Heaven and Hell (Heaven and Hell #1)(107)

She nodded and looked across the yard at the half a dozen people milling about and pawing through stuff.

“Kyle is…” she started quietly then trailed off.

When she didn’t say more, I leaned into her, bumping her with my shoulder and she looked at me.

“Kyle is what?”

“He cried when Cooter died.”

I blinked.

Whoa. Shocker.

Then I asked, “He did?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “A lot.”

I didn’t know what to make of this.

“I –” I started.

“Relieved,” she whispered, I then knew what to make of it and I snapped my mouth shut. “If it had gone on much longer, Kia, he would have been Milo Cloverfield. I know it.”

Oh God.

I closed my eyes.

What I had done to my family.

Oh God, what I had done.

“He likes Sam,” she said and I opened my eyes. “He likes him very much. And not because he’s wealthy, not because he’s famous but because he cares about you in a healthy way.”

There it was, my opening to throw out what was worrying me and pick it apart with Gitte. Gitte wasn’t only strong, she was cool, she was smart and she had the ability to say it like it was without hurting your feelings. She, too, had more than once brought up the topic of Cooter and she, too, had been shut down by me on said topic.

But she could and probably would talk to Kyle about anything I shared with her. And Kyle had Sam on speed dial. And further, Kyle could let something slip; it wouldn’t be the first time. Heck, half the times I got in trouble when I was a kid was because Kyle had a big mouth.

No.

Gitte was out.

“I’m glad,” I told her.

“He’s still relieved,” she told me. “We both are.” She looked to the yard again and shared, “I think half of why he was so intent on driving up was that he was concerned you were with another man, even one like Sam who he admired.” Her eyes came back to me. “But anyone can be something for the public and something else privately. We were both very happy to know Sam is who Sam really is.”

Yep. I had done a number on my family.

“He is,” I assured her even though I wasn’t feeling so assured. Still, one thing I did know was that he was far better than Cooter. Far, far better.

“You need to believe in this,” she told me softly.

“Sorry?”

“In you. In Sam.” She smiled at me. “I see good things.”

I did too.

Until last night.

She continued, “You don’t believe in it, do you?”

“We’ve known each other a month.”

“You go to bed beside him; he goes to bed beside you. How long has that been going on?”

I pressed my lips together and tried to calculate it.

Then I gave up and admitted, “Well, most of that month.”

Gitte smiled again. “I believe this.”

“Sam didn’t waste a lot of time,” I pointed out the obvious.

Her smile got bigger. “I believe this too. You, an American on vacation in Italy, he wouldn’t wish to let you slip through his fingers.”

I pressed my lips together.

“Or,” she kept going, “it’s clear he didn’t wish to let you slip through his fingers because here you both are.”

“Yep,” I looked away, “here we both are.”

She took my hand and I looked back as she whispered, “Believe, Kiakee.”

I stared into her eyes. Then I nodded.

Celeste and Thomas. Luci. Now Gitte. They all wanted me to believe.

Maybe they saw something I did not. Maybe Sam just needed more time.

Maybe I should just let my mental bullshit go and believe.

We’d only been together a month. Only a month. And he’d been screwed over repeatedly.

I needed to cut him some slack and believe.

So to my nod, I added a smile.

She smiled back and let my hand go.

I took a sip of lemonade and in my head whispered, fearless.

I said it, I wanted to feel it and I tried. But my headache was not going away.

Whatever.

It was just a headache. Eventually it would fade.

Onward.

I made a decision.

“All right, sweetie, let’s call an end to this. Load up the dregs in Dad’s truck, get to Paula and Rudy’s and start the party.”

“Sounds good to me,” Gitte muttered, rolling gracefully to her feet, I followed and moved toward the remaining boxes.

* * * * *

“You okay?”

Sam and I (and Memphis) were in our room at the Hyatt and he’d just tipped the bellman for bringing up our bags on a trolley.

I’d let Memphis out of her doggie carrier. She was exploring.

I was staring out the window at the amazing view of the Capitol and the lights of Indy and I didn’t look at him when I answered, “I can’t shake this headache.”

This was true. Missy had given me aspirin and a couple of hours later Paula had given me ibuprofen. Neither worked.

And I had a feeling I knew why.

Deciding to believe in Sam and in us, being the dork I was, lasted around five minutes and started to melt away when Sam walked out of the house with Lee and Tanner.