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No, for me it was always Marco.
Always.
“Have you had a good day, baby?”
No… “I missed you at dinner,” I confess, instead of giving the truthful answer.
“Fucking work. It’s going to cost more to rework this house than it would to rebuild a new one.”
“You hate this house, Marco. Just tear it down and start over. “
“Now you are sounding like DeLuca and Melina,” he says. There might be the slightest bit of humor in his tone, but mostly he sounds tired.
He turns me to face him and like I always seem to do, I go where he puts me. “Why are you fighting to keep a house you hate?”
“It’s built, it’d be stupid to pump money in a new one,” he reasons.
These I thought were very valid. I wouldn’t demolish it either, but then, I don’t have the memories he has of this place. I struggle to keep my mind on what we are talking about when his hands move along my sides, his fingers spanning across my ribcage. His beautiful gaze on mine and his attention centered on my lips.
“Um…” It pains me to admit it, but I still use that not-a-word-but-kind-of-a-word sound when I’m near Marco. What can I say? Being close to him zaps my braincells. “What do your brothers think you should do with it?”
“They want to be the ones to pour gasoline on it and strike a match,” he says, his thumb brushing against the underswell of my breast as he answers, his gaze on my face.
“Then, why keep fighting it. None of you truly want to live in a home that your father made a prison for you. Destroy it and build what you want.”
“Would you prefer that?”
I blink, shake my head, and force myself to hold his gaze. “I don’t think it matters what I’d want in this scenario, Marco.”
“Then, you would be wrong. This is going to be your home,” he says. “If I’m to be the head of this household, then you, Helena, will also be that because you will be my wife. What you want is very much in question.”
“The question of us getting married hasn’t been decided yet,” I point out and instantly get his ire. I can see it his eyes and the shift that comes over his face that makes his features harder.
“Bullshit. You are marrying me. It has been years and we both are drawn to one another just like we were years ago in your bedroom, Ena. You can’t deny that.”
“I don’t, but I also know there’s more required between a man and a wife than just being attracted to someone. There has to be more if it is to last.”
“What more?” he asks, making me sigh.
“I’m the wrong person to ask, Marco. I’ve been alone most of my life. I just know there needs to be more.”
“Then, Princess, I’m going to find a way to give you more.”
“I can’t be trusted around you.”
“Now, why would you say that?”
“I should hate you for the pain you’ve caused. At the very least, I should scream at you, not look for your kisses.”
“Are you looking for my kiss now, baby?”
“No.”
“You’re not?” he asks sounding surprised.
“No, because I know you’re going to kiss me whether I want it or not.”
His hand moves along the side of my neck as he tilts my head, forcing me to look him in the eye—instead of his neck like I was doing. “You want to kiss me, Ena.”
“I don’t think I do.”
“You do,” he counters.
“I don’t think I do,” I repeat.
“Why not?”
“Because if you kiss me, it will just confuse me. Then, when this all goes to hell, it will hurt even more to leave you.”
He shakes his head. “You aren’t leaving me.”
“I won’t be able to stay. You’ll make it impossible, or I’ll finally find my brain when I’m around you.”
“Okay, that’s that,” he grumbles and before I realize what he’s doing he steps back, leans down, and puts an arm under my knees and picks me up, cradling me to his chest.
“What are you doing?” I squeak, putting my arms around his neck to steady myself. I did this while ignoring how good it feels to be in his arms.
“No more full moons for you, Princess,” he mutters. Then, he starts walking through the room.
I half expected him to take me to my bed. I kind of wanted him to take me to my bed. He didn’t do that. He just kept walking out of the room and then turned left. He kept walking and didn’t stop until he was all the way at the end of a very long hall. I had stayed with Melina—not a lot, but occasionally. On those visits, I didn’t meander through the house discovering the place. I didn’t because it would have been rude as a guest. I also didn’t because Melina informed me she wasn’t allowed to do that. She was supposed to stay in her room and if not her room the kitchen, the dining room, or the main room by the entrance were the only areas she could. If she got special permission from her father, she was allowed to go to the library. That’s it. That scared me for several reasons. My father wasn’t a great father. His parenting approach could only be described as an out of sight, out of mind kind of thing. He wasn’t scary mean like Melina’s. For instance, other than his office there wasn’t a room in my house that was off limits. If he was in his office, I could go talk to him. Mostly the conversation was stilted because my father didn’t truly enjoy talking to me, but it did happen. It not only scared me because of that, but it scared me because breaking those rules petrified Melina. I saw it in her eyes, in the deep panic I saw on her face every single time her father’s voice would raise and let it be known that he wasn’t happy. I hated it for her. I hated it for all of them, but especially her. Melina has the kindest heart of anyone I’ve ever met. She deserved happiness and beauty, not fear. I knew that Marco tried to shield her from that and the kindness he showed her was one of the many things I always admired about him.
