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“Until you fall asleep,” he says gently, and I feel the bed shift under his weight, the shadowy shape of him moving across the bed to lie down next to me as I slide back down under the covers. He’s still keeping me at arm’s length, his hand resting on my forearm as I lie on my side, facing away from him.
His fingers slowly slide up and down my arm, still soothing. “Just try to sleep,” he says quietly. “I’ll stay long enough to try to make sure that the nightmares don’t come back.”
I nod, closing my eyes. I know that sleep isn’t going to come easily, even with Alessio there, but I breathe in the scent of his soap and cologne, that piney, spicy aroma, and I try to feel as if things are going to be alright. That having him here will be enough.
It’s harder not to wish he could stay. To not lean into the feeling of the soothing hand on my arm and wish it would drop lower, rest against my hip, my waist, pull me close so I could feel the comforting weight of his body behind mine, holding me, keeping me in the circle of his arms so that nothing else could ever get to me.
He says he’s here to keep me safe.That’s what I want, too—but in all the ways he says he can’t, all the ways that he feels he shouldn’t. I wanthimto be the one who keeps me safe forever.
I try to push the thoughts out of my head, to breathe slow and even, to fall back into sleep. To relax into the feeling of having someone here with me, something I’ve never felt before, just for tonight.
It’s not dreamless sleep when I finally do sink back into it. But this time, I dream of Alessio. I dream of his arms around me, of him underneath the covers with me instead of atop them, his arm over my waist and his lips against my shoulder. I dream of him holding me all through the night, his warmth sinking into my skin, that feeling of safety that I fell asleep with lasting so much longer than just one night.
In the dream, the hand over my waist has a gold ring on the finger, one to match the one I’m wearing. In the dream, Alessio ismine, my husband, a man who wants to keep me safe forever, and not only for a little while. A man who isn’t running from everything he was offered—and everything I want to give.
When I wake up in the early morning, eyes sticky and aching from crying and my entire body sore from the tension of the nightmare, Alessio is gone. I hadn’t expected anything else—but I still feel a pang when I roll over and see that the only evidence he was ever there is the wrinkled duvet and the scent of his soap and cologne on my pillow. I bury my face in the pillow, breathing it in, fighting back another wave of lonely, aching tears.
Nightmares don’t last forever, thankfully. But neither do dreams.
Alessio
Ifeel more than a little concerned when I see Gianna pale and silent the next morning at the breakfast table, picking at her food the way she has been more often than not lately.
“Is there something I can ask the cook to make for you that you would find more palatable for breakfast?” I ask when I see her stab the same small piece of sausage with her fork three times without ever actually putting it in her mouth. “I’m worried about how little you’re eating.”
“I’m trying.” Gianna pokes at the sausage again. “I’m just tired. I’ll try to eat more at lunch.”
I felt guilty, leaving Gianna in the middle of the night, but I didn’t think it would help either one of us for her to wake up with me in her bed. It was hard enough to lie there, wanting to pull her into my arms and hold her close, to soothe her, stroke her hair, kiss her tears away—and be unable to do any of that. To have to lie stiffly away from her at arm’s length, one hand touching her arm, knowing that to comfort her in all the ways I desire would only drag us deeper into a mire that neither of us would be able to escape.
I know she doesn’t understand my refusal, that she’s hurt by it.She’ll understand eventually,I told myself last night as I went back to my room, every step away from her feeling like torture, fighting every desire I had to hold her throughout the night and let her wake up safe in my arms.When she’s clear-headed, months from now, when she’s married to someone closer to her age, when grief and fear aren’t clouding her every decision.It’s why I agreed to her being my ward, after all—to make sure that the right decisions were made. That no one else made those decisions for her and that her choices were guided down the best path for her.
The night didn’t pass well for me, either. I didn’t sleep until I felt as certain as I could be that Gianna wouldn’t suffer any more nightmares. Even once back in my own room, I slept restlessly, thinking I might be woken at any moment by the sound of her crying again. It’s left me in an unpleasant mood this morning, amplified by my worry over her health.
I open my mouth to say something in response, but I’m interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat in the doorway. I look up to see Juliana—the family’s household manager—standing there in her impeccable black suit, her face calm as ever. “There’s someone here to see you, Mr. Moretti,” she says. “I showed him to your office; he’s waiting there.”
“We’ll talk about this later.” I glance at Gianna once more, feeling another pang of worry at the lack of color in her face, before getting up. I’m not sure who the unexpected visitor is, but I have a feeling they’re not going to improve my morning.
I’m even more certain of that when I walk in just in time to see Don Fontana sitting on the other side of my desk.
“To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?” I ask as I step in, keeping the expression on my face as carefully neutral as I can manage. It’s far from pleasant, but I don’t let on, sitting down in my leather chair as if this is a perfectly fine way to have to start my morning. “I can call for coffee, if you like.”
“Please.” Fontana smiles at me. “Black, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” I pick up the phone, calling down to the kitchen for coffee to be sent up, and then sit back in my chair, looking at him curiously. “So. You’re here because—”
“There’s some concern about Miss Mancini’s marriage,” Fontana says bluntly. “I’m well aware it’s only been a short time since the funeral,” he adds, as if he knew that would be the next thing I said, “but the other families are already getting restless, and I—and the other senior members of the Family—are concerned.”
I can feel my jaw tighten immediately. I’d feared that something like this would happen—that Fontana would want to take back the reins of control over Gianna’s future—and the future of the Mancini legacy—but I had thought it would take longer. “Are you not able to ease their concerns? She’s allowed time to grieve, surely—”
“Of course.” Fontana nods, pausing as the door opens, and one of the staff brings in a tray with coffee for us both. He takes his cup, waiting until the door is shut again, and then continues. “Of course, the girl must be allowed her time to grieve. But we can be working on it all behind the scenes before then, yes? I’ve drafted a list of candidates for your consideration. You can look it over and introduce them to her in a less—charged setting. A dinner party, perhaps, instead of one on one. Next week. Of course—” he pauses, his gaze resting coolly on mine. “There is an easier solution to all of this. You do as Don Mancini asked, and marry his daughter.”
“This isn’t what we agreed.” It’s difficult to keep my voice as even and calm as I’d like. “I was promised time.”
Fontana shakes his head. “The agreement was made in haste, I’ll admit, and repented at leisure. It’s not enough for you to simply have her as your ward, Alessio. With her unmarried, the risk of something happening to her to gain control over her fortune and her father’s legacy is too great. Considering that her father’s murderer has still not been found—that the trail has been difficult to pick up—this is not something that can be given the kind of time you hoped for. If you will not marry her still, then we will need to take action ourselves.”
He reaches down to the briefcase at his feet, pulling out a leather portfolio that he hands me. I take it numbly, feeling certain of what’s inside before he even confirms it.
“There’s a list of candidates that I’ve drawn up, with input from the other senior members. Names, photos, and information about each of their families and history. Your opinion of them will be noted, of course, and we still wish for you to be the one to choose Gianna’s husband, as agreed. But it must take placesoon. There needs to be an engagement within the next six weeks. Eight, at most.”
