Chapter Text
“Another world—
If there’s a chance,
I’ll take [it]”
–Solar, “Adrenaline”
Saturday
The seaplane motored on the gentle waves, turning toward the island.
Vincenzo was standing on the dock, hands in the pockets of his light-colored linen pants. His white shirt was open several buttons lower than she’d ever seen it, and his sleeves were rolled up his forearms. And he was smiling at her, close-mouthed and perfect.
It took more time than Cha Young wanted to escape the plane, now that she was so close to her aim. She took the pilot’s hand as he helped her down, hardly able to look away from Vincenzo to set her feet on the ladder’s steps. But then she was free, walking toward him in the open air.
His stance shifted to welcome her, his head tilting in that way she found so familiar her eyes stung. She pretended to squint in the sunlight.
He extended a hand to her. She took it, trying not to show her relief at the contact.
“Welcome to Pagliuzza, mademoiselle,” he said.
She resisted the urge to grasp his fluttering collar and pull him into a hug. Instead, she grinned, turning it playful. “Your own island,” she said.
He smiled again, nodded once, then signaled to the pilot with one hand. The hand not holding hers.
He gave an instruction, and the man answered aloud, but the only words she caught were “Signore Cassano.” When the man had passed by them with Cha Young’s bags in both hands, Vincenzo drew her a step forward.
“I missed you,” he said. “I thought of you every day.”
Her heart banged hard in her chest. “I believe you.”
Vincenzo turned, tucking her into his side as if no time had passed from their days in Seoul together, guiding her with his hand on her back. The hand not holding hers.
They fell into step, their strides matched as they walked up the dock.
The pilot waited for them on the wooden walkway up the narrow, orange-tinged beach. Vincenzo dropped her hand and thanked him. The man nodded sharply, saying something to Vincenzo about fruit before informing Cha Young in English that her bags would be taken to her room. She thanked him in English, then Vincenzo steered her onward.
As they reached the top of the cliff, a small group of men in shorts and half-buttoned shirts passed them, headed toward the plane. Vincenzo guided her closer, keeping her out of the way as they passed. Each man nodded at Vincenzo, addressing him by name or a title she didn’t recognize, and all smiled at her before descending the stairs.
She didn’t watch where she was going, though the island had very few trees to hide behind. She followed Vincenzo, responding to the sure touch of his hand on her back as she saw his beautiful island for the first time. Breezy and largely flat, with gorgeous views of the blue sea in every direction, its greenery gripping the rocks beneath. White and yellow buildings dotted their route, their red tiled roofs and the outlines of dark windows just visible from the narrow road, the only road it seemed, as they walked along.
When they reached the largest villa at the top of the hill, Vincenzo paused on the path, allowing Cha Young to take in the stately yellow stucco walls, the massive glass windows, the gravel path so pale it nearly looked white.
“Wow,” she said. “Is this your house or the hotel?”
He grinned down at her, hand curving around her hip. “This week, it’s both.”
—
The double front doors stood open. They entered a white marble foyer dressed with a small round table and an elaborate bouquet of flowers, a combination of pink roses and blue and purple flowers she didn’t recognize.
Immediately in front of the table were two matching pairs of lush, dark blue slippers. One was lopsided, stretched by frequent wear, and she could clearly see the impression of heels. The other looked new, fresh from its bag. Cha Young grinned at Vincenzo and steadied herself on his arm as she slipped out of her sneakers, easing her socked feet into the slippers. These contained memory foam, and welcomed the curves of her feet with such soft support she had to hide a moan.
As Vincenzo toed out of his own shoes, two people entered from the hallway to the left. The woman was short, with beautiful dark hair wrapped into a low bun, an ornate apron tied around her waist. The man she recognized immediately.
“Luca,” Cha Young said, pleased to see a familiar face so soon. He stepped forward, kissing her on both cheeks. He was wearing shoes. She recovered her surprise enough to reciprocate on the second cheek. “How are you?” she asked in Italian. She’d been practicing, even before Vincenzo left Korea. But in the past few months her language studies had become her only hobby.
