My throat tightens. "Luca?—"
"I know they're not mine. I understand that. But I could be there for all of you."
I want to tell him they are his. I want to fall into his arms and confess everything. I want to erase seven years of separation with the truth.They're your children.
Instead, I say, "You don't know what you're asking for."
"I'm asking for a chance." He moves closer, his warmth radiating around me, lulling me. "Whatever you're afraid of, whatever you're protecting them from, let me help."
I shake my head, desperate to maintain distance. "It's been too long. Too much has happened. We're different people now."
"Are we?" His fingers brush my cheek, and I can't help leaning into his touch. "Because every time I look at you, I still see the woman I fell in love with. The one who laughed at my terrible jokes and argued with me about books and fell asleep on my shoulder during movies."
“Things have changed.” But God, how I ache to take what he’s offering.
He presses his hand over his heart. “For me, in here, nothing has changed.”
I’m drawn in to the comfort he’s offering even as I know it’s too dangerous for us all.
I should step back. I should remind him of all the reasons this can't happen.
Instead, I stand frozen as he leans closer.
"Tell me you don't feel it too," he whispers, his breath warm against my skin.
"It doesn't matter what I feel." I do my best to stay strong knowing that I’m failing. "Feelings don't change reality."
"They are reality." His hand slides to the nape of my neck. "Seven years, Elena, and I've never stopped wanting you. Never stopped loving you."
My breath catches. "Luca?—"
"I tried. God knows, I tried to forget you." His forehead touches mine, and I close my eyes against the intimacy of it. "But it's always been you."
The kitchen fades away. There's only his hands, his scent, the impossible heat between us.
"We can't go back," I say, even as my body betrays me, leaning into his touch.
"I don't want to go back. I want to go forward. Together."
When his lips finally meet mine, it's like coming home, soft at first, questioning, giving me space to pull away.
But I don't.
I can't.
Seven years of longing rush through me, breaking down every barrier I've constructed to keep him at a distance.
I press my hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat racing beneath my palms.
His arms encircle me, pulling me flush against him as the kiss deepens, grows hungry.
"Elena," he breathes against my mouth.
I answer by pulling him closer, my fingers tangling in his hair, drawing him back to me.
His hands slide under my sweater, warm against my bare skin, and I gasp at the contact.
Need floods my body.
