And then there’s that chest of his. When I bumped into him, I felt every corded muscle, every hard ab press against my curves. I imagine his nipples to be mere pebbles on top of his well-developed pecs. I envision myself running my mouth over them, teasing him with my tongue as I take them into my mouth and suck on them until I hear him grunt back at me, telling me not to stop in Czech with that smooth accent of his. Holding on to his biceps was akin to clinging onto a pair of rounded boulders inside his flesh. I could barely hang on to them, and yet, I knew I was safe with him because his hold on me was so assured that I knew he wouldn’t have let any harm come to me. I’m disarmed because a man like that has never shown any interest in me. That hasn’t been my experience.
And suddenly it returns, the shield of armor, heavy in my hands, ready to defend myself against empty words and promises, words that tell me how beautiful I am that will turn hollow at the sight of me naked in front of this man and make me want to cry and loathe myself for thinking for one second that any man would see past my size and want to know me instead of just wanting to be able to brag to his Wall Street buddies that he nailed the fat chick.
I’m now prepared for battle, shield in place.
I stare at him directly in the eye. “Yeah, that’s fascinating. Now move it, jerk!”
He pauses for a second, then takes a step to let me pass.
I don’t even bother giving him the satisfaction of a thank you. He’s the one who bumped into me, after all. He needs to look where he’s going. I thunder past him, hearing Alli behind me saying to him, “See you later, Tomas.”
We rush into class just as Professor Waltz steps up to the lectern. “Ah, Fräulein Orsini and Fräulein Gibbons. Lovely of you to join us.”
“So sorry, professor,” I hear Allegra reply in apology to him. I don’t say anything, instead zeroing in on the last two empty seats in the back of the room.
Alli and I collapse into them, pulling out our notebooks and pens from our bags. I flip mine open to a blank page, quickly jotting a note to her.
I nudge her elbow with mine, pointing with my pen to the page. “Who was that?”
She quickly writes back, checking to make sure Waltz isn’t looking our way. “Tomas Novotny, transfer student from outside of Prague. I met him in the bursar’s office. Nice guy. He’s a tenor.”
“Like I fucking care what kind of singer he is.”
No reply. I look over at her. She’s giving me the “Yeah, right. Give me a break” look. “Of course you don’t,” she writes back.
Suddenly, Professor Waltz’s voice grows louder. When I turn my head, he’s standing closer to us, only a few feet away, still lecturing, but his eyes sear into mine pointedly.
I nod and focus on the lesson.
I start to write down what Professor Waltz is saying about Wagner and where he got the inspiration for Der Ring des Nibelungen. When I look down at my notebook, I see what I’ve written.
One word. Tomas.
I clench my teeth together, scribbling out his name. I shut my eyes, inhaling and exhaling a cleansing breath.
I don’t understand what’s happened. Guys come and go, and in my case, there’s a revolving door when it comes to my dating life. So why the hell am I scribbling down this guy’s name unconsciously?
You know why.
Because this guy is the first one in a long time who’s ever affected me like this.
But I meant what I wrote.
I don’t care that he’s a tenor.
I don’t care that Tomas Novotny’s voice enraptured me, as I silently begged him to say something else just so I could hear it.
I don’t care that I imagined what Tomas Novotny’s lips would feel like on mine as I accepted his tongue into my mouth.
I don’t care that the tight black Henley shirt he was wearing stretched out across his broad chest, accentuating every chiseled muscle on his body.
And I don’t care that my core clenched just from being in the presence of Tomas Novotny. Or that my heart beat a pulse faster, my breath caught, and I lost all train of thought. Or that I imagined what it would be like if I were Tomas Novotny’s girlfriend, how he would brag to his friends, “Hey, have you met my girlfriend, Luciana Gibbons? Isn’t she gorgeous? And she sings like an angel.” And he would never call me Lucy, because I know “Luciana” would roll off his tongue so seamlessly, so smoothly in that lush accent of his.
Nope, I don’t care. Not one iota.
CHAPTER TWO
Northern Italy
Present day
A twinkle appears in Tomas’s eyes when he glances over at me. “I knew you noticed all that.”
“How did you know?”
He shakes his head and smiles amusedly at me. “How? Well, let’s see. You didn’t say anything at first. The way you yelled at me and looked at me. But even more, it was your eyes.” His voice softens. “Your beautiful light blue eyes that look like a cloudless sky.”
I give him a quick smile, then burst into laughter. “Where do you come up with this stuff? ‘A cloudless sky.’ Seriously?”
Suddenly, Tomas’s mouth drops into a frown. “Why would you laugh? I mean it. You have beautiful eyes. And how you looked at me, it stirred me. I knew you were attracted to me, but I wanted to treat you properly and not make you think I was going to use you and throw you away. I just had the sense that had happened to you before, and I wanted to prove that I wouldn’t ever do that to you.”
The tender tone in his voice sends shivers up and down my skin.
God, I’m such a bitch sometimes.
“Baby, I’m sorry. After all these years, I’m still shocked by how much you put up with when it comes to me.”
Tomas leans in, grabbing my hand. “Luciana, if I don’t put up with it, then I don’t get you. Very simple.”
Ugh, this man just kills me. Too fucking sweet for words. I totally don’t deserve him.
I cough to clear my choked-up throat. “So, going back to us. Remember the first time we truly talked in the cafeteria at school?”
“You were so nervous,” Tomas reminds me.
“I was not!” I counter.
Busted. How did he know? Because I totally was.
* * * Lucy
The Gotham Conservatory
Six years ago
I step into the familiar space of the cafeteria of our school, rummaging around in my purse for my wallet when I look up…
Shit.
Tomas Novotny is sitting at a table reading a book.
This time he’s wearing a tight white T-shirt that stretches across The Wall, as I’ve now come to refer to his broad chest. The fabric accentuates every muscle on the front of his body. A chunk of his dark blond hair falls softly over his forehead into his eyes, and I watch as he pushes it away with his long fingers. Fingers that I imagine running through my own hair as he pulls my face to his…