Falcon's Angel by Danita Minnis Page A

were in the bottom drawers of her armoire and hanging up on one side of the bedroom closet.
    She moved to the weights on the floor, pushing them out of the way against the living room wall. They didn’t do much for the decor, but what they did for her was worth the bruised toe on her foot. In the stillness of the early morning, she lay in her bedroom, warm and moist from listening to Tony’s low grunts and groans while he hefted those weights.
    They had fallen into a routine, like an old married couple. When Tony went out to run errands, Angelina used those times to call home to check in with her parents.
    She felt guilty about not telling Tony who she really was, but it was too late to mention it now. A few weeks ago, she might have been able to say that she hadn’t known him well enough and was wary of telling him about her family and who she really was. But at this point, she would appear to be a liar if she mentioned it.
    Tony was not involved with anyone the way she wanted to be involved with him. But she couldn’t say the words ‘I love you’ as Angelina Natale. That seemed the biggest lie she could ever tell.
    He had not yet said the words either, which might have bothered her if she wasn’t nursing a guilty conscience, but he lived them. He was a fierce protector, a patient study partner, and an inspiration to her music. There were never any awkward moments between them.
    Well, almost never any awkward moments.
    Tony wasn’t doing a very good job of it, but he was trying to act … brotherly towards her.
    God knows I don’t need another one of those!
    Tony had not kissed her since he moved in. She had a depressing suspicion that he didn’t want to take advantage of their living arrangement. There were his solemn looks of longing when he thought she didn’t notice. They told more than he would ever say. Those were the moments he let down that blasted curtain of discipline and revealed his true feelings. He wanted her.
    Not knowing what else to do in those potent silences, she made him laugh with one of the silly Italian jokes her classmates told her.
    He’s waiting for me.
    She was at a loss what to do. At least she had stopped giggling in his presence. But she was wracking her inexperienced brain trying to figure out a way to end this stalemate, short from parading around the apartment in a towel. A really skimpy one.
    * * * *
    “That’s a Stradivarius, isn’t it?” Tony asked.
    Angelina glanced at the violin on the coffee table. “ Angelo di Luce , a gift from my teacher.”
    “He must have been very fond of you to give you such a gift.”
    Her hands slowed in the soapy water. “The Maestro started my training with complicated musical scores. He was trying to stump me. Instead of crying in frustration, I played as if my life depended on it.”
    “Bad teacher.” Tony wagged a finger at the ceiling.
    “That sort of dare was the basis of all the Maestro’s lessons,” Angelina said. “Somewhere along the way, the musical genius became my stern but committed companion. He was a good man.”
    Tony turned down the game on television and rose from the couch. “You miss him very much.”
    “I would not accept another instructor, not even when he was confined to his bed and could no longer play beside me.
    “The Maestro left me his music, books, literature on musical scores, biographies of the masters—everything he’d owned that had anything at all to do with music.”
    Angelina went quiet as she put the last dinner dish on the drainer to dry.
    He moved around the butcher block to stand behind her. Her hair was in a topknot. Unruly strands dipped down, teasing him against the white column of her neck, the palest part of her now in the late Napoli summer. What I wouldn’t give for a taste.
    “I can’t even bring myself to open the boxes the Maestro left me,” she said. “But I’m reading his favorite book on musical composition. When I read it I feel him close by.”
    “I know it must have