“I’m well. Thank you, mademoiselle,” he answered. “How was your trip?”
She didn’t recognize the key word, but she could guess it from context and answered the same as if he’d asked about her health. “Good. Thank you.”
He grinned at Vincenzo, and back at her. “We are all so glad you decided to visit.”
“I’m happy to be here.”
Luca released her hands and stepping to one side, turning toward the middle-aged woman.
“Cha Young,” said Vincenzo, shifting to hold her with his right hand and extend the left toward the woman. “This is my housekeeper Antonella.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Cha Young, extending her hand.
The woman took it and said in Korean, “Welcome Hong Cha Young. Vincenzo has spoken so much of you. I’m happy you are finally here.”
Startled, Cha Young bowed to the older woman. “You mean he speaks? To other people?”
Vincenzo let out one of his short chuckles, looked away to hide his embarrassment. Antonella laughed more fully and Luca looked delighted.
“Where did you learn Korean?” Cha Young asked her.
“My father worked in Incheon before relocating to Italy. I don’t remember very much, I’m afraid. Please let Luca or I know if you need anything,” the older woman said. “And don’t let Vincenzo bully you. You should do exactly what you want on your vacation.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Cha Young answered with a smirk, even as she allowed herself to be tugged away from them with a wave, “I plan to bully him.”
They laughed again, Vincenzo looking heavenward as he led Cha Young to the right down a wide hallway.
—
They turned down another hallway, lined with yellow sconces like the first, which led to another hallway holding just two doors, both tall and of a dark, thick wood with black fixtures. Vincenzo stepped up to the first.
“This one’s yours,” he said. Twisting the knob, he pushed it open and gestured for her to enter first.
The room’s plaster walls were painted a soft yellow, accented by ornate white molding and a vaulted ceiling. The furniture was stained a gorgeous rich brown and polished until it reflected the room. She made a show of walking to the various pieces, a console table, an armchair, and armoire, checking them for dust, but everything was spotless. Her suitcases were already tucked beside the armoire.
“This is the room you prepared for me?” she asked.
He nodded once.
The bed’s headboard was heavy-looking and richly carved. The coverlet was white with deep blue embroidery.
Gesturing to the headboard, she said. “I can’t imagine having to carry that up here from the dock,” she said.
The same blue of the coverlet was in the pattern of the armchair and, as she took a look in the bathroom next to the chair, matched the hand towels.
“What do you think?”
Cha Young turned just enough to meet his gaze over one shoulder.
“It’s better than your apartment at Geumga Plaza.”
He nodded.
“Does it come with pigeons?” she asked.
“And doves. You can see them from your terrace.”
“I have a terrace?” Unable to play it cool any longer, Cha Young hurried to the wall of curtains. Snapping them open, the found French doors, and beyond them a spacious tiled landing shaded by a colorful striped awning. Potted plants came up to her waist along the perimeter, adding to her privacy if she decided to make use of the lounge chair, plump with coral-colored cushions. To the right was another terrace decorated with a small table and two chairs with dark blue cushions.
“My room is next door,” Vincenzo explained from the doorway.
She could almost see him there, reading a book about birds with his cappuccino in the evenings. And he’d be next door her entire stay. This wasn’t a guest wing. He’d brought her as close to him as possible.
For the second time, Cha Young pretended the stinging in her eyes wasn’t due to tears. She blinked into the breeze and looked to her left.
She had a magnificent view of the sea she’d just traversed by air, and at least half the width of island, though there weren’t any other homes or buildings on this side.
“Does Mr. Nam still feed Inzaghi?” Vincenzo asked.
“No, the Lees have taken that over. Their room is on the same side. And Dal-rae likes him.”
When she could face Vincenzo again, he was smiling. “How is she?” he asked.
“Teething,” Cha Young answered. “She cries at all hours.” She imitated the baby, earning a concerned look where she expected an indulgent grin.
“Is there nothing that will help her?”
Cha Young returned to him, and he stepped backwards into her room. She followed, placing both her hands lightly on Vincenzo’s shoulders. “Everyone in Geumga has already tried.”
