She nods. “Alright. Your bedroom is made up already, I’ll get the spare one ready for Izzy.”
“Mamma,” Enzo sighs, picking my hand up and pressing a kiss to my fingers. “Izzy and I are together, she can sleep in my room.”
Giuliana’s face scrunches. “I’m not blind, Lorenzo. But you are not married, so there will be no funny business under my roof.” She mutters, “Condividere il letto fuori dal matrimonio14,” while shuddering.
“Mamma,” Enzo argues but she cuts him off.
“No buts,Tesoro mio15.I won’t be having it.”
I squeeze his hand. “That’s fine, Mamma Giuliana. Thank you for letting us stay.”
Mamma Giuliana's face scrunches into a smile. “Sei sempre il benvenuto qui16.”
After dinner, Giuliana shuffles around, clearing up the table—she doesn’t let me help but does have Enzo on drying duty—then she disappears to make my room up for me.
Enzo appears from the kitchen, finding me on the couch, my eyelids drooping. He smiles sadly. “Sor—”
I wave him off. “It’s fine. We don’t need to share a bed.”
He grumbles, the couch dipping with his weight as he settles next to me. “Maybe you don’t. I need my cuddles.”
I really try to stifle my laugh, but a small snigger escapes.
His head whips round, eyes narrowing. “What’s so funny?”
“Sorry,” I laugh, unable to contain it. A stray tear leaks from my eye. “I’m just picturing your enemies hearing you say you ‘need your cuddles’.”
He launches toward me, caging me against the sofa. One of his hands holds my waist, the other holds his weight off me. My shoulder aches from the strain of movement, but I don’t let my face show it.
Our chests heave as we stare into each other's eyes.
Whatever words he was going to say die.
Lips descend on mine, and the pain fades, replaced by carnal lust. God, I could kiss him forever. His tongue swipes at my lips, and I part them on a moan, dragging his head closer, tangling my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.
A throat clearing has him springing off me, backing away from the couch.
“Ragazzi arrapati17,” Giuliana mutters, shaking her head and pointing a disapproving finger at Enzo.
She turns to me, fixing a smile on her face. “Let me show you to your room.”
Standing, I pass Enzo—his fingers brushing lightly against mine—then follow his mamma down the faded yellow hallway into a bedroom wrapped in nostalgia. Pink floral wallpaper softens the walls, and a grand four-poster bed anchors the space,its mahogany frame matching the chest of drawers, closet, and nightstands that fill the room with a warm, old-world charm.
“You remember the bathroom is down the hall? Second door on your left.”
“Grazie18,” I tell her, wrapping my good arm around her before she leaves me alone to explore.
Fatigue presses down on me. My bag is already placed on the bed, so I open it, finding one of Enzo’s shirts neatly folded inside. I smile, bringing it to my nose and inhaling his scent—this is what home is. Him.
It’s a little struggle to strip off without hurting my newly re-stitched shoulder, but I manage, then slip the shirt on, letting it fall to my knees. The sheets are cool when I slide under the comforter.
The past day’s events ring through my mind, but exhaustion wins out. I drift to sleep, content, safe, comfortable.
The bed dips beside me.
I freeze. But then I feel the familiar comfort of Enzo as his arms wrap around my middle.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper.
