CHAPTER 195: CHAPTER 195 BREAKING THE SPELL

*LORENZO*

I look away, breaking the spell of Danica’s stare. I’m troubled by where my thoughts are heading and take a sip of wine. My reaction is all too new and too presumptuous.

“How is John? And Logan?” she asks, hungry for news, and she’s soon lost in a lively conversation about packing and Canada, and weddings.

Danica laughs again, and her voice changes, becoming softer...sweeter. She’s talking to John, and I know from her tone that she’s exceptionally fond of him. I shouldn’t be jealous, he’s a kid, but maybe I am?

I’m not sure I appreciate this new and unwelcome feeling.

“Be good, John...I miss you...Bye.”

She glances at me once more. “Okay. I will....Good-bye, Magda.” She hangs up and wanders back to me to hand me my phone.

She looks happy. I’m glad she made the call.

“All good?” I ask.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“And with Magda?”

“She is packing. She’s happy and sad to be leaving. And she is relieved to have the security man near.”

“Great. She must be excited to start a new life.”

“She is. Her fiancé is a good man.”

“What does he do?”

“Something to do with computers.”

“I should get you a phone, and then you can speak to her when you want.”

She looks appalled. “No. No. That is too much. You cannot do that.”

I raise a brow, knowing full well that I can.

She arches a brow in return, displeased, but I’m saved by the ping of the oven timer.

“Dinner is cooked.”

***************

Danica places the casserole dish on the table beside the salad she’s made. She’s pleased that the yogurt crust has risen into a crisp, golden brown dome.

Lorenzo is impressed. “It looks good,” he says, and Danica suspects he’s being overeffusive.

She serves him a portion and sits down. “It is lamb, rice, and yogurt with a few secret...um...ingredients. It’s one of my favorite meals. I hope you like it.”

She smiles.

He takes a bite and closes his eyes as he savors the food. “Mmm.” He opens his eyes and nods enthusiastically. He swallows.

“This is delicious. You weren’t lying when you said you could cook!”

Danica blushes under his warm gaze.

“You can cook for me anytime.”

“I would like that,” she murmurs. She would like that very much.

***************

*LORENZO*

We talk and drink and eat. I ply her with wine and questions. Many questions. About her childhood. School. Friends.

Sitting across from Danica is everything.

She’s so full of life. Her eyes are shining and expressive as she talks. And she’s animated, using her hands to demonstrate a point.

She’s captivating.

Occasionally she will tuck that stray strand of hair away, her fingers skimming around the shell of her ear.

I’d like her fingers on me.

I anticipate unraveling her plait later and running my fingers through her soft, luscious hair. It’s heartwarming to see her so carefree and talkative for a change. From the sweet flush on her cheeks, I suspect it might be the wine. I take a sip of the tasty Italian Barolo that’s working its magic.

Replete, I push my plate away and refill her glass. “Tell me about a typical day in the orphanage.”

“For me?”

“Yes.”

“There is not much to tell. We were homeschooled but I could tell the teacher’s knowledge was limited and the orphanage wasn’t funded enough to send us all to a school. Still, I was grateful for the knowledge they could give us. After school, we have lunch, we, the older kids do the laundries and keep the house clean. We also read for those of us who loved reading. And we played. A lot. I miss being around them.”

“Would you like to visit them?” I ask.

“I don’t think I can.”

“Is it forbidden to?”

“No. It’s just. It’s far and it would cost a lot of money to get there.”

“Well, would you like to go?”

She takes her seat once more and tilts her head to the side, brushing her index finger across her lips. Her look is wistful for a brief moment. “Yes. One day.”

“Have you traveled out of the country before?”

“No. Only in books.” Her smile brightens the room. “I have traveled all over the world in books. And I’ve been to America watching TV.”

“American TV?”

“Yes. Netflix. HBO.”

Christ.

That was also a foreign concept for her.

“Didn’t you have TV at the orphanage?”

She grins at my surprise. “Yes. We have television!”

“So, back then, what did you do for kicks?” I ask. “Kicks?”

“Fun. You know. Fun.”

She looks a little puzzled. “I read. I play with the others. Watch TV. Practice my music. Sometimes I listen to the radio with the sisters. The BBC World Service.”

“Do you go out?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“Sometimes. In the summer we will walk in the town in the evening. But it was with the others. And sometimes I play the piano.”

“A recital? For the public?”

“Yes. When there’s a charity event at the orphanage.”

“The sisters must have been so proud.”

She smiled. “Yes, they were.”

Her demeanor changes, and she seems to fold in on herself.

Shit. “You must miss them.”

“Yeah, they were the only guardian I know, I knew becoming independent wouldn’t be easy but I never thought it’d be this hard,” she answers quietly, and takes another sip of wine.