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“Is it? I’m not really sure about that, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart.
It sounds tender. Like how I feel when I think about her. Tender and raw.
“I went there, you know. To find you,” she continues.
“I know.”
“Will you rebuild the house?” she asks.
“No. At least not yet. I can’t sell the land, it has to stay in the family, but I don’t want to be there yet. Hell, maybe ever.”
“What about Michela? Does she want it?”
“She wants nothing to do with it. She came to Lucas’s memorial service but refused to go to our father’s. I understand.”
“How are you two?” She shifts so I have to look at her.
I touch her cheek to brush hair behind her ear. It’s grown a good inch, and her bangs keep falling into her eyes. “We’ll be okay,” I tell her.
“I’m glad.”
I study her. Remember how beautiful her eyes are. Not that I’d forgotten but it’s good to see them again. See her again. And not from behind a darkly tinted window or a photograph.
“He told me I’d break you,” I say. “Lucas, I mean. He said I break everything I touch. That I’d break you.”
“You saved me, Damian. You saved my life.”
“You almost died because of me. Because my brother wanted to punish me.”
“You saved my life. Period. And I’m not broken.”
“No, you’re not so easy to break. That’s a good thing with me, Cristina.”
She leans her head on my shoulder and sighs.
“In the end, he knew me much better than I ever knew him,” I say, tucking her closer.
“What do you mean?”
“He asked me if I cared about you. He knew I did. He just wanted to taunt me.” I pull back again to look at her. “Why didn’t you sign the divorce papers?”
She shifts her gaze.
I touch two fingers to her chin to tilt her face up, so she has to look at me. “Why, Cristina?”
“What you said to me…”
My heartbeat kicks up. I know what she’s talking about. When I told her I loved her just before all this happened.
“I heard it and…” She shifts her position so she’s sitting up, looking straight into my eyes. “I know it’s stupid and I can’t explain it. I haven’t even told anyone about it because I’m sure even Liam would think I was crazy.” She drops her head, shakes it, then pushes her bangs out of her eyes before looking at me. “Did you mean it?”
“When I told you that I love you.”
It’s not a question but she nods anyway.
“Yes. I meant it. I still do. I love you, Cristina.”
“Good. Because I love you, too, Damian.”34DamianStudying her in the dim moonlight, I watch the flush creep into her cheeks.
She lowers her lashes to hide her eyes from me, but when she turns away, I take her face in both my hands, making her look at me.
She places her hands over mine, not resisting when I pull her to me.
I close my mouth over hers and kiss her.
This kiss is different than any other. There’s no resistance, nothing taken that isn’t given. I kiss her and she kisses me.
And when she surrenders to me, I know she’s mine. Truly mine for the first time.Epilogue 1CristinaFour Years LaterI never signed the divorce papers but watched him tuck them away in the safe instead along with our rings.
He wants it to be my choice.
And he doesn’t want me to choose just yet.
Given that I turned eighteen the night he took me, I’m okay with that.
It takes me another four years to graduate from college. Damian, Liam, Simona, and their mom attend my graduation. I think I see a man in the distance who resembles my uncle, but I don’t tell Damian. And besides, I could be wrong.
In the penthouse, Liam and I are eating cake while Damian takes my aunt and Simona downstairs to the car waiting to drive them home. They moved back to the city to be closer to Liam who is—or was—still in school here.
I study my cousin as he shoves another forkful of heavily iced chocolate cake into his mouth.
“You still eat like you’re growing,” I tell him. He’s grown than my uncle now and filled out a lot. I see how women look at him whenever we go anywhere. I want to scream that he’s only twenty, but I was only eighteen when I fell in love with Damian, so I keep my mouth shut.
“It’s good cake. I don’t get cake often.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, please. I’m sure any one of your many girlfriends would fall over themselves to bake you a cake if that’s what you wanted.”
He grins, revealing a dimple in his left cheek under the five o’clock shadow he’s perfected.
“They have other uses.” He winks to me.
“Don’t be gross,” I tell him, punching his arm. “And we need to talk.”
He shoves more cake into his mouth.
