“I’ll color,” he says, signing the word even as he says it.
I smile at him in approval and retrieve the bag I stowed once we boarded. Nino digs around inside, pulling out a coloring book and crayons while the scent of Alessio’s cooking drifts toward us. It all feels so … domestic. We’re out on the open water, enjoying the beautiful day, while Alessio grills like a normal father might. The fresh air and cool water bring me back to my childhood when my father grilled at the lake. I can remember swimming and playing for hours and being so ravenous afterward I’d eat like it was my last meal, only so I could go and do it all over again the next day. Those memories were some of the best times in my life, and I can’t help looking at Nino, wondering what his will be.
Right now, he’s more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. He seems content. Carefree. I can only hope that he holds onto that feeling. That as he grows older, his good memories will outweigh the bad. That he will have a life he loves. It’s what every child deserves.
Alessio delivers a plate of grilled chicken to the table and then returns with the cooler, laying out a spread of fresh fruit, cheese, and bite-sized vegetables. He takes a seat across from me, and our eyes meet again as he seems to search for something in mine.
“Hungry?” he asks.
Heat flushes my face, and I find myself nodding too enthusiastically. His eyes flare, and he shoves a plate at me before offering one to Nino. We dish up and eat our meal quietly while Nino pauses between bites to work on his picture. The sun peeks out from behind the clouds, warming my face, but I know it isn’t just that. There’s something about this moment. It feels like a trap, a possibility that could never be. It would be so tempting to imagine for even a second that I could have this. That somehow, this could be my life. Just the three of us. I try to erase it and forget I even considered it.
That was delicious, I write. Thank you. I’ll help you clean up.
Alessio nods and glances at his watch. We work side by side, him cleaning the grill while I put away the food in the cooler and wash the plates and silverware in the small sink. I catch him staring at my hands a few times, and I know his mind is turning, the fervent curiosity about my scars burning stronger than ever. I need a distraction, and I find it when Nino starts to yawn, no longer interested in his coloring.
He might need a nap. It’s been a busy day.
Alessio follows my gaze to Nino and nods. “I’ll take him downstairs.”
I concede although I was hoping to do it. If I’m not downstairs with Nino, that means I’ll be up here with Alessio. Alone.
I watch them disappear below deck and then resume cleaning to give my hands something to do. I wipe the table and seats down and then clean the sink. When there’s nothing left, I wander up to the console, studying it with interest as I try to memorize all the details.
I don’t hear Alessio approach me, but I can feel him behind me. His dark energy is a force of nature, and I would be a fool not to sense him. He feels close, so close I could lean back and press his body against mine. I try not to do that. I try not to even breathe, but then he leans into me, inhaling my hair. It’s the subtlest of movements, but it penetrates me deep in my core. It sends sparks shooting through my veins, and it only intensifies when he glides a strand of my hair through his fingers and his breath fans across my ear.
“I like it better this way.”
My breath catches, and when I turn into him, I’m at eye level with his chest. I always knew he was tall, but I have to crane my neck to look up at him when we're close like this. My only hope is that he can’t hear my heart beating violently. When his eyes dip to my pulse, I know he knows.
I study his face, cataloging his brutal handsomeness, memorizing his curves and lines. I want to believe in this strange new feeling. I want to exist in this space where I’m safe with him. I know it’s an illusion. He’s not my savior. He’s my enemy.
“I can’t figure you out.” He releases my hair, his fingers hovering like he wants to touch my face. “What are you hiding from me?”
I swallow, and he drops his hand, taking a step back and shaking his head like he’s annoyed with himself. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to communicate with you.”