His voice wavered from rage to fear—as easily as the thin line between love and hate was crossed. The fear came close to crippling me. To a certain degree, I had been trapped inside of myself, not able to fully return. The part of me that died in the accident was still empty, and I wasn’t sure what to do with the vacant space. I lingered there, hoping to feel something again. Life where it once was. I tried to fill the emptiness by doing what I did best. Dance. But I couldn’t do that. Not as I once had.
It was like trying to replacethe one—the lover I knew a higher power had created for me.
How could I replace the gift that was destined for me, though? There was no substitution.
I had known it all along. In consequence, I had become lost to the grief. A victim of sacrifice. I had sacrificed for love. Gave up all I’d ever known, what I was the best at, to keep the most vital part of myself alive.
The man standing before me. Our children sleeping peacefully in their beds, hopefully dreaming beautiful dreams.
“She’s right here,” I whispered. “Just t-t-terrified.”
The admission made me go weak in the knees, and some of the strength keeping me upright waned, but his strength kept me from falling.
“Don’t,” he said, his voice hoarse. He took my hand and put it over his heart. The blood from the cut stuck to his skin, cool and almost viscid. “Don’t fucking hide from me. You’ve been hiding from me ever since you were almost stolen from me. I won’t allow it a second longer.”
His stare pinned mine in place—and I nodded.
“All right,” I whispered. “Do you—I mean, is it me that you still see?”
A choked noise came from his throat, but he didn’t move his stare. He was no coward. If he forced me to meet his eyes, he’d meet mine too. No matter how much it cost him.
“I do now. That other woman? The one who believes the lies her fear feeds her? I have no idea who she is. I don’t care who she belongs to, but she has to go. I refuse to allow anyone or anything to come between us. Including her. She’s not my wife. You. You are my wife. You’re all I fucking see—all these eyes will ever see.
“The other woman—she refuses to see me, because she’s too afraid of what my eyes will tell her. That she’s not enough. That I fell in love with a dancer and not a woman—a woman who has been mine before the start of my time. You’ve always been mine. Always will be.Per sempre.”
I turned my eyes down. Had to, or I would’ve had to close them. This time, he allowed me to. “Who was that woman? The one I heard on the phone?”
I couldn’t see him but felt him shake his head—once, short and sharp. “Not now.”
“I know why you went to Italy,” I whispered. “I smell the carnage.”
It wasn’t the smell that wafted off him, but something deeper, something that came with the memories he brought with him off the plane. It was as clear and as distinct as the copper smell of blood.
“I’ve never lied to you,” he said. “You ask, I’ll speak the truth, but not now.”
Our eyes met when I looked up at him. He’d been staring at the rawness on my lip, where I had started biting it.
“What now?” I whispered. “Where do we go from here?”
“Il letto, mia moglie,” he breathed out.To the bed, my wife.
Then his mouth came to mine. Soft. Warm. Languorous.
My hands trembled, aching to touch him. And I did. Following his lead, I touched him gently, making him shiver as my fingertips drew up his sides, over his ribs, shoulders, along his neck. Over the open wound on his chest.
His hand came to mine, setting it over the spot, putting more pressure. “I need you,” he said in Italian. “Scarlatta.”
“I’m here,” I said, lifting my chin to give him better access to my throat. His tongue slid up and down, the sensation going straight between my legs. I made a noise that seemed to echo inside of my head.
His tongue slowly came back up, his teeth nipping, then his mouth was on mine again.
“I’m not leaving you again,” I barely got out. “I’m here.”
He made a guttural noise in his throat that I drank down, and it seemed to flip a switch inside of me. That old instinct burst into flame, lighting up the darkness that surrounded us.
In the dark I had always been safe to be whoever I was, to give in to him without any inhibitions. And he had come into the light, sharing all the things he hid. It didn’t matter when or where, he was the protective shelter that kept me safe, and my light was the only light he could feel comfortable in.
Swept up in the longing, the lust, the pulsating want, I had started to become rough.
