Valentina turned her back, trying to assess the damage the bikini had on her.
Giovanni had pulled it out and laid it across the bed for her to wear. They had entered their final day on the island, and he wanted to spend it with her, not training.
She’d passed her training, but he promised her more would be coming when they got back home.
She didn’t mind learning to fight. To protect and defend herself. If she’d had any skills at all, she wouldn’t be standing here, looking in the mirror now, terrified to go downstairs to her husband.
The scars, to her, stood out today. She was always aware of them and couldn’t get away from them. But it was different today.
She wrinkled her nose, then moved toward the closet and grabbed a small robe to place over her shoulders. Valentina didn’t understand why she was so bothered today. There was no reason to be.
With the robe in place, she took the stairs and made her way outside to where Giovanni was already in the pool.
He was a sight to behold.
She had gotten lucky, she knew that.
He’d picked her. The very idea of it was still so unreal to her.
Giovanni broke the surface and rubbed a hand over his face, pushing his hair back, not that it was long. He spotted her within seconds, and the smile on his face dropped. “I didn’t tell you to wear that.”
“I know, but in case I catch the sun, you know.” She shrugged.
He climbed out of the pool and moved toward her.
There was no fear, but he fingered one edge of the robe. “Take it off.”
“Giovanni?”
“Take it off.”
“You know, you can’t boss me around.” She put her hands on her hips, trying to be … firm.
He tutted, and within seconds, he had the robe off her body, not that she put up much of a fight. She expected that to be the end of it, but it wasn’t.
He placed his hand on the center of her back, and she tensed up. “We’re past this.”
“I … I…” She had no words.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of. You’re never to hide your body from me.”
“I … hate them. I feel like I can’t— They’re always there.”
“And they will always be there.”
She spun in his arms. “But you have scars.” She touched his arm, sliding her finger down the ridge edge of the one he got her to feel. “Can I … would it be possible?”
“You want some ink?” he asked.
Valentina nodded. “I know I’m not allowed to mark my body.”
“Stay here,” he said.
She watched as he made his way inside his home, and she had no idea what he was doing.
Hands clasped together, she felt the sun beating down on her back, and she just felt so … vulnerable.
The scars weren’t a big deal. She was alive. Her mother had wanted her to have them removed, but she didn’t want to.