“But I haven’t tried,” he answered, placing his hands on her hips.
“You think you know babies better than the Cassano Geumga Family?” She nodded sharply in the general direction of Korea. “Every one of them claims to be an expert.”
He swayed side to side, taking her along with a hesitant grin. “Yes, but Dal Rae is my goddaughter.”
“So you think she’ll stop crying if you’re the one to interfere?”
He slid his hands along her waist, moving her a fraction of a step closer. “I can try.”
Cha Young lifted a finger. “Ah! I brought pictures of her for you.”
Vincenzo held her closer, voice deepening, “Thank you.”
Cha Young swallowed. “They’re in my suitcase.”
“We’ll get them later.”
Vincenzo’s hands cupped her face. His thumb grazed her ear.
They kissed slowly, aware of the distance and time that had elapsed since they’d done this several months ago. And so much longer since they’d been together every day, working side by side, so comfortable in one another’s presence, facing dangers together.
Disturbed by the memories of those last days, Cha Young slanted her mouth and drew him in deeper, wanting to think of nothing outside this moment.
Vincenzo tasted of sunshine and citrus, and his cologne smelled perfect, just as she remembered it. Even when she knew him only as her estranged father’s strange friend, she’d enjoyed his cologne. But she’d first found it comforting when she’d pulled him against the bars of the police station by his grey lapels. She’d been arrested, and was confident in his identity as a member of the Mafia and his ability to get her out, but she’d still be nervous.
There was no guarantee that they would fall into old patterns. Whatever this week held, whatever they could recapture of what they once had and whatever else might develop between them, she wanted to keep herself present here, on this island, in this moment with him.
His arms squeezed her tight to his chest, then eased, holding her by her shoulders as he let her slow and end the kiss.
“I missed you,” he breathed into her hair.
She swallowed. “You said so already.”
He nuzzled her ear with his nose. “I missed you, Cha Young.”
The breath she released was shaky, but her voice was even. “I missed you too.”
He held her a moment longer before drawing back. “You should rest before dinner. Antonella has planned a big family dinner to welcome you.”
Cha Young’s heart began to hurry for a new reason. “What? Tonight?”
He nodded, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I tried to talk her out of it, to at least wait until tomorrow.”
“She said no?”
Vincenzo nodded.
Cha Young lifted a single eyebrow at him. “Are you the boss or what?”
His eyes skated away from hers. “It’s not something I should be firm about. Everyone is curious about you. If they think I’m trying to hide you, their curiosity will only grow.”
Cha Young hummed her agreement. “There’s no pretending my flight was delayed until tomorrow.”
He nodded. More seriously, he said, “You don’t have to join us if you don’t want to. Italian dinners usually last four hours.”
Cha Young’s eyes widened. “I’ve been in criminal trials that were shorter. Is it going to be here?”
He nodded. “On the back terrace, past the living room you saw.”
Cha Young considered. She’s already decided, but Vincenzo looked almost flustered, and she couldn’t be sure if it was unease about her reaction or the dinner itself.
Narrowing her eyes she asked, “Should I wear my Cassano Family clothes? All black. Designer sunglasses. Fabulous jacket.” She mimed flicking her blazer behind her.
His mouth quirked into a smile despite himself. “We won’t be doing business. This is just dinner.”
“With your entire family.”
He nodded at an angle as she gazed up at him.
“The Cassano Family,” she said in English. When his face clouded, she wasn’t sure with what, she continued briskly, “How many people?”
He breathed out carefully, looking off as if counting but she could see the answer was already in his mouth. “Twenty.”
Cha Young felt her face shift in surprise.
Frowning slightly, Vincenzo continued, setting his hands on her waist. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. I’ll lock the door and tell them all to go home.”
“No,” she said, stepping back. “It’s best to meet them all at once.”
“If you’re too tired—”
“I’ll take a nap first,” she said. “What time is dinner?”
He paused but let it go. “Eight. And it’s a traditional Italian dinner. Seven courses, shoes on.”
Cha Young leaned around him to check the time on the clock by the bed. It was only 4:30. Plenty of time. “I noticed Luca and Antonella were wearing shoes.”
