“Then kiss me again,” I say, “like we’ve run out of excuses.”
He does. This kiss is different, warmer, certain. I open for him, and he answers like prayer, like home. My back meets the cool paneling; his hand finds mine and pins it gently above my head, our fingers lacing. Not a trap—a vow. He kisses the base of my thumb, the inside of my wrist, like he’s memorizing the places that prove I’m alive.
The woods still bear the traces of another storm last night. Fallen branches litter the path, leaves hang heavy with the rain, their edges torn and bruised. The air is damp and rich, carrying an earthy scent blended with the smell of moss. Beside me, Raffael’s hand is warm, his thumb traces idle circles against my palm like he’s memorizing every piece of me.
For days now, we’ve done this, walked beneath the trees, kissed until the world blurred, held on to each other, not wanting to let go; nothing else could reach us. And for the first time in years, I feel like I’m slowly stepping out of the wreckage of myself. But stepping out isn’t the same as knowing where to go.
I still haven’t answered his question. What do I want to do? Esther asked me the same thing. I don’t know. I just don't know.
All I know is that I want him. God, I want him. But the thought gnaws at me that being with me will paint a target on his back.
"They’re after me anyway, bella mia," he says softly, almost like he can hear the war in my head. "Let me worry about that. I know what I’m doing."
I glance at him, at the scars etched into his face, at the strength in his body, and the certainty in his eyes. He means it. He’s not afraid. He never is.
A gust of wind rustles through the trees, and something white flutters down between us. A feather, small anddelicate, plucked from some unseen bird. He plucks it from the air before it can touch the ground and holds it up for me, his grin boyish, almost shy.
"Even the storm leaves behind gifts for you," he murmurs, tucking it gently into my hair. His fingers brush my temple, lingering against my cheek. I lean into the touch before I can stop myself.
He steals a kiss, soft and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world. And maybe we do, because when he pulls back, his eyes hold me the way his hands do: steady and unshakable. Here, in his house, in the woods, it feels like time just stopped. Like we’re suspended in a world beyond anyone’s reach.
"You don’t have to decide anything now," he tells me. Then adds, as if he heard my thoughts, "You can take all the time in the world."
I nod, grateful, but my throat feels tight. Because time is exactly what I lost, three years of it, stolen from me, and I’m barely feeling like I’m getting it back now. I know it’s an illusion, time simply doesn’t stop, but here we are. Still, I am faced with having to choose, but I just don’t know how.
One thing is for certain, though, I can't stay here, like this, indefinitely, no matter how much I might want to. I can't keep hiding. Raf hasn't pushed me, but I know the police are looking for me. I've seen the articles. Read what he did, how he left Roberto's broken body at thesteps of the police station. Soon, I will have to make a decision and face people.
Yesterday's session with Esther enters my mind.What do you want to do with your life now that you're free to choose?Free to choose? Esther means well, but she doesn’t know the world I live in. There is nofreedomfor a woman like me. I'm pretty sure Daddy Dearest is looking for his lost principessa, and so is Marcello, whom I actually want to see. But not yet. I just need a bit more time.
You're not going to get any stronger by hiding, my merciless mind tells me. Sometimes I wish I could just shut her up. Why can't I stay here in this house in the woods forever?Because you do have a life. I sigh. Raf looks over at me, but doesn't push. He's good at that, reading me, knowing when I need to fight my own demons. But he's there, ready to catch me or slay them if need be.
I need to be strong, I remind myself,if not for me, then for him. He's risked everything to get me out. Everything. His life, his company, his future. And he's not asking me for anything in return.
I take him in, the way he stands there, broad shoulders, biceps bulging underneath his skintight long-sleeve shirt. I can nearly feel the ridges of his muscles underneath my fingertips. I ran them up and down them last night. Raffael. So proud. So strong. A man worth everything.
This is not just about you, my mind once again decides to reprimand. Okay, okay, I get it.
I run a hand through my hair. "Raf?"
"I'm here, bella mia." He tilts his head. Waits.
I need to get out of here. Out of this house. If only for a few hours. It will help me heal more than a five-hour session with Esther.
"Do you think…" Where would we go, though? I can't be seen in public. The cops are actively looking for me, and I've seen my face plastered all over the news. As tempting as a shopping spree is—for the first time in years, I could pick whatever I wanted—that's not where I can go. Or should go.
Raffael doesn't press, silently he watches me, patiently waiting as if he senses I'm at the precipice of taking a big step. And he probably does. He reads me very well.
"…could we…" and then it comes to me. "Go see Lexy?"
His face brightens, like he's been waiting for me to ask. "Absolutely."
He takes my hand, and we make our way back to the house. There is no sign of Esther. There never is. She's like a ghost, sitting in her suite, waiting for me. I wonder what she does all day besides that. That thought makes me realize that I am slowly coming out of the fugue I've been in. Slowly, I'm starting to care about other people again.
Twenty minutes later, a large, kind of beat-up truck takes us out toward the city. Raf is driving, but he appears a bit awkward behind the wheel, like he's not used to driving it.
"We need a safe word," he says when we enter the city limits.
"A safe word?" I smirk.
