Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 66952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“You’re going to run with me?”
“Can’t let you go alone. The men don’t know you yet. Stefan would kill me if you got hurt over something as stupid as mistaken identity.”
God. Does he mean if I got shot?
“Okay,” I say, suddenly not sure I want to run at all, but not wanting to give up the opportunity.
Rafa takes out his phone, makes a quick call and I hear him tell someone that we’re going for a run as he heads up the stairs. Is that him calling the guards to make sure they don’t shoot us?
As I watch him disappear into a room, I wonder if he lives here when, a few minutes later, he’s back wearing a T-shirt, shorts and running shoes. I don’t think he has a weapon on him. I’m not sure where he’d hide it, honestly. The shirt and shorts hug his sculpted body.
“Try to keep up,” he says with a wink and apart from Miss Millie, I think that’s the first time someone’s been nice to me since I got here.
“I’ll try to take it easy on you,” I reply as we head out and break into a jog.
I don’t switch on my music, but I still have the earbuds in my ears, so I don’t know if he thinks I’m listening to something or not when we don’t talk for the first fifteen minutes. It feels awkward but I can’t think about that.
I’m grateful he doesn’t make conversation though because I’m out of breath as I follow him up and down the rocky hills. Twice, he turns to me looking relaxed and smiling, asking if I need a break. He speaks to me in English and I wonder if any of them realize I understand Italian. That I can speak, although I’m rusty. I decide not to mention it.
We only stop when, thirty minutes later, we reach an old pump.
We’re both sweating and it really is too hot to jog but I won’t admit that because I think this may be one of the few freedoms I’ll be granted.
“Water,” Rafa says.
I’m out of breath but he isn’t.
“I’m not used to the cliffs,” I say as he works the old-fashioned pump and water rushes out.
“You can drink it,” he says.
I cup my hands and am happy to feel the ice-cold water. I drink and when I watch him duck his head underneath the flow and soak himself, I splash my face then do the same, gasping then laughing as the icy water drenches my head and neck.
When I straighten, Rafa’s watching me.
I clear my throat and look down at myself, grateful he can’t see through the sports bra but very aware of how much skin I’m showing.
“Is Rafa short for something?” I ask, walking toward the edge of the cliff where I can see the sea.
“Rafael. My mom’s the only person who ever called me that though.”
“And you’re Stefan’s cousin?”
He nods. “First cousin. My mom is his mom’s older sister.”
Wow. I’m trying to visualize this strange family tree when he interrupts.
“Was, I guess.”
“Was?”
“They both passed away some years back.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” I don’t remember reading anything much about Stefan’s mother. Only his father and brother.
Rafa sits down on the ground and I join him.
“Do you live at the house?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No, not technically. I leave clothes here though. I’m here a lot.”
“You were here last night,” I don’t know why I bring it up.
“Stefan’s got the better pool.” He smiles at me and I remember the naked woman swimming in that pool. “We’re close, Clara, Stefan and I. Grew up together,” he adds more seriously.
“Clara is the woman from last night?”
He nods and I wonder if he knows what I saw.
“Is Clara a cousin too?” I ask it casually, but I hear the strange tone of my voice and hope he doesn’t.
“You should ask Stefan what Clara is,” he says, his dark eyes steady on mine, and I think those smiles—I can’t fall for them. Can’t think he or anyone else here is a friend or ally.
I look beyond him. “What’s that?” I ask.
He follows my gaze. “Cemetery,” he says, standing. “I’ll take you, then we’ll head back. I have a meeting in town.”
“How far is Palermo from here?”
“Twenty minutes by car.” He points to it in the distance and I can see even from here how busy the beach is. “There. That’s Palermo. That’s where I live. Too quiet for me out here.”
I follow him when he leads the way to the short iron gates that creak when he opens them.
The cemetery isn’t big, and some of the graves are quite old.
“Family plot. I’ll be buried here someday too. This is Stefan’s mother,” he says, pointing to one. “And his father, although we had no body to bury. They only sent back his ashes even though it’s against our beliefs.”