The Raven (The Florentine #1)(48)
She had no idea what he meant, but it certainly frightened her. As did her reaction to the gentle way he’d touched her face.
As she swung her legs over the side of her bed, she shivered, realizing she needed to develop a social life. If she was lonely enough to enjoy the touch of a stranger, then she must be in desperate need of human contact.
Yet, there was something about him. There was something sincere in his distress over her injury. If he was worried she’d be upset about what she’d seen in the piazza, so much so that he would come to see if she was all right, and if he was upset when she injured herself, surely he couldn’t be a completely coldhearted criminal.
He praised my eyes.
Raven had been paid few compliments about her physical appearance in her life. She knew she ran the risk of attaching more importance than was prudent to the one the intruder had paid her.
Thankfully, she had a date that evening.
Bruno was Lidia DiFabio’s grandson. He was about Raven’s height, with dark, wavy hair and large brown eyes. He was athletic and intelligent, and Raven had nursed a secret crush on him almost from the moment they met, which was why her sister teased her.
He visited his grandmother regularly, usually for a short breakfast before work. Until the day before, he’d always been polite but detached with Raven, despite his grandmother’s repeated matchmaking efforts.
When he saw Raven exit her apartment Thursday morning, he hadn’t recognized her. She’d introduced herself (again) and he’d stared, open-mouthed, his dark eyes raking up and down her new yellow sundress.
He’d liked what he’d seen and said so.
Moments later, she was promising to go out with him for sushi Friday night and he was kissing her cheeks, murmuring how glad he was to have finally seen her.
Raven e-mailed her sister about the surprising turn of events and had been pleased by her sister’s enthusiastic response. Of course, she didn’t tell Cara that Bruno’s change in demeanor had been precipitated by a marked change in her own physical appearance. She didn’t want to portray Bruno as shallow.
Even if he only wants to go out with me because I’m pretty now, I don’t care. I deserve a little happiness.
She placed her legs on the floor and found herself cringing. Pain shot through her right foot and up her leg.
She sat back on the bed and the pain lessened to a dull ache. She was able to move her leg, even though it felt a bit stiff. Leaning over, she started massaging the tense muscles, moving down to gently manipulate her ankle.
As she took a closer look at the exposed skin of her right leg, she noticed something.
The scar that she’d had for years, ever since the accident, had returned. Oh, it was less visible than it had been before, the mark pale and shiny. But she was pretty sure it hadn’t been visible the day before, or any day since she’d woken up Monday morning without it.
The realization made her stomach flip, especially when she compared the appearance with the scar on her forehead.
She wasn’t delusional. She pinched her arm to prove that point.
She reached for her cell phone and quickly scrolled through the photos she’d taken of herself that week. Comparing the photos with her leg, the changes were noticeable. The scar had reappeared and her foot had begun to turn out slightly. Still, it was a far cry from what her injured leg and foot had been before.
Putting her phone aside, she placed both feet on the floor and stood. She found that she could walk without limping, but the pain flared during her first few steps.
When she looked in the mirror in the bathroom, she was surprised at what she saw. Her face was a little fuller, her hair not quite as shiny, and dark circles lay beneath her eyes.
She looked, she thought, as if she hadn’t been taking care of herself. Once again, the changes from her appearance the day before were dramatic, but not so much as to return her to her previous appearance.
It was as if the physical transformation had been undone, but not completely.
She readied herself for work, showering with her favorite rose-scented soap and washing and drying her hair. She struggled into her new green sundress, finding that the linen fabric pulled across her now slightly protruding abdomen and softly padded hips.
She wondered how the dress had shrunk in her closet. She wondered how, in the space of a few hours, she’d gained enough weight to have a rounded belly.
If someone is trying to make me think I’m crazy, they’re doing a hell of a good job.
At least the photographs didn’t lie. She had pictures of what she looked like before she’d lost her memory, a few self-photos of what she looked like afterward, and now she took pictures of the most recent changes.
There was no doubt about it. She’d changed.
The pain in her leg could be explained by overexertion. Perhaps the exercise was catching up with her. But overexertion didn’t explain the reappearance of the scar.
Raven had no scientific explanation for any of her early morning discoveries and so she ignored them, taking two pain pills with her breakfast.
As an act of contempt for superstitions in general and the intruder’s superstitions in particular, she removed the relic from around her neck and placed it in her knapsack. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to discern any noticeable change in her body or her emotions.
She opened her eyes. She felt the same as she had a moment before. However, she was unwilling to leave the relic behind, especially since every time she closed her eyes she could see the so-called feral standing a distance away from her, cursing. With dead bodies showing up near the Arno and in her piazza, she needed whatever help it could offer and so she brought the relic to work with her, hidden in her knapsack.