“It’s common in Italian households. I don’t hold anyone else to my preference, but I always wear slippers in my own room and the rest of the house unless there’s a dinner or something of the kind. The floors of this side of the villa are clean, as I’m usually the only one who uses them.”
She nodded. “I like these slippers. They’re comfortable.”
“They aren’t too manly?” he asked, looking down at them, the muscles around his mouth tense with genuine concern. “I worried you'd think they look like your father’s.”
Her grinned faltered but she shook her head. “They’re fine.”
Vincenzo searched her face for a moment. “The whole house will be cleaned thoroughly after the party tonight. In the morning, it will be as if the party never happened.”
She hit his shoulder once. “I’m not here to insult your housekeeping,” she said. “I didn’t think about slippers before I got here. It was a good surprise to find this pair waiting for me.”
“They’re yours,” he said. “For whenever you’re here.”
“You say that like I’m going to want to come back.”
He clasped his hands behind her back. She arched to keep his face from getting too close, too distracting.
Rubbing his thumbs against her lowest ribs, he said, “My goal this week is to make sure you do.”
She affected a haughty expression, her eyebrows curved high, to make him smile.
“Then you better make sure this dinner goes well,” she said. She counted off her demands on one hand. “Delicious food. Fancy place settings. Excellent wine. No shooting. No being arrested.”
“There won’t be shooting.”
“Yes, that is my demand. And no being arrested.”
“I promise Interpol is not invited.”
Cha Young scoffed. “Interpol is never invited.”
He pulled her close again, but she locked her elbows and held him back. “Stop distracting me. I have a big party to prepare for.”
He coaxed her near enough to kiss on the cheek before releasing her.
“If you get hungry before tonight, find me,” he said. “The house isn’t that big.”
She lifted the larger suitcase onto the bed and unzipped it, removing her makeup bag.
“I’ll wash my hair before tonight. I need to make a good first impression. I’ve only ever been to Cassano Geumga dinners.”
“You don’t need to earn anyone’s approval.”
“Mmm,” she considered this then shook her head. “No, it’s better if I dazzle them all. But don’t worry. I’ll try not to embarrass you too much in the process.”
Vincenzo chuckled, a puff of laughter gone quicker than she’d like.
“Okay, time to go,” she said, pushing him by the shoulders for the door.
“Ah,” he said, stepping around her. “There is something else.”
He crossed back to the foot of the bed and opened one side of the armoire, drawing out a magnificent blue and cream silk robe.
Cha Young made an appreciative noise, lifting the sash and letting its cool fabric flow across her hand. Meeting Vincenzo’s eyes, she said, “This is for me?”
He nodded.
“This place is better than at a hotel.”
Vincenzo chuckled. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
Cha Young made a face as she considered, but the heaviness of her voice surprised her when she answered. “Not now. Maybe later.”
Vincenzo glanced at her lips and swallowed. He nodded, squeezed her hand, and left.
—
At five minutes to eight, Vincenzo knocked on her door. Cha Young had chosen a green halter dress with gold embroidery at the waist and down the hip. She’d left her hair down and wore her favorite red lipstick with the pair of infinity earrings that had arrived with no note just before the Italian-Korean cultural exchange event.
Vincenzo was wearing a blue suit with no tie. When she opened the door, his mouth went a little slack, and he unbuttoned, then buttoned his coat.
“Will this be all right for a Cassano Family dinner?” she asked, holding her arms out and spinning in her gold heels. He nodded, catching one of her hands.
“You look beautiful,” he said in Italian.
“Anything I should know before dinner?” she asked, trying not to smile too widely.
Vincenzo rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. “I may seem reserved. Quiet. It isn’t because I’m not glad you’re here. I try to listen more than I talk when the family gets together.”
“You mean you sometimes talk more than you listen?” Cha Young feigned a shocked expression. When his serious face softened, she stepped into the hall with him and shut her door behind her. His arm came to rest on her back again, his cologne surrounding her as he led her up the hallway toward the sounds of a small crowd.
