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My eyes drift over the space, taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows and the beautiful view of the skyline. It’s bright, airy, and comfortable. I’m already tempted to sink into the soft gray sofa, but more importantly, what I really want to do is help Alessio out of his clothes. I’ve missed his touch desperately, but I haven’t tried to push him for more. Even though he’s married me, I’m aware he’s been grieving the loss of Gwen. I wanted to respect that by giving him time and space, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have hopes we could lose ourselves in each other tonight.
“There are two rooms down the left of the hall.” He doesn’t look at me when he speaks, but his voice is notably distant again. “Take your pick. Make yourself comfortable.”
With that, he leaves, disappearing into the hall and turning to the right. He doesn’t hesitate or glance back. The lines have been drawn, and he has retreated into his armor again.
I clutch at my dress, tempted to rip it off as I stagger over to the sofa, trying to hold back my emotions. It hurts to breathe when I sit down, and yet I can’t help feeling stupid for it. What did I expect, really? That we’d come here, and he would forget all the walls he’s built around himself? But how could I have known? Alessio runs hot and cold at every turn. There is no consistency. Last night, he kissed me like he could drown in me, and today, he couldn’t hide his feelings when we said our vows. Now, he’s returned to the familiarity of his routine, determined to shut me out.
I stand up and stare out at the skyline, reaching around to unzip my dress. For a second, I feel foolish for agonizing over the lingerie I’m wearing beneath it. I thought he would see it, and it would make him want me.
I remove the straps from my shoulders and shimmy out of the fabric, letting it pool on the floor beneath me. The woman in the reflection of the glass is wearing a white bustier, a matching garter, and thigh-high stockings. I barely recognize her, and I know it’s because I’m not ashamed of my skin for the first time in as long as I can remember. We won’t get this day back, and I’m not willing to let it slip away because we’re both too scared to admit the truth. If Alessio wants to push me away, he needs to look me in the eye when he does it. He needs to tell me how he really feels.
I move toward the hall, heading in the direction he went. It isn’t difficult to find his suite. The bedroom door is cracked, and when I peer through it, I’m surprised to see him sitting on the bed. His elbows are on his knees, head bowed as he turns over a velvet box in his fingers. He looks tormented by his thoughts, and I hate it. I hate that he can’t let me in.
I press my fingers to the door, opening it softly. He looks up, his nostrils flaring as he burns a path over my body. I approach him the way one might approach a wounded animal. I don’t want to scare him away, and I know it doesn’t matter how much he wants me. I understand that now. It’s not a matter of want. It’s a matter of what he’ll allow himself to have.
I stop in front of him, slowly reaching out to stroke his face. He closes his eyes, falling into stillness as I remove the box from his hands and set it aside. I climb onto his lap, settling against him as my lips hover over his.
“It’s our wedding day.” I force the words out. “We only get one.”
His jaw clenches, and he shakes his head. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. We’re married. It’s done.”
I grab his face with both my palms, forcing him to look at me. “I’m not pretending.”
My lips fall into his, and he digs his fingers into the flesh of my hips. There’s a long moment of uncertainty as I kiss him, and he doesn’t return it. He’s so rigid I have no idea if he’s going to take me or toss me away. Inevitably, he loses himself to the moment, coming unraveled little by little. His tongue sweeps across the seam of my lips, and then he invades my mouth. Our teeth gnash against each other, and he yanks me down over his erection, grinding my body into his. We tear at each other’s clothes, and I manage to get his shirt unbuttoned and his trousers unzipped, but he’s still struggling with the clasps on my bustier.
“How do you get this fucking thing off?” he grunts in frustration.
