, she’ll let you. You just have to know what to do.” “I’m supposed to—what? Serenade her? Buy chocolates?” Kosti barks a laugh. “God, no. She’d fling them at your head.”
Day one in Tuscan purgatory, and I’ve found a new nemesis. A rooster is crowing like it’s personally offended by the concept of sleep.
“Marry me.” The words don’t compute at first. Then: “Have you lost your fucking mind?” “Yes,” he rumbles. “Every day since you left.”
“Well.” She clears her throat. “Glad to see you’re… bonding.”
In the kitchen, Jasmine pretends to be extremely occupied with sorting groceries. Kosti whistles off-key as he takes another trip to the car to retrieve the rest. I beeline for the bedroom. Lock the door. Slump against it.
When she’s out, she pauses and looks at us. “My girls,” Mama breathes, hands fluttering over her mouth. My shovel clatters to the gravel.
While I’m still mid-processing, Zoya unfolds herself from the other side, all no-nonsense linen and shrewd eyes. “Try not to faint, Belle. You already cried the whole flight.”
with what looks suspiciously like one of Kosti’s old bandanas. Oh, fucking Christ. If she and him start shacking up, I’ll nuke the planet and tell God to start over.
Zoya nods. Ariel blushes. Belle just smiles brightly. Emotional terrorists, the lot of them.
Giovanni’s husband is the one who dropped him off at the villa. Nice guy. Very thick mustache.
Mustache
A goat. A fucking goat.
“Hey,” I say. Weak. Like I’m the intruder here.
Dying
Now, it’s all mud and teeth-marks. Ruined. The goat bleats. “Get—” I swipe at my cheeks. “Get out.”
but this time, I can’t stop smiling. ABBA’s “Dancing Queen” blasts through the tinny speakers.
My songggggg