“Anyone to avoid?” she asked as they rounded the corner and came into view of the foyer. Two older people walked into their view, a woman in a green tweed coat and a man in dark grey trousers and a blue dress shirt. Their hair was dark, streaked generously with grey, and looking similar enough that they might have been cousins or even siblings. “Anyone I should insult?”
“Nothing like that. Enjoy yourself. Say as much or as little as you want. I’ll be beside you the entire time.”
“And Luca?” she asked.
Vincenzo stopped her with a touch at her hip, turning her toward him and murmuring, “What about Luca?”
She gave him a look. “I haven’t been working on my Italian just to talk to you, you know. Selfish.” With a flick of her hair, she moved into the room, walking up to the man and woman she’s already seen, introducing herself in Italian.
Vincenzo followed her, and she felt his hand the moment he arrived, as promised, at her side.
—
“What are your plans for your stay?” a brown-haired woman named Renata asked. She’d brought a plate of appetizers to Cha Young and carried one herself.
Cha Young took a bite of a very small tomato crostini and looked to Vincenzo to translate. When he had, she answered in Italian, “None. Just sleep. Eat delicious food. See the island.”
“We’re going to the west beach tomorrow,” Vincenzo offered.
“We are?” Cha Young asked, sounding more surprised than she’d intended to reveal.
In Korean, he said. “If you want. It’s secluded and very beautiful. Good for naps.”
“Good for naps,” Cha Young repeated. She looked back at the other woman and grinned, saying in Italian. “Good for naps.”
Renata laughed, shifting on her glitzy gold shoes with their low heel. The stones across the toe sparkled in a variety of fall colors, throwing little glints across their legs. “It probably is. You’ll be tired when you get there. It’s a long walk and a bit of a climb down the cliff.”
Because Cha Young didn’t prompt him, Vincenzo let them work out why Cha Young would be tired by themselves. The two women made shapes with their hands, Renata offering a variety of simple descriptions of rocks and stairs and cliffs until Cha Young understood. When she did, she lifted her foot in the air so her elegant gold shoe was on display. “No heels, right?”
Renata laughed. “Exactly. Wear sturdy shoes.”
Cha Young thanked her, promising she would. Vincenzo’s fingertips skimmed down and up the teeth of the hidden zipper of her dress.
—
The table had been laid with low pillar candles and greenery likely gathered from around the island. The tablecloth was long and wine red. The plates were rimmed with two lines of gold and set on gold chargers. The napkins were white, of course, though they looked almost yellow in the candlelight. Above them stretched line after line of twinkle lights. In the darkened distance, the sea shushed against the cliffside. And on their plates was the most exquisite truffle oil risotto she could imagine.
Maribel, the grey-haired woman in the tweed coat seated next to Luca on the opposite side of the table, said Cha Young’s name. Her brother Alessandro, with a barrel of a chest and hearty laugh, sat across from his sister on Cha Young’s right. “How did you and Vincenzo meet?”
“Ah.” Cha Young smiled and glanced at him as she thought of the words she’d need. “My father was a lawyer also. He worked in the building Vincenzo owned. I went to see my father one day, and I met Vincenzo.”
This resulted in polite sounds of interest around the table, which had gone largely quiet to listen. Luca, who was seated at Vincenzo’s left hand, spoke up, “Signora Hong is also a lawyer.”
Alessandro, clean shaven and smelling of aftershave and hair oil, picked up his wine glass. “Is your father handling your cases while you are here?” he asked.
Cha Young felt Vincenzo’s eyes cut to her. She didn’t understand the entire sentence but she understood the gist.
“My father is dead,” she explained.
Murmurs of consolation swept over the group.
“He—” she hesitated, half-turned her head and said a word in Korean. Vincenzo translated it for her. “A company my father sued murdered him. Vincenzo helped me get revenge.”
The troubled faces cleared and, though they remained solemn, nodded and spoke small, affirming words she couldn’t quite catch.
Alessandro spoke slowly, “We are sorry for the loss of your father.”
