Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 51733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Sarica was still listening to the footage and playing it back again and again when Potenziana returned to her study. While this did not surprise her, the knowledge did not keep her heart from breaking. They all missed Giancarlo. But Potenziana also knew their pain was only a fraction of what the girl felt.
"I think that's enough, bambina."
Giancarlo's fidanzata only stared at her as Potenziana reached for the laptop and folded it close. Her eyes were red and swollen, her nose running, and her hair looked as if it hadn't been washed for days.
"G-Giancarlo and I f-fought," Sarica suddenly choked out. "The d-day before he left. I asked him to let me go. I d-didn't want to listen to him, and now h-he's..."
"Control yourself." Potenziana's tone was firm but not unkind. Her own painful mistakes throughout the years had taught the Boston matriarch when a certain toughness was required, for certain kinds of people.
"Your emotions will deceive you into thinking we are without hope."
And Sarica, for better or worse, had always been the type to respond more effectively to pragmatic commands than sympathy.
"But we know better than that."
Potenziana could already see Sarica determinedly battling against said emotions even before she finished speaking, and the way the younger woman wiped her tears with the back of her hand was both endearing and heartbreaking.
The poor bambina never had a chance to be a child. Never knew it was to be loved by one's parent. And this was likely why Sarica had found it so hard to depend on anyone, not even Giancarlo, for comfort.
"When he comes back," Potenziana stressed, "you can make it up to him. We can all make it up to him. Because you are not the only one with regrets. Giancarlo made it so easy for the entire famiglia to sit back and have him shoulder everything. We had all taken him for granted without knowing it. And as much as it pains me to say this..."
Potenziana's own voice cracked under the weight of her remorse.
"God had to take Giancarlo away for us to see the truth."
Sarica's shoulders shook as she began to weep. She covered her face, but it was not enough. The sound of her weeping was almost ugly in its rawness. And even when it was becoming impossible for her to breathe, and her chest felt as if it was about to explode—-
Sarica couldn't stop crying.
Couldn't stop hurting.
Couldn't stop begging and praying to God.
I'm so sorry.
So, so sorry.
Please give him back to me.
Please.
And I promise it won't be like before.
No more pride.
No more lies.
I will love him, the way I have always wanted to.
I will love him, the way You always wanted me to.
So please.
Please, God, please.
Please give Giancarlo back to us.
Chapter One
SIXTEEN MONTHS AFTER Giancarlo's disappearance
Steam added a layer of mystery as Giancarlo stood under the shower, and cascading hot water added a sleek sheen to the muscled panes of his body. His hands were braced against the wall, his powerful back rigid as Sarica pressed her slender body against his. Her touch was shy at first as she explored the naked hardness of his chest, but everything changed when she heard him suck his breath as her fingers brushed against his nipples.
A soft laugh, followed by a more confident exploration of the rest of his body. Her hands dipped lower, but just as she was about to take his length in her hands—-
He turned around without warning, her gasp melting into his kiss as he hauled her close, his fingers digging into the tender flesh of her hips.
"Giancarlo..."
The sound of his Sarica moaning his name drove him crazy, hunger consuming him as he pushed her up against the wall. But just as he was about to enter her and lose himself in the tight little channel of her womanhood—-
GIANCARLO'S HEART WAS still pounding as he stared at his surroundings in disbelief.
No steam.
No shower.
And worst of all, no Sarica.
The old him would've cursed up a storm at this point. But all he could do now was drag breath into his lungs as he struggled to regain control over his emotions.
It was always like this.
Night after night after night.
Sarica haunting his dreams...the way she shadowed his every waking moment.
How long, God?
How long?
A king who went by the name of David had groaned these words out in his pain, thinking that God had forgotten him.
But what Giancarlo wanted was the opposite.
How long, God?
How long before he could forget Sarica existed?
He stepped out onto the balcony. Breathed the desert air of Kivr. But unlike before, its mix of sun and sand was no longer enough to wipe out lingering memories of his old life from his mind. Before him stretched the capital of Kivr, one of the most ancient and greatest jewels of the Arabian peninsula.
But all he could see was her.