Heaven and Hell (Heaven and Hell #1)(67)

She looked me straight in the eye and declared, “You know.”

I pulled in breath.

She went on. “And he does too.”

“I –”

“And I did too. And Travis told me, many weeks later, he looked across that room and saw me and he knew. And when he approached me and I was not what that looked promised him I’d be, he was very disappointed. But, three hours later, he was filled with joy because when I ran after him, he knew he was not wrong.” She shook my hands. “And he was not. Nor is Sam. Nor are you.”

I held her eyes, they were fretful and I did the only thing I could do.

I gave her my promise.

“I won’t waste a minute, Luci. I promise.”

Instantly, she smiled gleefully, released my hands but put hers on both sides of my head, pulling me forward, she kissed one of my cheeks then the other then she pushed me back and demanded, “You must inform me the minute Sam proposes and I will immediately speak with Massimo.”

I blinked through a heart spasm and a belly plummet. The latter was at the thought of Sam proposing. The former was at the mention of the fabulous designer known only as “Massimo”.

“Massimo?” I whispered.

“Why yes,” she replied, letting me go and whisking up the dregs of her drink then sucking them back, she replaced the glass on the table and informed me, “He designed my wedding gown. He adores me. We’re the closest of friends, outside Sam, of course. At my request, he would be delighted to design yours too.”

I was pretty certain I wheezed audibly at this announcement but Luciana didn’t hear it because at this point Sam returned with her drink. Then he sat next to me and wrapped himself around me again.

Luci started chattering again while I controlled my hyperventilating and did this by sipping my Amaretto. Eventually, I got myself together enough to join the conversation; I finished my drink, Luci hers, Sam his sparkling water and Sam said it was time to call it a night. He escorted us both to the pavement, got Luci a taxi, deposited her in it and she was whisked away while waving.

Sam waited until he had me in the Lamborghini and we were on the road for the twenty minute drive back to the hotel before he asked, “Well?”

I took in a breath.

Then I said softly, “As we suspected, it’s bad Sam.”

“How bad?”

“Bad as in, if there is any possible way that you think she’d agree to professional grief counseling, she should start immediately.”

Sam was silent.

Carefully, into the void, I asked, “How did Travis die?”

“Assignment,” was Sam’s short, uninformative answer and my mind harkened back to them talking earlier, something I completely forgot about and since I was not supposed to have heard it and he didn’t know I did, I couldn’t ask if Travis’s assignment was official or if, perchance, it was unofficial and further if, perchance, Sam was also taking unofficial assignments which, frankly, scared the beejeezus out of me.

So I said nothing.

This time, Sam broke the silence. “How do you know this?”

“She’s lamenting the three hours she played a game with him the first night she met him, wishing she had that time back. Regretting her decision to try and make him dance. She remembers every word they spoke to each other that first meeting and can recite it and she told me the most important words she’s said in her life are, ‘I do’. And last, she said that the future is always bright until one day, suddenly, it turns black.”

“That’s bad,” Sam muttered.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

Sam sighed.

I remained silent for awhile.

Then I asked, “Should we ask her to come to Parma with us tomorrow?”

“I’ll think about it, baby,” Sam answered quietly. “But I think I need to call her father tomorrow. Vitale is worried, we’ve talked. She listens to him. I’ll tell him this and see what he says.”

“Okay,” I said softly, Sam reached out, took my hand and pulled it to him.

I thought he was going to hold it and he did but first he lifted it to his mouth and brushed my knuckles against his lips before he dropped it to his thigh and muttered, “Grateful for that, honey.”

For a second, I didn’t speak. For a second, the whisper-soft touch of his lips on my knuckles, the sweet way he did it, why he did it, grateful to me for talking to a friend he was worried about, took that moment to burn in my brain.

Then I whispered, “Not a problem,” and squeezed his hand.

He squeezed back.

I kept my gaze steady out the windshield and thought of Travis Gordon being impatient with the lushly attractive Luciana’s game, walking away from her and when she ran after him, asking, “Done with that shit?”

That was so Sam. In fact, he almost said the same thing to me when he thought I was playing a game.

And Sam was so big, so strong, so powerful, so vital, I couldn’t imagine him suddenly being none of those things and instead nothing but gone.

So I sucked in breath through my nose and remembered my promise to Luci not to waste a second.

Fifteen minutes later, my promise was put to the test when we were standing outside my door, Sam slid my key out of my hand, opened it and held it open for me to go in. He followed me, threw the key on the table by the door and stood there.