“Thank you,” she said. Addressing the others again, she continued, “I took over his law office.” She gestured to Vincenzo and herself, “We defeated the company responsible in court. Then we killed their director, their lawyers, and the man who killed my father.”
Luca, Alessandro, and a few other people she couldn’t see well banged the table in approval, their voices rising in support.
Cha Young looked at Vincenzo, who gave her a small nod. The affirmation, of her choice in telling them or her Italian she wasn’t sure, wrapped around her like a warm blanket, buoying her confidence.
Maribel leaned forward again, lifting a hand toward Cha Young to recapture her attention. Her eyes were twinkling. “How did they die?”
“Signora,” Vincenzo admonished. Maribel waved it away with her hand.
“It’s just a question,” the woman said. “It was years ago, yes? Let her decide if she doesn’t want to answer.”
Cha Young smirked at Vincenzo and brought her hands together above her plate.
“The murderer,” she said, then made an exploding sound, demonstrating a detonation with her hands. Several people barked with laughter, making Cha Young smile too.
When they calmed again, she said, “One lawyer, stabbed.” She jutted two fingers at her own carotid artery. “The other lawyer, fire.” She mimed flicking the lid on a lighter open, adding the click with her mouth, before tossing it over her shoulder. A few chuckles answered, though their glances toward Vincenzo were nervous. Cha Young pressed on. “The director of the company. Vincenzo killed him slowly. Very slowly. He was,” she had to search for the words, then laughed and made a face, “very fucked up.”
The laughter this time was much louder, hoots and belly laughs and banging on the table. Vincenzo’s eyebrow quirked at her in surprise. Many of the guests were looking at Vincenzo, speaking to and about him in fast Italian.
“No, no, the director was fucked up. The director!” she called above them, waving her hands, which made everyone laugh harder. Sitting very straight she wrinkled her nose in an apologetic cringe. He closed his eyes briefly, nodding to say it was okay.
“Signora Hong,” asked a younger man she’d met during their mingling and appetizers. He was seated on the far side of Maribel, though she didn’t think they were directly related. He’d been just outside their conversations most of the night.
The young man’s eager expression reminded Cha Young of Han Seo as he was near the end, when he was transforming under Vincenzo’s support and tutelage. This young man, with his sandy blonde hair and beautiful eyes and wine-reddened cheeks, gestured to her and pointed at his shoulder.
“I noticed your bullet scar. When did that happen?”
“Ah,” she said, “I thought my hair hid it.” She flung her hair over the opposite shoulder, making the others chuckle. “The director of the company that killed my father. He shot me. Kidnapped me, then shot me.”
“Why did you learn these words?” Vincenzo muttered next to her in Korean. His voice was edged with annoyance, but she suspected his objection wasn’t so much about the words as the reminder. He’d been removed from triggers over the past year and a half. No one had asked him questions such as she’d been asked about her father’s death, her court cases, her scar, her hospital stay, her father’s practice. He hadn’t driven past the building where she’d been shot, the hospital where his mother had been strangled. His commute didn’t regularly take him past the corner cafe where her father had died and where Vincenzo had nearly died as well. He didn’t work in the building so full of memories. He wasn’t used to reminders pressing on him. A part of her wondered if she was, in some way, an unpleasant reminder herself.
“Was that your first time being shot?” the young man asked.
Cha Young turned to him, frowning and picking at her baked white fish. “Yes.”
“What was the fight like?”
“Dominic.”
Tension rippled down the table, silencing every person and demanding their gazes. Their hands were frozen on their cutlery, mid-gesture. Even the sea seemed too far away to hear, as if they’d all been suddenly shut into a jar.
Vincenzo was completely still, reminding her of a spring the moment before it launches across the room.
Dominic had gone pale.
“I apologize, Signore,” he said immediately, voice shaking slightly. At Vincenzo’s continued blank face, he directed himself to Cha Young, bowing his head, speaking in a louder tone, “I apologize, Signora Hong.”
Cha Young considered him before laying her forearms on the table in his direction. “Dominic?”
The young man glanced at Vincenzo, then blinked his anxious attention to her. “Yes, Signore.”
“Have you been shot before?”
