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“I don’t know what to do now,” I say into the silence that has fallen between us. “What does this mean? For me? For Vivi? Our mother…” I laugh again, an ugly sound without mirth. Mother doesn’t leave her room most days. She has all the company she needs in there—her good friends Gin, Vodka, and Tequila. “And God, Angel. He won’t even know…”
Dannaro.
There are probably a dozen things I need to be doing right now. I stand, unconcerned with my nakedness as the water sluices down. Damon startles, his eyes going wide. He raises his chin as I face him for a second without speaking.
“Madre de Dio,” he mutters, voice thick. “Bellissim—”
Placing a hand on the side, I start to climb out. Water blinds me, and I misstep, one foot slipping on the stone floor as I start to go down, and the other hooking around the side of the tub.
I don’t fall, though. Damon catches me, pulling me easily over the edge and into his chest, his arms sliding around my back to hold me firmly in place. He’s wearing casual clothing tonight, sweatpants and a tee shirt that’s soft against my cheek. His fingers flex on my wet flesh, moving against it as if driven by instinct.
God, he’s strong. And warm.Shivers start to rack my frame, and Damon shifts, picking up the towel I tossed over the chaise earlier before wrapping it around me. He tucks it with exaggerated care into a knot at my neck, then sets me away from him. A long, considering look into my face has him swiping his thumbs across my cheekbones, and I realize I’m crying.
“Why am I crying?” I wonder aloud. “He was not a good father—”
“But maybe he wasn’t a complete bastard, either, now was he?” Damon soothes, pulling me back against him. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he likes holding me.
But I don’t want his comfort. I don’t want his coddling, his care. I twist away and start pacing the short segment of the terrace that houses the hot tub, the towel flapping around me with each step.
“No!” I return. “He was a bastard. Did you know I wanted to go to culinary school and become a chef? But he wouldn’t allow it because I was… this… thing. This possession for him to do with as he pleased. Angel was never good enough, and Vivi was too young, and so I gave up everything to be what he needed me to be.” I fling a hand toward Damon. “Which apparently was not what I thought he needed, because along came you.”
“Lulu—”
I pick up the wineglass I set on the rim of the tub earlier, then take a long swig of the remaining wine. “Everything, Damon. I gave it all up without complaint. I dealt with Mother, handled Angel, practically raised my sister—all for what? Now the reason for that is gone. And you know as well as I do, that it’s all going to continue to fall on my shoulders. In spite of everything, aside from you being here, there is no one else.”
I stop talking and study the empty wineglass in my hand, the way it catches tiny points of light from various sources, and then I hurl it at the stone wall of the terrace. It shatters into a thousand tiny shards of glass, and I crumple. I sink to my knees, the towel tangled around me, and a rough, shredded wail breaks free of my throat.
“Dio, bella. Please don’t cry. I can’t—” Damon lowers himself to the ground and pulls me into his lap. One hand curves around my wet hair, pinning my face to his chest, and I cry wordlessly into the softness of his tee shirt for what feels like an eternity.
Finally, my tears come to a halt with a watery sniffle, and I lean back a little to wipe at my face and then the wet spot on his shirt. “Dio, I’m sorry. Ugh. I just… I just want to be free of it all, Damon.”
He tilts my face back, his long fingers warm and strong on my jaw. His gaze traces everything—my still leaking eyes, the tremble of my mouth, the hands that clutch at his shirt to prevent him from letting me go. After a moment that lasts a lifetime, he replies.
“That’s not the world we live in,bella.”
My breath catches at the tenderness in his voice, at odds with what he’s saying, and a knot twists and tightens in my stomach as he continues.
“You’ll never be free.”
