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I laugh, and it probably makes me look legitimately crazy, and at this point, I think I might be. “Because your brother is an incredible man, not a gossip piece. Marcus deserves the sappiest, happiest fucking ending in Hollywood, and I’m here to deliver it.”
A shadow passes behind Mortie, and holy shit, seeing the two of them in the flesh like this is freaky with a capital F.
Marcus stares directly at me, and I can’t decide if he’s glad, shocked, or mad as hell to see me standing out here. His hair is messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it all day, and guilt gnaws at my insides over the circles under his tired eyes.
When he reaches for the papers in his brother’s hand, I shiver with a mixture of hope and fear.
“A Month Without Marcus Matthews,” he reads aloud.
“I had this plan to read it to you.” I wave my hands nervously. “Actually, it was Penelope’s idea, but…”
The rest of that thought dies on my lips when he starts scanning the article silently.
Mortie exudes apathy, leaning against the house with one foot propped on the wall behind him, andI grow more agitated by the minute with nothing but the sound of rain accompanying us.
When he finally glances up, a dam breaks inside me, and with it, comes a slew of fumbling words that really should be more eloquent for as much as I’ve practiced.
“I was told to uncover your biggest, baddest secrets. But as you can see, to my surprise, Marcus Matthews is a changed man. One who’s committed to getting sober and never once left rehab.”
Mortie watches my wringing hands, but Marcus’s attention is focused on my moving lips.
“I-I know how much Augustine and the locals mean to you, so I renamed you Francesco and put us on a different part of the island. I wrote about you and your well-mannered horse, Arrow, and how you both helped me overcome my fears of the water, and the lantern festival, where I drank wine that was delicious—and absolutely did not taste like dirt. I mean, that part about me loving the way you ‘unleashed my wild side’ was for a bit of shock value, but—okay, actually, that part isn't a lie.”
I pause my ramble to slick my wet hair away from my face, and the irony of standing before him, soaked to the bone, isn’t lost on me.
My voice breaks when I manage to find it again. “It’s all right there between the lines, Marcus. What I should have said to you before you left is written boldly, loudly for anyone in the world to see, and I’m not embarrassed or ashamed to let them. I’m fucking honored.”
Marcus releases the papers in a fluttering mess to the concrete, and for a soul-shattering second, I think he might turn his back on me.
But then he’s stalking forward, one step at a time, and I hold my ground, unmoving. “You wanna know why I never told you I loved you?”
His eyes flit around my face as he rumbles a quiet, “Yes.”
“Because what I feel for you makes love sound like an insult.” My hands shake from the force of trying to keep them off him. “You once said you didn’t have a fortune to offer me, but what use is wealth when I’d rather sleep peacefully knowing you’re right there beside me. When I’d ratherhave your touch whenever I need it, knowing it’s the only thing that soothes me—reallysoothes me—all the way down to my bones.”
He inches closer now, touching me without touching me, and that shouldn’t make sense but to me, it does. That’s the kind of connection we have. And it’s been a lingering, commanding presence since the moment he drank my coffee in Ernesto’s café.
“Keep talking,” he says, making me swallow even though my throat’s gone dry.
“I’m sorry for lying to you. If I could go back to that morning, knowing what I know now, I would’ve never let you walk away.”
“More,” he murmurs so softly, I feel the word as a candlelit caress in the darkest depths of my soul.
“Your ass is a major distraction in those Levi’s.”
His lips quirk. “I suppose that could be problematic.”
The rain finally lets up, but our cheeks and lashes are dotted with drops when I stare up at him.
“Marcus, the idea of losing you terrifies me, but if you’ve changed your mind, I need to hear you say it. Say that you don’t love me. Tell me that I’ve made it all up in my head, and that when you look at me, you feel absolutely nothing. Scream it at me if you have to, but at least then I’ll know.”
His fingers tangle with mine as he shakes his head. “I can’t.”
I’m tucked into his body, thankful it’s strong enough to absorb every wracking shudder I release.
“You forgot kissing,” he says. “Give me more of your words to describe that.”
I nibble on the edge of what wants to be a smile, not quite letting it touch my lips. “Kissing you is actually, pretty ordinary.”
