“Me, too,” I said.
“You were floating around. A bunch of boys were staring at you.”
“That I don’t remember,” I said. Pretty sure it was because all I could see was him.
He grinned, but this time it lingered like the warmth in the room. “You splashed me with water,” he said. “Then you started laughing.”
“At the look you gave me,” I said. “That’s why. You were—” I stopped for a second, biting at a piece of skin on my lip. “Mad, I guess is the best way to put it. I was trying to distract you.”
“Mad.” He shook his head. “That’s not even the right word for it.”
“What is?” I whispered.
“Murderous,” he said. “That’s how I felt. Because they were looking at you. I knew they wanted mine.”
“I’ve always been yours,” I said.
“You say the most heartbreaking things to me,” he said in Italian, “right before you rip my fucking heart out with them.”
“It is a Fausti trait.” My shoulders felt the weight of my name when I shrugged. If an offense was personal, the Fausti family would steal a man’s beating heart before sending it to his family. It would dishonor the man, not going back to his family as a whole man.
He ignored that. “You distracted me from…me.”
“I distracted you from doing something that would make a permanent mark.”
He nodded slowly. “You’re the only one who can. No one else.” He bent over a little, the rocker moving with him. “Wherever you go in the world, whether I’m with you or not, I’m with you. You stop me from becoming what I do. You stop me from totally becoming the darkness that most people fear.”
“I have it in me,” I said. “I know whose blood runs through my veins.”
“So do I,” he said. “You have strength in those veins. Strength that I’ve always fucking admired. But you don’t know darkness like I do. All I see when I look at you is light. A light that gives me something to believe in. You, Mia Bellarosa, are the good in me. I knew it the first time I looked at you. You know who runs in my veins, too. Even before I did, I felt it. A darkness that not many men can survive in. I accepted it. Then you wrecked it. You cracked it. And you shone through. You splashed me with water, and I woke up. My entire world shifted. One second. That’s all it took. One. Fucking. Second. Without you, I’m Mac Macchiavello without Mariposa. Without you, I’m Brando Fausti without Scarlett.”
The air in the room suddenly felt stifling. Why did he have the fireplace going in early summer anyway? Had I been cold? Goosebumps puckered my skin, but I felt overheated.
His truth. His truth was overwhelming me. Even though he hadn’t said the words, I felt below his surface. This was an ultimatum. He wouldn’t tolerate the way we’d been. If his truth could crack me, I’d already done damage to him.
“Without you, I’ll never see light. Without you, I’ll never be whole. I might as well be dead.”
My head whipped to his.
He held his hands up. “Touched a sensitive spot, ah?” It wasn’t said with malice or to be condescending. It was simply the truth.
“Yes,” I whispered. “You did.”
“You’re stronger than your vulnerability,” he said.
“Am I?”
“Yeah, you fucking are. What happened—it kills me slowly every time I see you shake in your sleep or cry out. It kills me slowly when I look at your feet or remember your face or your voice. It’ll be with me when I die, and so will that same vulnerability.”
“I’m not as strong as you are,” I said, my voice rising but then falling in defeat. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried to overcome it. I can’t—I can’t do this. What happened—”
“Fuck what happened. Fuck fear. You want this. You’ve always wanted this.”
“I do!” I shouted, then I went to get out of bed, but remembered I couldn’t. I was about to turn away from him, but he took me by the shoulders, not allowing me to. “But—”
“No fucking but,” he said. “For once, tell me. Tell me how you fucking feel. Forget the fear. Forget what’s going to happen tomorrow.” He blew out a hot breath. “Talk to me, Mia!”
“All right!” My voice cracked. “I love you, Rio! I love you so much that—” My hands came to my heart, trying to keep it inside. It was rebelling, going straight for the protection ofhisribs. “I can’t breathe sometimes, you know? But the fear—it eats me up inside. It’s all Ifeel. I’ve seen it. What happens with this kind of connection. It’s selfish. I’m selfish. Because I can’t lose you. I won’t. That night atS’envoyer en l’air, when you locked my wrists, and I couldn’t touch you—”
