He told me he loved me, and I told him I loved him too.
He slid inside of me and we both stilled, holding eye contact, lost to each other.
And when morning broke through the windows, shedding light on all that happened the night before—evidence of blood, sweat, and tears all around us—he was still holding me close, still inside of me.
He always would be.
This…this wasAdoration, no matter what position we were in.
THIRTY-SEVEN
AVA
My husband’seyes snapped to mine when I hissed out a breath. All I did was turn over on my side, and my entire body protested.
That was what days of sex with Nazzareno Fausti did.
It stretched every muscle and exhausted every bone, even if a deeper part of me felt satiated. Satiated but still hungry. I loved that feeling. It was the same one I used to get when I’d go after a Fausti lead. It was the first thing in my life that I didn’t get sick of or have a fear of commitment to.
Nazzareno looked at me long and hard as he fixed his tie. I knew what he wanted to know.
“I’m just sore,” I said.
He nodded and left the room. He was dressed in a suit and about to make a few phone calls. He had to take care of airline business for a few hours. He’d convinced me not to worry about family business, but it seemed our bubble was thinning, and a strike of lightning was going to pop it soon.
I could feel the dark cloud hovering, not far off in the distance.
I sat up some, letting the covers fall. When he came back in a minute or two later, he stopped before he came close to the bed, his eyes heating again. Then he shook his head and handed me a glass of cold cranberry juice. He’d been giving me three glasses a day. Usually, he held the glass to my mouth and had me drink that way, but he’d always watch my mouth and…one thing would lead to another. Especially when it would spill down my skin and he said he had to clean it up with his tongue.
I finished drinking and he took the glass from me, setting it down on the side table. I scooted back under the covers because the suite held a chill. He set his hand on my hip, leaned down, and kissed my temple. His lips lingered before he stood and left me alone in the room.
It was the first time in days—since we’d been married—that he’d left me alone. And the room seemed too big without him in it.
So did my thoughts.
A few days away from the real world will do that to a person.
Being with Nazzareno was a dream, especially because I’d been having him all to myself. But in the silence, I started processing the last couple of days.
Or one day in particular.
My wedding day, or night, to be more specific.
I lifted my hand and checked out the scab that had formed where the glass shard had cut me. It was a reminder that this was real—I was Nazzareno Fausti’s wife—and I wasn’t dreaming.
Because…I’d dreamed of becoming one of them for a long time.
I never dreamed I’d marry one of them, because I wasn’t the type of girl who wanted to get married, but there I was, what I used to call a shackle on my third finger, left hand.
A wedding band that looked like no ring I’d ever seen before. There were a ton of diamonds set in white platinum, but that wasn’t what made it so beautiful. It was the design of it. It reminded me of two wings closing over something, protecting it, and each platinum line that created the shape was full of diamonds, like feathers. It was a piece of art to be interpreted.
For me, it was a symbol of his love and vows to me: he’d always protect and keep me safe. The wings were guarding my Vena Amoris, the vein that supposedly ran from my finger to my heart.
I’d read that it was only an ancient belief, but it was still a romantic idea, and the Faustis were known for them.
I lifted my finger, and the diamonds shimmered in the soft light.
Nazzareno would be my shelter when I needed it, but he would always fly with me too. I had the reminder wrapped around my finger.