He swallowed, shook his head.
“It is normal to be curious. But do not envy my wound. We were in war. In war, everyone loses something.”
Dominic swallowed and nodded, checking Vincenzo’s expression again. The family head kept the boy’s gaze another long moment, then pressed his lips together and looked away, an acceptance if not exactly forgiveness.
The young man slumped, but straightened again almost immediately, his face finally coloring again, this time in embarrassment.
Cha Young looked around at the faces, the tension still written across their shoulders and the ridges between their eyes. All of them had suffered losses or they would not be here. Vincenzo had called this a place to heal. A place to rest. She didn’t want to allude to any of it, with Vincenzo on edge as he was. Still, something had to be done to break this spell. She didn’t have the language skills to tell a funny story. She didn’t know what they liked to do on the island that might change the conversation to something lighthearted. She glanced at Luca and found him watching her, as if waiting.
Drawing herself up, she addressed the silent, barely moving table. “We are all here because we have experienced loss. I hope the time of war is gone for all of us.” Agreement passed around the table like bread. Led by their elders, Renata at the far end of the table and Alessandro at the near side, the Cassano family shook themselves loose, made comments about the food and the wine, and everyone pretended.
Maribel, though she had been allowed to talk back to Vincenzo, was unusually quiet. She patted Dominic on the arm. He startled, smiled, and looked interested in the conversation Renata had begun at the far end of the table. But his hands trembled and he didn’t speak.
“How is your jet lag?” Luca asked from his seat across from Cha Young when the air began to feel neutral again.
Cha Young had been enjoying a particularly succulent bite of steak. She held up a hand, groaning as she finished. When her mouth was clear, she rotated her hand for Luca to ask again. Instead, Vincenzo translated, though the question sounded as though it had come from his own mind. It was the first he’d spoken since admonishing Dominic during the previous course.
She nodded at Luca to show she understood. “My body has no idea what time it is,” she said in Italian, “whether I should be hungry or tired. It’s very confused. If I have the chance to nap, I nap. If I have something to eat, I eat it.” She gamely speared another piece of steak and popped it to her mouth. Luca laughed and offered his glass of wine for her to cheers.
When she had, Alessandro asked, “What time is it in Korea?”
Cha Young swallowed her sip of wine and laughed. “I don’t even know what time it is here.”
“Almost eleven,” said Vincenzo, his smooth voice slicing between them. “Korea is eight time zones ahead.”
Cha Young looked at him. She hadn’t understood “time zones” but she understood “eight.” In Korean, she said, “Are you that good with numbers or did you memorize it?”
He quirked his shoulder in a suggestion of a shrug.
“How long was your flight from Korea to Malta?” asked Maribel, indicating the distance with her hand.
Cha Young hummed before answering. “Sixteen hours.”
She’d asked if she should book a layover or two, to make it harder for anyone to trace her path. By email, Vincenzo had told her not to worry about it this time. The charter he’d arranged for her from Malta to Pagliuzza, though, she did not doubt was off the books.
Maribel puffed out a breath. “I would have been so bored. Did you sleep?”
“Yes,” she answered. “I also read. Watched movies.”
“What did you read?” asked Vincenzo.
She smirked at him and answered in Korean. “Depositions.”
When he smirked back, she had to blink to keep herself from tipping forward into his eyes. She was thoroughly tired, and the wine and filling foods were probably affecting her, making her less able to resist the appeal of his nearness, his beautiful face and self-assured touch, his damned, wonderful cologne.
“Boring work thing,” she said to the others.
Alessandro spoke up, “Have you seen Vincenzo’s library yet?”
“No.”
“Have him show you. Choose something fun to read while you are here.”
“It won’t be fun if it’s in Italian,” she said. “My language skills are not very good yet.”
Alessandro grunted in apparent disagreement, but Luca cut him off.
“He has lots of books in Korean,” he said. “Those are the only ones none of the rest of us borrow.”
“So it’s a borrowing library?” she asked.
Vincenzo examined his glass of wine. “Not formally. However, anyone is welcome to borrow from it.”
