"Please, Elena. Just… can we have tonight?” The man in me hates that I’m begging. I’m not a piece of shit. I’m a man worthy of her love.
Something in my plea must reach her because the tension in her shoulders eases slightly. "Just tonight.”
Relief washes through me. I pull her closer, tucking her head beneath my chin where it fits perfectly, just like it always did.
"Tell me something I don't know about you now," I murmur against the top of her head. "Something simple."
She's quiet for so long I think she might have fallen asleep. Then she says, "I learned to make cannoli from scratch. The kids love them."
I smile against her hair. "I'd like to try them sometime."
"Your turn," she says, her breath warm against my chest.
"I have a vineyard in Tuscany. Small, but the wine is good."
Her arm tightens around my waist. We exchange these small confessions in the darkness.
Favorite movies we've seen, places we've been, mundane details that build bridges across our seven-year divide, but we avoid anything deep, anything that can remind us of what broke us apart.
For now, we're just a man and a woman rediscovering each other, pretending tomorrow won't come and ruin everything again.
I trace lazy circles on Elena's bare shoulder as we lie tangled in her sheets.
"What's this from?" Elena's fingertip trails along a jagged scar running across my ribs, her touch feather-light.
"Disagreement about territory," I say, keeping my tone casual. No need to tell her how close that knife came to ending me. "Just business in Italy."
She nods, accepting the sanitized version.
Her fingers continue their exploration, mapping the changes in my body.
Each touch stirs something in me, not just desire, but a longing for what we lost.
I realize I haven’t dealt with the condom.
I don’t want to because I’m afraid by getting up, I’ll break the spell.
But things are going to get messy here if I don’t.
“Let me deal with this,” I say, gesturing to my dick. She nods, and I rise from the bed.
I don’t bother to dress as I go to the ensuite bath.
I remove the condom, tie it off, and toss it in the trash.
I wash my hands and return to the bedroom, afraid she’ll be gone.
But she’s not.
She’s still in bed looking so fucking perfect, my heart aches with the need for her to love me again.
Her eyes track me, and while she might not still love me, she finds me appealing if the appreciation in her expression is any indication.
I lie beside her, pulling her back into my arms with no intention of ever letting her go again.
"I'm surprised no Italian beauty snatched you up while you were there," she says, her voice light but her eyes not meeting mine. "No countess or model waiting for you back in Tuscany?”
I've had women, of course. I'm not a monk. But marriage? The thought never crossed my mind after Elena.
