Alessio.
He had a darker quality to his voice than Corrado’s. She noticed that about him first. Both spoke with deep tenors that made her pay attention, but something was different about Alessio’s.
Like he was always holding back.
Never giving everything.
Refusing to let the man behind her see he had scared her, Ginevra continued reading the poem as she replied, “Why would I run?”
“I’m not sure if you want to be here.”
Ginevra almost laughed. “I didn’t at first; I wanted to be with my sisters, but I also don’t get a choice, so here I am.”
“That doesn’t mean you want to be here, though.”
“Right now, I do.”
He made a noise behind her—gruff, and curious. She didn’t understand what to make of that, or why he came here again, although it was his home along with Corrado, so she focused on things that made sense.
Like the book of poems in her hand.
“Did you trick him again to come here alone?”
Alessio chuckled. “And if I did?”
“He won’t like that.”
“He doesn’t seem to give a shit about what I like lately, either. Fair is fair, yeah?”
Ah.
Yeah.
Ginevra wouldn’t argue that point.
“But what are you doing in here?” he asked.
“Reading.”
“Why?”
“Because I like to.”
Alessio made another one of those noises. “But why?”
“I like how others express themselves in words. Everyone is different. I’ll read just about anything—not a standard textbook meant to teach me something; I learn more reading things that aren’t being spoon-fed like I should fit in the same box as everyone else. You can tell a lot more about someone in the way they write than in the things they say.”
“Huh.”
She didn’t expect the response.
Then, again ...
“That’s not the answer I expected you to give,” Alessio murmured. “But still a good one.”
Yeah, she was full of surprises.
“It’s the only right answer for me. That’s why I majored in English.” Ginevra shook her head, laughing under his breath. “Not that college matters with me here, I guess.”
“You’ll get back to school, eventually.”
“Who knows?”
“You will. I’m sure he’ll make sure of that, if it makes you happy.”
She stilled in place.
Did he mean Corrado?
Ginevra turned, only enough to watch Alessio where he stood in the doorway. Not much about him had changed in the time since she had seen him last. He still wore all black, from the jeans molded to his legs, to his leather jacket, and even the black necklace with a cross made of skulls hanging down from his throat. His face, still hauntingly handsome, seemed carved from stone. His eyes, hiding secrets and warring emotions, nailed into her from across the room.
She stayed quiet as he scrutinized her. Not because he bothered her. Oh, he unsettled her, sure, and made her fine hairs stand on end, but she didn’t dislike it, though. She found something familiar in his gaze and recognized it. That intensity in his gaze as he surveyed her from a safe distance was the same way Corrado liked to watch her when he assumed she wasn’t looking.
That was the unsettling part.
The only thing that had changed about the man in the doorway since the last time she laid eyes on him was his hair. He lost the shaggy mane he seemed to hide his gaze behind. Shortened around the sides, but still long on the top to push the strands back, if he wanted. A touch wild, still, but more tamed.
It suited him better.
Not that she had any business thinking that at all.
Then, all at once, Alessio rocked back on his heels, hands loose in his pockets, before he came forward, closing the distance between them. Ginevra didn’t know if she should keep standing there or get the hell out of his way. That concentration stayed in his gaze like he wanted to burn her to the ground right where she stood, but as though he also found her extremely interesting.
Would he hurt her?
Would he do something to her to hurt Corrado?
Those were things she didn’t know.
The closer Alessio came, the more Ginevra teetered on a sharp edge. He wasn’t the only one curious and muddled in his heart and mind. She only had to look at him to feel those things.
What was it about him?
There was something about him that Corrado loved—something that made him get out of bed far earlier than he normally would to chase a chance. What was it?
She wondered ... how did they fall in love?
“What are you reading?” he asked.
Ginevra broke their staring contest to look down at the book. “A Life Lived in Words by—”
“Anonymous.”
Swallowing hard, she peeked back up to find he stood next to her. She would still use overwhelming to describe this man, and his presence. Imposing fit, too, but she didn’t feel like he was imposing on her or this space she adored so much.
“It’s my book,” Alessio said, “I found it at a used bookstore in Portugal. Figured it was ... strange, spine cracked, pages smudged like someone had read the words repeatedly. One of five English books in that store.”
“Maybe someone lost it?”
“Possibly, but I bought it, and the book made its way into this library.”
Ginevra blinked. “It’s yours.”
“I just said that.”
“No, I mean ... the library here.”
Alessio raised a single dark brow high, and with his new haircut, she realized how much easier she could see the things he had hid behind shaggy hair.
“Corrado only reads things that are legal, and he needs to sign.”
Ginevra laughed. “That can’t be true.”
“Mostly, yeah.”
“Someone needs to fix that. Did you dog-ear the pages, too?”
The corner of Alessio’s mouth twitched. “And what if I did?”
“That’s a crime.”
“Well, it ain’t your book, girl.”
She narrowed her gaze at him, half-playful and yet still serious. “Or use a fucking bookmark. And you can call me Ginevra, or Ginny. But not girl.”
His lips twitched again.
Then, he smiled.
A full-blown grin.
The first thing to come to her mind?
My God.
Because it was devastating.
Not sardonic, or sly. Not jealous, or angry.
No, just genuine.
And his smile was beautiful.
Ginevra’s heart squeezed painfully. What in the hell was wrong with her? She had no place thinking something like that about this man.
Not at all.
Alessio’s blue eyes flashed with something she didn’t recognize. Another thing he was holding back.
Did he do that a lot?
Stop, Ginevra, you don’t need to worry about this man.
“I didn’t get the chance to finish the book,” Alessio said, dropping her gaze to peek at the book again. “And this thing, misunderstood and overlooked, vivid but understated, and which shatters and grows and is, will always be, at the heart, most human. For we love, we always love.”
Ginevra blinked.
Stunned.
She said nothing as she flipped back the pages, knowing where to find those words he spoke. She found it easily. One of the first poems in the book. She remembered it, too, because she thought it was one of the best in the book. One or two, sometimes three, words to a line, three stanzas, of which he only spoke one, and yet, she felt every single syllable as it spoke of love being, at its core, human.