A Wicked Song - Lisa Renee Jones Page 0,78
table, “in Paris, I can show you a lot of things you’ve never experienced. Chris and Sara live there half the year. Maybe we could do the same with Italy.”
“I can’t go back to Italy. What about Germany? And I can’t even believe I’m talking about living anywhere but New York City. But you love Germany and you said I’d love the spaetzle.”
“Which I still haven’t gotten you.” He stands and takes me with him. “I’m going to give you back Italy. I promise and I don’t make promises I can’t keep. You wait and see.”
If anyone else said that to me I wouldn’t believe him. But this is Kace. And he seems to make all things possible. What he didn’t say, though, is that he’s promising to bring Gio back to me. But then, he doesn’t make promises he can’t keep.
***
After a fabulous afternoon, Kace and I arrive back to the room around five to shower and dress. Once Kace is done shaving, I kick him out of the bathroom to finish dressing. I don’t want him to see the dress until I’m perfect. And so, I fret over just that—the perfect make-up in muted browns. My hair is loving the new product Kace bought me and it flat irons long and a silky dark brown around my shoulders. My final step before pulling on the dress is a pair of diamond-studded strappy high heels that I absolutely adore. The dress is last and I slip it into place over a perfect glittery gold bra that gives me just the right amount of cleavage. After a quick inspection of my image in the mirror, I’m feeling like Cinderella all over again. It’s a dress for a princess and I’m ready for my prince. I inhale and open the door.
Kace isn’t in the bedroom, so I walk through the door to the living room. He’s standing by the window on the phone and the minute he sees me, he says, “I know. We’ll be ready,” and hangs up.
His eyes sweep over me, his expression filled with masculine appreciation. “You look beautiful, baby. So damn beautiful.” He steps closer and I do the same, meeting him in the middle of the room, just outside the line of the living area.
He’s dressed for his rock star image, in all black, denim and boots, tattoos dancing along his arms the way music will dance off his bow to a wondrous crowd a short while from now.
“So do you,” I say.
His lips curve. “I look beautiful, huh?” He closes the very small space left between us, his fingers splaying at my hips. Heat radiates off his palm and seeps through my dress to scorch my skin. My hand goes to his hand, as if I can stop the assault on my senses his touch and the look in his eyes creates. “You are,” I say.
“Show me later.” It’s one of his favorite statements. One I always make sure I answer. Later.
“I have something for you,” he says and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black box. “I wasn’t sure what neckline you’d choose, and I wanted something you could look down and see anytime you wanted.” He opens the lid and I gasp at the gorgeous bracelet that is made up of yellow daisies with diamonds glistening in the center of each flower. “Oh my God, Kace. It’s gorgeous and it’s,” I look up at him, “so very special.”
“I wanted it to match your ring. Try it on.” He removes it from the velvet and sets the box on the back of the couch before slipping it around my wrist. “I had it sized. You have tiny wrists and fingers.”
“Which isn’t good for playing the violin,” I say.
His brows furrow. “Who told you that?”
I think back to a day with my father, years before. “My father.”
“You can tell me that story later, but that’s the first thing I don’t agree with him on.” He seals the clasp and I stare down at the beauty twinkling back at him, memories of the moment my mother gave me my ring in my mind.
Kace’s fingers brush my cheek. “What are you thinking?”
“It was my sixteenth birthday when my mother gave me my ring. She said it was her way of bringing my father to the day. And now, she’s here with me, with us, because of you.” I wrap my arms around him and tilt my chin up. “Kace, I—I really—”
There’s a knock on