I rolled over on my belly, pushed up on my elbows and propped my chin up on Santino’s thigh.
“What are you doing?” he asked in a low, tense voice. He’d straightened his back, ready to spring, and I could feel his thigh muscles flex under my chin.
“Chill. I’m only getting comfortable. I won’t ravish you in the middle of a park.”
Santino didn’t crack a smile but I couldn’t help but grin devilishly. I loved when I could rattle him. Little phased Santino, but I did, big time.
He narrowed his eyes. “You realize the Paparazzi would have a field day if they got a photo of us like that. It would make headlines.”
“Nobody knows we’re here, and Dad would prevent it.”
“Probably. He’d also roast my balls on a barbecue.”
I let out a pleased sigh as I shifted so my cheek rested on Santino’s thigh instead. My pulse had picked up being so close to Santino and the part of him I had every intention of getting more acquainted with very soon.
“Anna.”
The low hum of warning in Santino’s deep voice sent a pleasant shiver down my back.
I closed my eyes. “Can you rub my back? I feel like napping.”
“Anna.”
I cracked open one eye. “How about this: you tell me what nuns ever did to you and I’ll sit beside you like a good girl?”
Santino considered it for almost a minute before he heaved a sigh. “All right. But get up first.”
“No, you go first. You’ll only run off if I lift my head.”
He chuckled. “Sometimes I really don’t know what’s going on in your head.”
“It’s called creative chaos.”
“My sister’s a nun.”
I sat up, my lips parted. “Really?”
“Yeah. She’s been a novice since last July.”
“Wow. But why?” I let out a stunned laugh. “Does she hope to cancel out your sins?”
Santino stared off toward a group of people, his expression serious. I sobered immediately, realizing this really bothered him. “Not my sins, no.”
I touched his hand, which rested on the blanket. “Santino?”
His eyes found mine and my heart clenched. I wanted to wrap my arms around him, kiss him, hug him.
“Misguided guilt, I suppose,” he said quietly.
I wrecked my brain for the family history of the Bianchis, but all I knew was that Santino’s mom had died when I was very young. I didn’t know why, had never asked. I didn’t know anything about his sister. I wasn’t even sure if I’d ever met her.
“What happened? Does it have something to do with your mother?”
Santino’s body became tenser. I expected him to pull away and say something dismissive. Santino didn’t do emotions. Not deep emotions at least. “My mother died giving birth to my sister Frederica when I was eleven.”
I didn’t even know that Frederica was close to me in age, only one year younger. “I’m so sorry.”
Santino nodded. “Frederica blames herself for it. She denies it but I can tell. My mother suffered a cardiac arrest. She had an undiagnosed heart defect. It could have happened at any other time, but because it happened during labor, Frederica blamed herself.”
“Your poor dad, and you were only a young boy, this must have been such a horrid experience.”
I wondered if Santino had some kind of strange Oedipus complex because he’d lost his mother so early and that was why he always picked older married women.
“But it’s not her fault. Did your dad ever blame her?”
“No,” Santino said firmly. “Dad treated her like a princess.”
“But he always kept working for my parents, how did he manage with two kids?”
“One of his sisters helped us out, and once Frederica was a bit older, I took care of her a lot when Dad wasn’t home. Later when I began to work for the Outfit, my aunt took over most of the time though.”
I took a deep breath and linked my fingers with Santino’s even if I feared he’d pull back. “I’m really sorry for your loss. And I’m sorry that your sister’s suffering because of it. Maybe being a nun will help her realize that it isn’t her fault.”
“She’s not living. She’s only existing. She should enjoy life, not beg for forgiveness for something that isn’t her fault.”
I nodded. After that we sat in silence beside each other, our fingers still entwined. I would have leaned my head against Santino’s shoulder, if I hadn’t feared spooking him. I was content with holding his hand. It was more than I’d dared hoping for. The sense of peace and contentment I felt being close to Santino in such an innocent way showed me that my heart still hadn’t given up, even when my mind had settled for a fling.
Eventually Santino removed his hand and straightened, his expression becoming hard again. Our moment was over.
“We should head home.”
Santino didn’t say a word as we walked through the darkening streets. It was becoming increasingly cold now that the sun was gone.