Page 10 of The Strength Of A Woman

“Are they leaving for New York?”

“I hope so. Wait.”

I stop abruptly, and she almost bumps into me.

“When are you flying back?” I ask.

“Tuesday?”

“You’re not sure?”

She gestures at the front of the house.

“Things are tense around here.”

A guilty smile arches her lips.

“You want to abandon me,” I murmur, walking again.

“No way. I’m not doing that. I’m just afraid that they’ll toss me out.”

I laugh. She does, too. Although it is a possibility.

“They won’t do it,” I say, not very confident, though.

The back pool comes into view, and with it, a flashback hits my brain. The memory of last night unfolds in front of my eyes, and I have no chance to even stop it.

“You know what? Let’s go into the house. I don’t want to have anyone’s eyes on us.”

A few moments later, we enter my walk-in closet. I ask the staff to bring us drinks, and we spend the next hour talking about things from back home.

Time flies, and at around three in the afternoon, Rory retreats to her room while I change my clothes, put on my bathrobe, and stroll to the open windows.

A nice view unfurls in front of me, mostly because it is that time of the day when people rest inside the house or snooze in an armchair on the front porch, as Giorgio occasionally does.

The guards drink coffee in the kitchen and chat up some cute housemaid, and there are no people in sight.

A troubled breath enters my lungs.

My peace of mind is gone, doused in paranoia. Only a few short hours ago, this place looked different to me.

I would’ve rolled naked in my bed and made plans on how to seduce Callum O’Hara.

Not anymore.

Absently, I pick at the tray of fruit Nona had brought us earlier before Rory headed to her room.

I crush a strawberry between my teeth and look in the distance, my heart searching for his.

I’m still convinced that he hasn’t left. Does he know about this Taormina business? Has he been invited?

They didn’t even invite him to have lunch with us.

Or maybe they did, and he said no because he had different plans.

Soft voices travel on the crest of a gust of wind.

Instinctively, I pull back and chew slowly, Nona’s story coming to mind.