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“Capisco.” I know better than to argue, even if it won’t be as easy as throwing myself on my knees and begging.
I don’t beg.
It’s not in my nature.
Still, I have to do something. Every fucking minute without Emilia is torture.
13
EMILIA
My eyes are so swollen after hours of weeping I can barely open them when I wake up.
I left the bedroom curtains parted a crack so I’d wake with the sun in case Luca didn’t come back by dawn. While the idea of going up to the house doesn’t inspire good feelings, I decided to do it as a last-ditch effort if he was still up there.
Considering I’m alone in bed, it looks like I’ll have to swallow my pride and head up. I can’t sit here and wait all day like last night. It’s absurd. It hurts too much.
My eyes hurt as I splash my face in the bathroom sink, the cold water tingling my skin. It at least tricks me into feeling more alert. It doesn’t make my face look less puffy, though. The sight of my reflection is damn near horrific after I spent the night tossing and turning before finally falling into a light sleep full of nightmares.
How could he stay away all night? How does he not care? The questions make me grind my teeth as I quickly brush them, then turn my rat’s nest into something that looks more like human hair.
It was a rough night. Was it for both of us?
I have my answer when I leave the bedroom and find Luca asleep on the couch. My heart skips a beat while tears fill my eyes at the sight of him. He stripped down to his boxer briefs, leaving his suit lying over the back of a chair.
He’d rather sleep out here than with me? Somehow, that hurts worst of all.
My freshly wounded heart propels me across the room so I can place a hand on his bare shoulder and shake gently. “Hey. When did you come back?” I whisper hesitantly.
His eyes snap open wide so suddenly I jump back a step while he sits up part way, looking around wildly before relaxing. “Overnight. You were in bed. I didn’t want to wake you.” He sits up the rest of the way and sets his feet on the floor, scrubbing his hands over his scruffy cheeks, then letting them fall to his lap.
My hands, meanwhile, are clenched together behind my back. I’m trying to navigate uncharted territory. There’s no guessing how this is going to go. “For future reference, don’t ever worry about waking me up. I probably would’ve slept a lot better if I had known you came home,” I point out, stifling a yawn.
“Right,” he murmurs, staring down at his lap. “I didn’t think about it that way.” If only I knew what he’s thinking and feeling. He’s speaking slowly as if he is weighing every word with care. My chest hurts a little more with every heavy heartbeat. I can’t take it anymore. One of us has to break the ice.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I should’ve been upfront with you instead of keeping everything to myself, but you must know… I didn’t want to hurt you or make you think I was ashamed or anything. I’m not. It’s just so tricky.”
He blows out a sigh that puffs out his cheeks, falling back on the cushions and patting his lap. “Come here.” I do as he asks without hesitating since what I need more than anything right now is to be close to him. Curling up in his lap, his arms pull me close to his chest, and a feeling of peace settles over me. Finally, I’m back where I belong, my head resting on his shoulder.
“I’m not good at this shit,” he grumbles after a heavy silence. “Relationships and talking. There’s a reason I never got into any of this. I’m going to suck at communicating, or whenever you want to call it. When you’re used to fighting your way through everything and not really giving a shit over what anybody thinks, it’s a tough habit to break.”
“I understand that.” Touching a hand to his chest, I feel the steady beat of his heart. I’ve gotten used to hearing it under my ear when I fall asleep, and its absence deepened my misery last night.
He chuckles softly, covering my hand with his. “I wouldn’t give a shit except I fucking do.”
“That’s true.” I would agree to anything right now. Being close to him again is too important to risk ruining the moment. It’s not like he doesn’t make a good point. I’d rather be with somebody who cares passionately than someone who can shrug and walk away without putting up a fight.
“What I’m trying to say is, be patient with me. I’m trying, even when it doesn’t seem that way.” He lifts my hand and presses his lips against my palm. “I’ll do better from now on.”
“And I’m so sorry,” I whisper as emotion rises in my chest. It clogs my throat, cutting off the rest of my apology while I fight back tears. That’s not what I want this to be about, him comforting me through a sob fest.
“You don’t have to apologize. That’s one thing you do not have to do.” Taking my face in his hands, his eyes search mine, and I see desperation and fear in his. “I wasn’t thinking, but I am now. It wasn’t fair to expect you to shrug everything off and announce us to your parents without easing into it. Obviously, we’ll have to be careful.”
“We?” I ask, almost afraid to hope he’s giving me everything I want.
“Yes, we. That’s what it’s all about. I’m here for you, whatever you need. All you have to do is name it. We’ll figure this out together,” he vows, kissing me until my tears wet our cheeks, and we’re both breathless.
“I didn’t know until now that that was all I needed you to say,” I confess with a teary laugh. “I just don’t want you to hate me because of it.”
