I wasn’t sure what time it was when I woke up, but I still felt frozen, even with the blankets that covered me. I was a bit disoriented at first, not sure where I was.
For the first time since I’d met Rocco, since our time on Aria Island, I longed for the security of something familiar to me. The house in the Quarter, the scent of my grandmother, the smell of food cooking in her kitchen, and the warm sound of her laughter.
My hand went to the cross around my neck. I’d never known my great-aunt, but I could feel…her touch through the gold. She’d touched the cross before, hopefully finding strength and purpose through it.
My husband’s hand seemed to come out of the dead of night, his touch warm but cold at the same time. His thumb dried the tears clinging to my cheeks. “You are killing me,” he whispered. “I deserve to die.”
“Rocco.” I closed my eyes. I was prepared to saynot now.This is a break in the story of our life. Asterisks signifying a second part to the chapter would soon begin, but different.It would be connected, but the story was headed in a different direction. I couldn’t say the words to him, though. His voice reflected his pain. So, instead of keeping him in hell, I gave him all the truth I could. “I meant what I said. You and me. Forever. It’s not your fault what happened. I know the truth down to my soul.”
“It is my fault.”
“How?” I whispered.
He sat up in the bed, turning his back to me, putting his head in his hands.
“I am a man,” he said. “I am your man. I take care of you. My body should not have responded. It should turn away from all others. I have failed you.”
I sat up, and getting to my knees, sat behind him. I set my hands on his shoulders. His muscles trembled.
“There’s something else going on under the surface,” I whispered. “Now’s not the time to keep quiet, Rocco. You don’tneed permission to speak to me. To get mad. To say whatever the fuck you’re feeling!”
He stood up so fast, my hands flew down and slapped my thighs. He paced the room.
“You are not killing me.”
“Killing…you?”
“Sì. Your guilt is, but your hands are not.”
“Are you saying I’m trying to make you feel guilty?”
“You do not have to try. I do!” he roared. “This is not what I am speaking of.”
I watched as he paced, trying to figure out…oh, oh,oh!
“You think I should be trying to hurt you—physically.”
“Sì!” He stopped abruptly and looked at me. “You do not care.”
“I don’t care?!” I shouted. “I want to strangle you right now, even though I don’t blame you! So, let’s get one thing straight. If you just cheated on me, being sound of mind, body, soul…you wouldn’t be pacing this room right now, Rocco Fausti. I would’ve already choked the life out of you! But me blaming you for what happened would be like you blaming me for a man?—”
His humongous hand wrapped around my mouth, hard enough he stopped my next words.
“Do not fucking say it,” he said.
My eyes moved frantically back and forth with his. I nodded. He removed his hand.
I had a feeling he was close to losing it, but so was I—we were holding on for each other.
I cleared my throat. “Question still stands, Rocco. Would you blame me?”
His answer came quick and fast. “No, I would blame me.”
“Should I blame myself then?”
“This is not what I meant.” He punched his chest. “As a man, as your husband, as your protector, my responsibilities are different from yours. You are mine to shield with my own body.”
“I know,” I whispered. “And you are mine to shield with my heart and soul.”
