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A lock snaps open in my chest, one that’s been rusted shut since I was twelve and they told me my father wasn’t coming home. The grief, the loneliness, and the years of convincing myself I didn’t need anyone all crumble under the weight of what she’s said.
I kiss her with fervor, as if every second between us has led to this one.
She matches my desperation, sliding her hands into my hair and pressing her body closer. The kiss deepens, soft and slow and full of emotions that words can’t adequately capture.
“I need you.” The truth tears out of me. “Now. I need to feel you.”
“Yes.” She’s already reaching for the hem of my shirt. “Yes.”
I carry her to the bedroom and lay her down on the sheets like she’s sacred. Moonlight spills through the window, illuminating her skin and turning her glinting eyes to liquid silver. I memorize the way she watches me and how her lips part underneath mine.
Our lovemaking feels different tonight. It’s slow and drawn out as I worship her with my hands, my mouth, and my body until she falls apart beneath me, my name a cry on her lips. I climax, too, unloading deep inside her.
I pull her onto my chest and hold her close, needing the comfort of her full weight to prove she’s safe.
Neither of us speaks. Nothing left to say.
But as sleep drags her under, I hear a faint whisper from her lips. “Come back to me.”
I clamp my arms around her and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Always.”
Long after sleep claims her, I lie awake in the dark.
Chapter 19
Lucia
On the fourth morning after Bruno laid out his threats, Marco leaves at dawn.
I watch him go from the bedroom window, my arms wrapped around myself to ward off a chill that has nothing to do with temperature. His movements are sharper today, more focused, every step carrying the weight of purpose. My chest aches as I look at him.
A black SUV waits, its engine idling in the gray half-light. Before Marco climbs in, he glances up at the window. He lifts one hand in a gesture that might be a wave, a promise, or the last glimpse I ever see of him.
I press my palm to the glass and keep it there until the vehicle disappears through the compound gates.
Then I’m alone, choking on the silence.
His quarters, which seemed cozy yesterday—with his books on the shelves and my journals beside them—now close in like a memory-lined cage. His scent, a clean, cozy whiff I’ve come to associate with safety, lingers on the pillows. His coffee cup sits in the sink, rinsed but not washed. There are traces of him everywhere, and I wish that was enough to convince me that he’ll walk back through that door.
I try to sleep but can’t. I try to read but can’t manage that either. Even organizing the clinic’s supplies proves futile because my hands shake too much.
By midmorning, I’ve fled to the main villa’s kitchen. Sophia finds me staring into a cup of tea I have no intention of drinking.
“You look like how I used to feel every time Enzo went out in the early days.” She soon settles into the chair across from me with a steaming mug of chamomile tea. “It’s like you’re holding your breath and can’t remember how to exhale.”
I manage a weak smile. “That obvious?”
“Only to those of us who’ve been there.” Sophia’s eyes are warm, her face tinged with that rosy pregnancy glow. “The first year Enzo and I were together, I aged a decade from all the waiting.”
“How did you survive it?”
“Badly, at first.” A self-deprecating smile touches her lips. “I paced, prayed, called him seventeen times during one operation. Eventually, I learned that waiting is its own kind of work. You can’t prevent the fear, but you can choose what you do with it.”
I consider that idea. “What do you do now?”
“Now, I trust him.” Her smile softens. “Not to be safe… I’ll never quit worrying about that. But I trust him to do everything in his power to come home. And I make sure there’s something worth coming home to.”
The words sink deep in my chest.
