She was getting under his skin. Was she like this with everyone? Or was she doing it to him on purpose? It needed to stop, or he would really end up strangling her.

Gian strode down the sidewalk, hands clenched in fists. Sunlight danced across the cobblestone, illuminating the warm, ocher walls of centuries-old buildings adorned with green shutters and wrought-iron balconies. The air was filled with the earthy scent of terracotta as the distant hum of a Vespa wove through the streets. He'd lost all enjoyment of the quaint village the moment he'd realized Alessia had wandered off. It was his fault for turning his back on her, but he hadn't expected her to just... leave.

He slowed as he approached the curb, waiting for a car to zip past before crossing the street. It hadn't been a long walk. The village wasn't that big. But the point was that she'd run off without explanation.

His first thought had been that she was running to the police. But maybe, just maybe, she'd simply gone back to the car. For her sake, he hoped so.

He rounded the corner to the alley where he'd parked and came to a dead stop. His car was still between the van and the construction fence. Alessia stood a few feet from the car, and behind her a man, his arm wrapped around her.

Then he saw the knife at her throat.

His pulse thundered in his ears, and heat rose in his chest as he took his first step forward. Seconds later, he reached them and grabbed the man by the arm.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he snarled, ripping him away from Alessia. With a flick of his wrist, he disarmed him and gripped the knife. Gian sank the knife into the man's bicep, then pushed him into the construction fence.

The fence shook, the metal links clattering loudly. The man twisted to look at his arm, a look of shock plastered to his face, then he gasped and wrapped his hand around the knife handle.

Gian grabbed a fistful of the man's shirt. "I asked you a question."

"I thought..." The man locked his gaze on Gian, his eyes round with terror, sweat trickling down his temple. He was shorter, lanky, and his black hair was flecked with gray. "I thought she was trying to break into your car."

"You were wrong." Gian shoved him against the fence again, balling his free hand into a fist. Before he could decide where to land his punch, the man quickly went on.

"We're out of oranges."

The password came as no surprise. Gian had talked to the man's boss on the phone just minutes ago. Even though he still wanted to punch him, he gave him a shake instead.

"No one touches her. Do you understand?"

The man nodded. Gian let go of his shirt.

"Drop the backpack."

With a whimper, the man shrugged his backpack off his shoulders, easing it over the knife handle, still sticking out of his arm, and let it drop to the ground.

Gian unzipped the top, caught a glimpse of cash, then zipped it shut.

"Now leave." He would have liked to give the knife a good twist, but thought better of it. He'd already made his point.

Nodding and hunched, the man turned and walked up the alley, disappearing around the corner. Gian picked up the backpack and turned to the car. He sighed. Alessia was nowhere in sight.

He needed to put her on a leash. Cursing under his breath, he walked toward the street. Now, she was probably heading for the police.

He reached the main street and glanced left and right. There. She was walking briskly down the sidewalk one block ahead, head down. He hurried after her, catching up quickly.

"Alessia, wait." He placed a hand on her shoulder, firmly but not roughly, stopping her.

She whirled around, circling her arm to throw off his hand. He let it drop.

"Don't touch me," she snapped.

"Are you okay?"

She took a step back. With a trembling hand, she brushed her hair out of her face. Her breathing was quick, and her face was pale. "No. I'm not okay. This is the second time in two days I thought I was going to die. Clearly, I'm in way over my head. I can't do this."

"There's ten thousand euros in the backpack. Do you want it or not?"

Her gaze darted to the bag in his hand, then back to him. "This isn't about money."

Gian could only stare at her. What did this woman want? She was so unbelievably stubborn. His aunt could be like that too. Holding her ground until his uncle caved. But this was different. He almost had Alessia on his side until something pushed her back. She treated him like the enemy. He had to show her he wasn't.

"Look... this wouldn't have happened if you hadn't gone off by yourself."

That was the wrong thing to say. Alessia's face went red, and she stomped forward, jabbing her finger onto his chest. "No. None of this would have happened if you hadn't come here in the first place. You're the problem, not me."

Instantly hating the poking, he grabbed her wrist and lifted her hand. "We're not going to start that."

"You started it."

"Enough. I stopped him. He's gone. He was only supposed to meet me to deliver this, and that was it. We'll never see him again."

"You stabbed him. You knew him, and you still stabbed him." Her voice broke as she spoke. She tried to step back, but Gian tightened his grip on her arm.

"Your point? He overreacted. He deserved it."

"Normal people don't go around stabbing others."

"He could have cut you."

