Chapter 7

• APRIL
• The next morning, I head off to college. It is not really a proper college, more like a rented classroom in a small building in the center of the city. Dido Bruni is our tutor.
• She teaches language classes there, and she is very good at what she does. When I first joined, I could barely say a word in Italian. Now, after a few months, I can speak a few sentences during our group talks. Maybe in another couple of years, I will be able to have full conversations. Hopefully.
• I have just stepped off the bus when I see him. The mystery man from last night. Diablo Romano. He is walking into one of those expensive clothing stores, the kind that probably only takes appointments and not walk-ins.
• A beautiful dark suit rests on a mannequin in the window, looking exactly like the one he wore. Somehow, he wears it better. Above the door, the name Giuseppe’s is written in gold italics.
• I do not even know what makes me do it. I blame my feet. I want to walk straight to college, but my feet have a mind of their own. They take me across the road, up the steps, and through the glass door of the store before I can stop myself.
• Warm air hits my face, chasing away the morning wind outside. The place is larger than it looked from the street. Racks of suits, ties, and polished leather shoes stretch far into the back. Everything smells of clean fabric, faint cologne, and something expensive that I can’t name.
• A man in his seventies stands behind the counter near the window. He has snow-white hair, a neat beard, and an immaculate gray suit. His shoes are so shiny I can see my reflection in them.
• “Can I help you?” he asks in a thick Italian accent.
• “Just browsing, thank you,” I reply, trying to sound casual while my eyes dart around, hoping to spot Diablo. I cannot see him anywhere. I am not even sure why I came in here. Maybe I just wanted to see him again, or maybe I want to ask why he told Aria that I should take tonight off.
• I imagine myself casually asking him that. Maybe I could even joke that I have not been with anyone in years, that I am shy, but that I would not exactly mind having his babies. I cringe at the thought. That would go so well, April. Perfect plan.
• He is probably married anyway, like Aria said. That would be my luck.
• “Good morning, April,” says a deep voice behind me, rich and low, like a warm current of sound that makes my whole body tense. I turn around quickly. There he is. Diablo Romano.
• He stands a few steps away, and somehow he looks even taller than he did last night. His eyes are sharper, more focused. His suit looks like it was made from his own skin. It fits him perfectly. Every movement he makes seems deliberate, controlled.
• “How are you?” he asks.
• For a second, I forget how to breathe. The air feels thick. I want to answer, but my brain has stopped working. My heart beats so fast that I can hear it. Part of me wants to step forward, to touch his face, to press my lips to his. I want him to know how drawn I am to him. It is ridiculous, but I cannot fight it.
• He keeps looking at me like he is trying to read my mind, and I desperately hope he cannot. My legs feel weak, like the floor might give way under me.
• He waits for an answer. I have been silent for too long. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. It is the longest pause in the history of the world. I need to say something.
• Finally, he smiles slightly, though it is barely visible. “Your hair looks good,” he says softly.
• He reaches out like he wants to touch it, then stops himself and takes a small step back.
• I look down at the floor, my face burning. “Guh,” I manage to say, which is not a word at all. My skin feels like it is on fire. I wish I could jump into a freezing lake right now.
• I take a deep breath and try again. The words come out too quickly, like they are tripping over each other. “I mean, fancy seeing you here. I was just shopping a bit, and here you are. What a coincidence, right? Shopping in the same store. What are the odds?”
• He studies me with that unreadable face of his. His expression doesn’t change.
• “What?” I ask nervously. “What is it?”
• “You are browsing in a men’s tailor’s?” he says. “Looking for anything specific?”
• “Oh, this is a men’s tailor’s? Of course, I knew that. I was, uh, looking for a gift. For someone.”
• I reach for the nearest shirt, checking the price tag. My heart almost stops. There are too many zeros at the end of the number. It costs more than my rent. “Maybe not that one,” I mumble, putting it back quickly and glancing toward the door.
• The old man behind the counter clears his throat politely. “May I ask what madame’s budget might be?”
• I laugh awkwardly and rummage through my purse. “Well, uh, what do you have in the five-dollar range?”
• He smiles. “Ah, the perfect item,” he says with mock seriousness. “One of our paper bags. Two dollars each. You could even take two and still have money left for breakfast.”
• I open my mouth in embarrassment, but before I can reply, Diablo’s voice cuts through the air. “Don’t tease her, Giuseppe.” His tone is calm, but there is an edge beneath it, something dark and protective. His eyes flash, and I can feel the tension in the room.
• Giuseppe immediately lowers his head slightly. I see the way Diablo looks at him. It is not anger exactly, but it has a dangerous energy to it. Strangely, it doesn’t scare me. If anything, it makes my pulse race faster.
• Diablo turns his attention back to me. “Allow me to get something for your friend,” he says, his eyes holding mine. “My treat.”
• I can feel my heart pounding again. There is something in his gaze I have never seen before. It is hidden, almost invisible, but I sense it. Hunger. Desire. And then it is gone, buried beneath his calm mask.
• “Giuseppe could provide a full suit at my expense,” he continues, “if you happen to know your friend’s measurements.”
• I manage a small, shaky smile. “No, that’s very kind, but I’m late for class. I have an exam.”
• “I thought you were shopping for a gift,” he replies. His tone is neutral, but I can tell he is teasing me. I cannot read his face. It is completely expressionless, yet somehow I can feel his eyes tracing every small reaction on mine.
• “I was,” I say quickly. “I mean, I will. Later. I really have to go now.”
• Before he can say anything else, I rush to the door and push it open. Cold air hits my face again as I step outside. I start jogging down the street, my heart racing and my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
• “That could have gone better,” I mutter under my breath.
• By the time I reach the college building, I have replayed the entire scene ten times in my head, and it gets worse every time. I cannot believe what I just did.
• I have somehow turned into the kind of girl who walks into a luxury tailor’s shop just to bump into a man she barely knows, then makes a complete fool of herself in front of him.
• If I ever had a chance with him, it is gone now. That much is clear. I can still feel how his eyes lingered on me, how every word he said seemed to hold something unspoken beneath it.
• I vow right there to put what just happened out of my mind forever.
• Hopefully, by the time I am old and gray, I will finally stop cringing about it.