"I'm sorry." My words are pathetically inadequate against the magnitude of his pain.
He’s quiet for a moment. “Tell me about Mirabella… from the beginning.”
“She was ten months old when she took her first steps. I was making dinner and turned around to find her tottering across the kitchen floor with this look of absolute determination on her face."
Adriano's breath catches. His arm tightens around me. "What else?"
"Her first word was 'birdie'. Not Mama, not Dada." I laugh softly. "She was obsessed with birds. Would point at every single one we saw."
He shifts beside me, rolling onto his side to face me. "I should have been there."
It’s the pain, not the accusation, in his voice that guts me. "I know."
"Her first birthday. First Christmas. First everything." He presses his forehead against mine. "Tell me about her birth."
“Twenty hours of labor. I was so scared.” I close my eyes, remembering. "But then they placed her on my chest, and I felt whole. Still scared, but complete."
"Did she ever ask about me?"
I nod slowly. "When she was about two, she started noticing other kids had daddies. She'd ask where hers was."
"What did you tell her?"
"That her daddy was brave and strong. That he'd love her if he knew her." I wait for his anger to return that I kept so much from him.
He lies back. "I've missed so much time."
"She's only three. There are so many firsts still to come—first day of school, first lost tooth, first bike ride…"
"I won't miss another moment. Not a single one."
I want to believe that something is growing between us.
Something that can last.
But it’s impossible. I should leave now.
If not his home, then his side.
But I can’t.
Perhaps I’m weak because even knowing that this will end badly, I want to savor this moment of feeling wanted.
I lean in, pressing my lips to his.
He responds, kissing me back, this time without the urgency of before.
It’s sweet and tender, so unlike the enforcer in Alessandro’s office.
I shouldn’t forget his propensity toward violence as a way to solve problems, but I’m helpless in his arms.
He guides me onto my back, rising above me.
He caresses my breast, drawing his hand down to my waist.
Each touch lures me deeper into the fairy tale fantasy.
I reach for him, needing connection, and he comes willingly, his body covering mine.
