“M-Marco?” Hannah says, her voice rising in pitch, a sound of panic and fear. There’s no chance in hell that I will allow this punk to make her feel that way.
I don’t think. I only act. I grab him by the shoulder and pull him bodily away from her, and his two friends step back even further. I realize that my other hand has formed into a fist as I approached him, and I hold it tense by my side, ready to use. “You owe the lady an apology,” I tell him, using English for Hannah’s benefit.
The guy scoffs in my face. “Whatever, old man. She’s not even pretty anyway. Fat puttana.”
I can’t hold back the rage. I draw back my fist and drive it into his face, still holding him in front of me so that he will take the full impact. Only when I feel the satisfying crunch of his nose do I let him go, allowing him to slip to the floor. His friends are gone, one of them out of the door, the other watching on with a white face as he clings to the bar.
“Come on,” I say, extending a hand to Hannah. She scrambles up from her chair and takes it, and as I draw her closer to me I realize that she’s shaking. I slip my arm around her shoulders as I escort her out, away from the jerks who tried to intimidate her, grabbing our pizza box as we go.
I didn’t even think about what I was doing, but as the cool evening air hits us, I realize what I’ve done. My knuckles ache, and my arm is around her shoulders in the way I would maybe cradle a girlfriend – not the daughter of an old friend. I expect her to tense up and push away from me, but she doesn’t.
Whether it was the horrible experience making her need comfort, or whether she’s already warming to me, the result is the same. She relaxes into my touch, cuddling herself against my side, even slipping her hand up to grasp the side of my jacket as if to keep me close. For a moment I’m speechless, then I think about what this means.
It means that, despite my initial wondering, I might be able to actually make this happen.
Not that I really doubted myself. But if Hannah wants it too, even now, then it won’t be so hard to convince her as I was expecting.
I use my free arm to hail a taxi, keeping Hannah close by my side, the scent of her perfume filling my nostrils. Her warmth and the softness of her skin under my hand – I could get used to this very easily.
And that, tonight, is exactly what I intend to begin.
CHAPTER TEN
Hannah
Outside the hotel, our cab pulls up, and I feel myself tense. This is it. The moment when Marco will leave me. After what happened at the restaurant, I don’t want to be alone at all – and I definitely don’t want him to leave. Just like last night, I feel a desperate longing for him to come inside, to stay with me, even just a minute longer.
“I’ll come up with you, help you carry the pizza and the souvenirs,” Marco says, making my heart skip a beat. It’s as if he can read my mind. “I’ll just pay the taxi – I don’t want him waiting around for too long.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, meaning it because I was not at all looking forward to being alone. I get out of the car and walk into the lobby, and Marco joins me after just a couple of moments, smiling even though he is laden down with shopping bags and the pizza box.
The journey up the elevator seems even more laden with unsaid thoughts than before, the silence almost oppressive. I’m just trying to appreciate these moments before he does go at last. I want to cling to him for comfort, but I don’t think he would appreciate it.
We arrive at my room all too quickly, but this time when I open the door, Marco doesn’t pause outside. He comes in with me, setting the pizza box on the desk in the corner and my shopping bags on the floor. He glances around the room then, and I’m glad this is a hotel with a cleaning service and not my room at home, where I might have forgotten to tidy away clothes or make the bed.
“It’s not a bad room,” he says, flicking aside a corner of the curtain to look outside. The view is dark, that’s why I closed the curtains when I left, there isn’t much to see, only a street lined with shops. “Looks comfortable enough.”
“It is,” I say. I sit down on the bed. This is horrible. I can feel the moment coming when he will leave. I don’t want him to go. I want him to stay. What can I do?
Marco picks up the room service menu and flicks through it as if he is assessing this place for a future stay of his own. Or, more likely, I suppose, deciding whether to send a client here. But it gives me an idea – one that I latch onto tightly. It’s the only thing I can think of to stop him from leaving right now.
“Would you like to get a drink?” I ask. “Room service does delivery.”
Marco’s green eyes flick up to mine, and there’s something in them that I can’t read, a kind of darkness. “Sounds like a good idea,” he agrees. “What would you like?”
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “I think they do virgin cocktails. I haven’t tried any yet.”
“How about a virgin pina colada?” Marco suggests, walking over and reaching for the phone. “I’ll have some wine.”
He places the order in answer to my nod, and I pretend to listen, even though I can barely hear a thing
