Twisted Lies (Twisted #4)

Christian’s caustic laugh singed my lungs. “A mother’s love is the greatest love of all, right?

That’s bullshit.” The ache spread burned behind my eyes. I tentatively reached for his hand and curled mine over it. “I’m so sorry,” I said quietly. I didn’t know what else to say. I wished there were magic words I could utter that would make him feel better. But nothing could change the past, and people had to deal with their trauma in their own time. Christian had been holding onto

his for decades. It would take more than a few nice words to heal it. The best thing I could do was be there for him when he was finally ready to confront it. “I’ve never told anyone that before.” The haunted expression lingered in his eyes for a moment longer before it disappeared.

“Now that I’ve ruined a beautiful Italian afternoon with my poor little sob story, we should go.”

Christian rose, his face an impassive mask once again. “We have lunch reservations in half an hour.” “You didn’t ruin it.” I squeezed his hand. “I care more about you than any fancy meal or museum outing.” Christian’s jaw flexed. His gaze held mine for a brief, burning moment before he turned away. “We should go,” he repeated, his voice rough with emotion. I let the moment pass. I sensed he’d reached his limit for personal introspection today. We paid and left the cafe, but when we neared the main street, he paused. “Stella.”“Hmm?”“Thank you for listening.” The ache returned in full force. “Thank you for telling me.” Christian thought he’d ruined our afternoon when, in fact, he’d made it. Not because I enjoyed hearing the heartbreaking details of his childhood, but because he’d finally let me in. No more hiding behind his walls. Despite all the luxury hotels we’d stayed at, the gourmet meals we’d eaten, and the extravagant activities we’d done, that was the best part of our trip so far. As dreamy as our vacation was, I loved it not because I was in Italy but because I was in Italy with him. And that made all the difference in the world.





39


CHRISTIAN/STELLA





CHRISTIAN


Italy was a strange dichotomy of calm and chaos. I spent my days visiting local landmarks and shopping with Stella and my nights monitoring the situation in D.C. after she fell asleep. I’d called in a favor and asked Alex to keep an eye on things for me while I was gone. He didn’t have any unusual updates for me, but I remained on edge. My gut told me something was brewing on the horizon and that I damn well wouldn’t like what it was. Until I had a clearer picture of what I was up against, however, there was nothing I could do. I pushed thoughts of D.C. out of my mind as Stella and I walked down a winding street in Positano. It was nearing sunset, and pastels painted the sky in a soft palette of pinks, purples, and oranges. We were in week three of our Italy trip, and we’d left the cities behind for the seaside charm of the Amalfi Coast. We’d wound our way through Salerno and Ravello and arrived in Positano yesterday.

Next was Sorrento, followed by our last stop in Capri. A smile played on my mouth as Stella tipped her head back with a dreamy expression. She was always beautiful, but in Italy, freed from the pressures of the city and the lurking threat of her stalker, she was a different person.

Happier, more playful and carefree, even compared to Hawaii. I twined my fingers through hers when we resumed walking toward a viewpoint for sunset. I normally hated hand-holding, but I could make the occasional exception. We were on vacation, after all. “So, does Italy live up to

your expectations?” I asked. “Nope.” An impish smile appeared at my raised brow. “It’s exceeded them. This place is…” She sighed. “Incredible. I mean, look at it.” My smile blossomed into a grin when she released my hand and twirled. Her white dress flared around her thighs, and the setting sun gilded her skin with gold. She looked so content and at peace I wished I could keep us here forever, ensconced in a bubble and untouched by the dangers that lurked back home. “I’d rather look at you,” I said. Stella stopped in front of me, breathless from her spin. Her gaze locked onto mine, and the summer air grew heavier between us, sweet with the scents of lemon verbena and sunshine. “For someone who claims he’s not a romantic, you say the most romantic things.” She plucked a petal from a nearby flowering tree and tucked it into the pocket of my linen shirt. “I’m onto you, Christian Harper. Beneath that hard, cynical exterior…” She pressed her hand flat against my chest. “You’re a softie at heart.” I would’ve laughed had she not been half right. Only for you. I lifted her hand and curled mine protectively around it. “If you tell anyone, I’ll have to kill them.” I smiled to soften the statement, even though I wasn’t joking. In my world, weakness was unacceptable, and she was the greatest weakness I had. Stella gave me an exasperated look. “You always have to bring death into it.” I laughed.

We continued walking until we reached the viewpoint. Nestled high in the hills and hidden from tourist traffic, it offered a perfect view of the pastel buildings and deep blue sea below. Stella rested her head on my shoulder and stared dreamily at the landscape. “I’m in love with this place.” I wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her closer. My eyes lingered on the delicate lines of her profile, tracing a path from the stray dark curls billowing around her face to the sparkle in her eyes and the curve of her lips. I didn’t care much for art, but if I could immortalize her in that moment as a painting, I would. The setting sun cast a gorgeous glow over the island, but I didn’t bother looking at the view. I kept my gaze on Stella. “Me too.”



*

STELLA

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