Luca acknowledges this information with a small jerk of his chin.
“So you essentially raised yourself, starting as young as five. You’d get up and make your lunch and walk the few blocks to school, then come home and let yourself into the house.”
“Where were my parents?”
“At work during the day. In the morning, they were home but probably sleeping. At night, they went out. They were incredibly social and always had plans for dinner, or game nights, or even overnight travel once you were a little older. And by older, I mean, like, ten.”
“Huh.”
“You told me once that when Ana and Sofia were born, it felt almost natural that they were your responsibility.”
Luca looks to the side as if he’s searching for the evidence of this somewhere out the front window. I can see the frustration in the lines across his forehead, the tension in his jaw as he seems to dig into the mental depths for any memories.
“Honestly, Luca, I don’t think you ever asked your parents where they were or why they weren’t home. You understood the rules and did what you needed to do.”
At this, he looks back at me. “You’re saying you think I did the same with you?”
I turn my face down, feeling the weight of this as we both fully connect the dots. “I think you’re programmed to take the good andnot look too closely at the bad. I think that’s what initially drew me to you. You were so steadily happy. I’m sorry I took advantage of that, too.”
He bends and digs his hands into his hair, letting out a frustrated growl, and I reach forward, rubbing the muscles of his back, hating the tight tension in his shoulders. “I just hate being told about myself,” he says. “I hate notknowing.”
“I’m sure. And I really will do my best to not assume things about you moving forward. For all we know, you might just be… someone new now. You get to decide how you react to things—to this, tous. You get to decide how you feel about me having a secret safe in the wall, you know?”
He nods, still bent, but slowly straightens. “I’m sorry. I just—”
Luca doesn’t finish whatever it was he was going to say. With great effort, he works to stand, and I resist the urge to help him, to offer an arm. Instead, I watch as he turns and makes his way down the hall to the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.
I am completely at loose ends. The house feels too quiet, too still. I realize I’m used to Luca’s whistling, to music playing from the stereo, to the sound of him putzing around in the kitchen or backyard. When it’s just me, it’s like everything is blank, colorless.
In the kitchen, I press my hands to the counter and bend at the waist, taking a deep breath, trying not to freak the hell out. When I look down at the floor, the ceramic tile swims, and I become so dizzy I almost keel to the side and fall down.
Straightening, I slap both of my cheeks. “Wake up, Emery.”
I turn, blinking until my vision clears, and then make my way down the hallway, listening for sounds coming from the bedroom. After hearing nothing for a few minutes, I carefully crack the door open and peekin. Honey lifts her head long enough to decide I’m unimportant before settling down again. Luca is curled up and asleep on his side of the bed.
Protectiveness and longing streak through me, and I carefully step into the room, toeing off my shoes and telling myself I’m only going to stay for a few minutes, only long enough to make sure he’s breathing normally, sleeping soundly.
He was always a deep sleeper, and I’m sure the exhaustion he’s dealing with now is unparalleled. To my relief, he doesn’t even move when I carefully lie on the mattress behind him. I scoot closer, careful to not touch him, but stare at the back of his head, his long, tan neck, the broad shoulders that taper into a muscular back beneath the T-shirt. My palms heat with the urge to reach out and wrap my arms around his waist, to press my face into the space between his shoulder blades.
Luca. My Luca.
The purest love I’ve ever felt, and I didn’t see it until I almost lost it.
I close my eyes, squeezing them tight to fight tears.
Reluctantly, I shift back and carefully slide off the bed, giving him space but hoping he comes back to me soon.
18LUCA
The heat of her skin is unreal, the rosewater smell of it intoxicating.
Emery’s tongue slides over mine, teasing and then overtly sensuous, and I let out an involuntary groan, arching my hips into hers, pushing deep into her warm heat. I don’t even know how we got here—on this mattress, undressed, making frantic love—but I wouldn’t stop it if there was a gun to my head. Emery gasps, her nails digging into my back, her legs spread wider as she works to pull me as close as she can get me.
“Sei splendida qui sotto di me,” I tell her.You are splendid here beneath me.
She looks up at me, sunlight catching the copper-penny flash in her right eye, and she smiles, so elated, so happy. Cool air blows over my back as I bend and press my lips to her neck, sucking, biting, desperate to consume her somehow. I snake my hand between us, feeling where I move in her, stroking her in gentle, fast circles.
“Ti piace, amore?” I murmur into her neck.Do you like it, my love?
