Wasn’t it normal, then, to lose a vital part of myself to the man I called husband?
I fisted his dress shirt in my hands, not willing to bend or break this. I wanted his hands on my body, his mouth on mine, like he was giving me air to breathe.
I give him something I can’t live without. He gives me something he can’t live without.
I wanted. I wanted. I wanted. I wanted more of…him…of…this.
Wasn’t it normal, then, to trade something that helped my body run properly, like my heart, for something that would feed my need for intimacy?
He broke the kiss, and it took me a minute to realize we’d separated, that I was entering reality again.
There he was. There I was. Separate.
I kept my eyes closed, my hands on my lips, demanding to keep the feelings close.
Loss.
One simple word sent my heart in a different kind of spiral, and fear clung to me. I couldn’t open my eyes to look the feeling in the face, to open my mouth and tell it to fuck off, because I was at war with not wanting to lose what I’d just experienced. I wanted to savor it.
An explosion went off in the distance and I almost jumped out of my skin—I visibly flinched.
“Open your eyes, Mariposa,” Capo said.
I did.Fireworks exploded over our heads, lighting up the sky in the prettiest colors. Hundreds of people crowded together, eyes to heaven, enjoying the nighttime show.
Capo took my chin in his hand and made me look at him. “Your dress. All of your hard-earned lines are on display,Mariposa. Your veins made of silk.”
“You noticed,” I said.
He had told me that I was stunning in Italian on our way to the reception, but he hadn’t commented on the lines, or what they meant to us.
“I’m careful with my words now, even though I use all the words.” He grinned. “Time and place.”
I smiled. “You brought me here to tell me.”
“In private,” he said.
I smiled even wider. “You got the private joke.”
“I’d never call this dress a joke.” His finger traced a line up my arm. The material was sheer there, but the lines were as deep as they were on the train. “But it’s something only the two of us know about. Ours.” His path continued over my shoulder, down my chest, ending at my heart.
My hand came over his, trying to hold the feeling again. I met his eyes for—I wasn’t sure for how long—but then turned to look up at the sky, not able to match the intensity.
“Don’t do that with me,” he said.
“Do what?” I continued to watch the fireworks.
He turned my face and I met his eyes. “Look away.” He searched my eyes, but I wasn’t sure what he was searching for. But I felt it when he found it. The lock turned, and the sound of something inside of me opening echoed through every part of me.
“Amadeo.”
Capo stared at me for a second longer before he turned to face one of the guards. I refused to look at the guard. I refused to give him a second of our time. Guards only meant unrest, and whatever war existed outside of the gates, it wouldn’t touch our night—not then, not a hundred years from then.
My eyes scanned the party while Capo and the guard spoke in Sicilian. People were still dancing while the fireworks continued on. Harrison danced with Gigi. Every so often, his eyes would search the crowd. It seemed like he was looking for someone.
“He’s trying to make you jealous.”
I blinked, realizing it was Capo’s voice, and only then did I look away from the night and at him. “He—what?”