Alessia tugged her arm again, but he kept his grip firm.

"I'm not going to let anyone hurt you." He'd never said that to anyone before. Not even past girlfriends. Most of them knew what they were getting into. They never stayed long. But this was different. He didn't need any of them. He needed Alessia, and he needed her to trust him.

"You don't get it." She looked up at him, her eyes watery, her voice quiet. All at once, she was so devastatingly lovely and pitiful that she might as well have punched through his chest to rip his heart out. "Not all pain is physical."

Hardly able to breathe, he slowly lowered her arm and released it. She was wrong. He'd learned that lesson younger than he should have. He'd lived with it so long that he'd learned to be numb to it.

"Do you want to go home?" He swallowed hard. His voice sounded strangely rough.

She looked away and nodded.

***

He didn't turn any music on for the ride back. The only sound was the rushing wind and tires speeding over asphalt. Alessia sat silently for a change, looking out the window, her arms crossed.

He didn't like it.

It was a bad thing when she wasn't talking. She was somewhere else, somewhere dark. Somewhere, no one else was allowed to go. He knew that place all too well. In this case, she'd probably need a day or two to shake off its dark, icy grip.

He should say something. He wanted to say something, but comforting people wasn't something he could do. But he could distract her. What would draw her back out? She was done talking about what happened in town. Small talk wouldn't cut it. Who liked small talk, anyway?

It had to be something with substance. He recalled how her eyes had lit up at the sight of the coin. The way she gazed at the museum collection was the way every man wanted his woman to look at him. But it was more than that. The wheels in her head had been turning.

"Where will we start digging?" Eh. Not the best start, but it was something.

"I don't know," she muttered, staring out the window. Not the enthusiasm he thought he'd get, but at least she was speaking. "The letter said a coin is buried with the stone. I need a metal detector to find it quickly."

"I can buy one."

She lazily rolled her head to look at him. "I can borrow one from the university. They have other equipment they might loan me as well."

"All right. I can drive you whenever."

She rolled her head away to look out the window.

Well, that had been a decent attempt. He turned onto their road, hugging the curves as it led them around the last few hills. Maybe it would be better if they talked about something completely unrelated.

"Your mom mentioned your sister is getting married."

Alessia sat up, her eyes wide. "Porca miseria."

"What?"

She stared at him, grimacing. "Veronica's hen night. I completely forgot. What time is it?" Her gaze landed on the time on the dash, and she leaned back with a groan.

"Hen night? Is that like a bachelorette party?"

"Whatever you call it. It's tonight. We're throwing a pool party." She sounded less than enthused. Which was too bad. He wouldn't mind catching a real glimpse of her in a bathing suit. Last night didn't count. She was covered.

"Not a fan?"

"Not of this crowd. I mean, some of Veronica's friends are nice. Most of them are obnoxious. And now you've gone and made it worse by giving Veronica stuff to taunt me about. She's convinced we're a thing."

Oh, so it was his fault. It's always his fault. "Are we?"

"No."

"Then what's the problem?"

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Then she sighed and shook her head. "I... I can't explain. I just don't want to hear it."

He pulled into the long driveway and rolled between the cypress trees, the tires crunching loudly over the gravel. A white canopy stood behind the house, balloons tied to arches with sheer fabric fluttering in the breeze. It looked festive, but he didn't care to seek out an invitation.

"Well, how about we really give them something to talk about?" He wasn't sure why he said it. But as soon as he did, he realized he'd meant it. He'd do whatever she asked for.

She looked at him with her eyes wide and mouth open. "What are you suggesting?"

He parked the car just outside his door and slid off his sunglasses. "Anything you want."

"Are you... flirting?"

"I guess you could call it that."

She scowled. "You're not my type."

"Well, you're not my type either, cupcake. And yet, here we are."

Still scowling, she shook her head. "I'll pass."

"Ouch."

Without responding to that, she opened the car door and climbed out, holding the backpack by one strap. He stayed silent as she slammed the door shut and watched as she crossed the gravel parking area.

She threw a glance over her shoulder, and the scowl was gone. Instead, her eyes were uncertain. Knowing she'd be able to see him, he grinned. He couldn't help himself. She looked like a painting, with her dark, wavy hair perfectly framing her face as she glided past the picturesque stone wall adorned with a cascading cloud of pink bougainvillea. The whole scene was so whimsical and angelic and over all too soon when she turned and hurried the rest of the way to the house, disappearing around the corner.

His smile faded, and he tried to ignore the ache that swelled in his chest. No. She wasn't his type.