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“I thought I had to bed Juliette in order to save the men. And to help my father and my mother, you understand.”
She pulls her hands back, but I tighten my grip to keep her here with me. I won’t let go until I have at last explained myself. Fully.
“But I couldn’t do it. Not even for my parents.” I have said what I needed, the whole sordid truth, and I will not force her to stay any longer. I soften my hands on hers and tell myself it is enough to have this moment with her. To hold the weight of her small hands in mine. To let my warmth seep into her chill. I can live off the memory, if I must.
She doesn’t move.
Her eyes search mine, her brow furrowed in confusion or concentration—I do not know which. All I know is that she stays. And I try to memorize the constellation of the freckles dotting her nose, the press of each of her fingers in mine. I inhale the scent of her in case this is all I shall have of Lolly of the Laughter.
“You didn’t sleep with her? The rich woman? The one at the wedding?” Her voice carries disbelief and something else—the scrape of some emotion. Her heart beats faster in her throat, her pulse a visible thing, and her breaths are short and fast.
“No.”
“Oh.”
“I couldn’t.”
“I see.”
“No, you don’t. I couldn’t because of you.”
“Right.” Her eyes narrow. She doesn’t believe me.
“Lolly, it’s you I want. You I think of. You who are in my mind.”
“It is? I am?” The words are so small; such vulnerable, new things; too tiny to carry the impact they have on me. She told me of her brokenness, her tears watering my shoulder as we swayed to the music, but I fear she was too many cups in to remember those words. It’s not for me to remind her of the tender places of her heart. “I can’t, Mariano. It’s too…too…too raw. I’m sorry. I can’t.” She pulls away, dropping her eyes as she does.
Suddenly everything I am inside myself is too large to be contained within my skin. “How can you have any doubt, after—” I can’t think of what to call the dance she did for me, the way we held each other, the kisses we have shared. “Your dance. At the wedding. You must know—” My cheeks blaze with heat, remembering.
“But you said—”
“I said I had to do my duty.” She needs to know the war in my heart. “Because duty is all I’ve known, Lolly. Until you.” It’s not the whole truth. My parents adore me. “The love I have known,mi preciosa, has been family love.”
She studies me, her head to one side as if there’s something that puzzles her.
“You released the passion in me, Lolly. Passion that allows me…” My chest is tight and the words come slowly. “The passion that allows me to imagine a life for me, too.”
“Huh.”
“Life must be lived in service, yes?” This I have always believed. This I have lived by. “But if by some miracle I am permitted a life of my own, then I would begin that life with…” I can’t believe I’m saying these things. My heart is full and my brain on fire. “I am full of you, Lolly. You free me… Your passion frees me.”
“I free you?” The sparkle that I have come to love about her, thejoie de vivrethat pours from her when she is in her element, burns brightly. “You’re not yanking my chain?”
My voice will not come. I nod and shake my head in quick succession.
“Good.” What can only be described as a wicked grin curves her lips. And then she stands on her toes and presses her lips to my cheek.
It is perhaps the most chaste kiss ever to shatter a man’s heart into a stained-glass-window’s worth of glittering shards. It is beautiful. It is everything and not enough.
That tiny gesture breaks the dam of restraint. I can’t help myself. I pull her in to me. She fits perfectly in that place between shoulder and sternum, and I inhale the vanilla-and-pear scent of her hair. Home. That is what she smells like, and I want more.
Her arms are around me, but she lets out a shuddering breath.
“Lolly.” At her name, she looks up, her eyes full, holding mine. “I want…” I bend to find her lips. It takes all the control I have drilled into myself to wait, only a hairsbreadth between us.
“Fuck, yes,” she says, more breath than voice. More groan than word.
I meet her with gentleness when what I want is to consume her and be consumed, twin flames that burn each other out. Her mouth is soft, and so is the sound she makes. But the half sigh parts her lips, and it is an invitation I cannot refuse. I say yes and mean yes, easing her mouth open with my tongue, tasting the sweetness of her lips with the lightest of flicks.