—
Cha Young startled awake to Vincenzo leaning close to her, patting her arm.
She blinked, trying to clear her vision. “What? What are you doing?”
“You should go to bed.”
It was useless to try to claim she wasn’t tired, so she shrugged off his hand.
“Dinner isn’t over. You said seven courses. We’ve only had five.”
“Six. You slept through the insalata,” said Vincenzo. He stood and moved to her side. “Come on. I’ll take you to your room.”
“There’s only one course left,” she protested, rising despite herself.
Alessandro stood to help slide back her chair. She detangled her legs from the tablecloth, leaning into Vincenzo more than she wished as she got her feet under her.
“I’ll miss dessert.”
At his warm, steady pressure she took small steps toward the living room, her heels shuffling on the tile.
“You can eat nothing but dessert tomorrow.”
She wrinkled her nose then held up a finger. “Ah! I know the solution. Coffee. One espresso.” She mimed taking a sip. “That will be perfect.”
“You don’t like espresso.”
“Not true,” she said, voice softening as she slowly blinked, swaying gently on her feet. “I started drinking it after you left.”
Vincenzo stilled, blinking several times.
“Espresso is for after dessert,” he said finally. “And you need sleep, not coffee.”
Her whine of complaint brought chuckles, reminding her of the rest of the terrace full of Cassanos, all watching their boss and her—the mysterious Korean woman who had fallen asleep at their table.
She turned out of Vincenzo’s grip. “I’m sorry,” she said with a swift bow that had Vincenzo pulling at her hips to keep her from tipping forward. “Oh right,” she said when upright again, “you don’t speak Korean.”
She waved her hands, straightened her hair, and leaning on the corner of the table between Vincenzo’s chair and Luca’s wine. In Italian, she said, “I’m sorry. Your mean boss is making me go to bed.” The Cassanos laughed. Pleased, she smiled at them all and tried to look awake. “I enjoyed meeting you all. I hope I will see you again.”
Several people expressed their hopes to see her as well. Many wished her good night. Renata and a few others waved from the far end of the table. Cha Young bowed, remembering once she’d begun that she shouldn’t, and aborted halfway through, making a break for the living room with a wave behind her.
“Please continue,” Vincenzo addressed them as Cha Young stepped beyond the reach of his arms. “I will return soon.”
He caught up to her in the dark living room as she tried to follow her nose toward the kitchen and whatever delights were being plated for dessert. But at Vincenzo’s insistent hand on her waist, she allowed him to lead her in the opposite direction.
“It’s not the wine,” she told him seriously. “It’s the travel. All those time zones.”
He hummed his agreement.
As she walked through the dimly lit hallways, his warmth pressed to her side, she accepted that she didn’t want sweet treats more than she wanted what Vincenzo was already guiding her toward: the big fluffy bed in her big stately room, and his arms around her.
When they reached their little hallway, home to just their two doors, Cha Young let out a delighted, “Hello door! I’m back.” She pointed her thumb at Vincenzo and staged whispered, “I brought your boss.”
Vincenzo chuckled and opened it, stepping aside to let her in.
“Thank you,” she said in English. She’d left the bedside lamp on, and it illuminated her room in a cozy yellow light. She was halfway to the armoire when she realized he wasn’t with her anymore.
Turning, she found him standing in the doorway, left hand still on the knob.
They looked at each other a long moment in the dim lamplight.
“You aren’t coming in,” she guessed.
“I have to return to my guests.” He blinked, his gaze sliding away to study the room rather than her. “Are you all right? Do you need anything?”
Her voice did not match the smallness of her heart when she said, “You could come back after they leave.”
Vincenzo blinked but wasn’t flustered. “You’ll be asleep. You’re exhausted.”
She swallowed and turned away. It was too large a motion to be casual but she was unable to filter her movements as well as her words. Let him leave while she wasn’t looking. It had always been easier that way.
“My room is next door if you need anything,” he said finally. She froze, listening to him pull the door closed. “Goodnight.”
Only once he’d shut himself out and she was alone again, and only begrudgingly, did she repeat the wish: “Goodnight.”