Lauren Henderson

“I tell the truth,” he says. “E la cosa più importante nel mondo. The most important thing.”
“You can know what you think is the truth,” I snap, “but no one’s making you say it out loud.”
Like that Italian boys won’t fancy me, I think bitterly. He couldn’t have told me more clearly that he isn’t interested in me if he’d written it on a big sign and held it above his head.
Luca leans toward me, an expression of intense interest on his face.
“So,” he starts slowly, “if I am thinking that I want to kiss you, I should not say it out loud?”
Oh, he’s completely messing with me now. Taunting me. I feel tears of shame and rejection rise to my eyes.
Please,” I manage to say in as withering a tone as I can manage, “I thought you were all about telling the truth. And now you’re nothing but a big liar.”
His lashes lift as his eyes widen. His lips part and I watch, hypnotized now, as he says softly, so softly that I find myself tilting toward him to catch every word:
“Violetta, cara mia, you are wrong. I am not a liar.”
He doesn’t reach out to take hold of my shoulders, or take my hand to pull me in. He’s so sure of himself that he simply leans down, so close I can feel his breath scented with Prosecco warm on my face, for a split second, and then his lips meet mine.”


Lauren Henderson, Flirting in Italian
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Flirting in Italian (Flirting in Italian #1) Flirting in Italian by Lauren Henderson
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