She's right.
"So are you," I counter.
"I didn't have to tell my brother that another brother was dead while he can't walk."
I close my eyes, seeing Bruno's face when Pietro delivered the news. For one second I saw my brother break. Then he gathered every piece and locked them somewhere so deep that I'm not sure he'll ever find them again.
"We all handle grief differently," I say, though I'm not sure if I'm talking about Bruno or myself.
"We should practice," Sophia says suddenly, pulling back just enough to look at me. "The wedding thing. Being convincing."
I stare at her, my brain struggling to switch gears from Bruno's darkness to whatever game she's playing. "Practice."
"Francesco will be watching. Everyone will be watching. We need to look..." She bites that lower lip again. "Real."
"Sophia. I'm not using this fake wedding as an excuse to—" I stop, searching for the right words. "To make us do things we don't want."
Her eyes search mine. "Do you really not want it?"
The question hangs between us like a loaded gun.
"I shouldn't want it." The truth slips out before I can stop it. "You need to understand something. You and me? It can't happen."
"Why?"
"Because you're twenty years old. You're young. Sane. You have your whole life ahead of you." I force myself to meet her gaze. "And I'm the devil, Sophia. I'm thirty-four years old with blood on my hands that will never wash clean."
She studies me for a long moment. Then she rises up on her knees, cups my face with both hands, and presses her lips to mine.
Every fucking wall I've built, every ounce of control I've maintained crumbles the second her mouth touches mine.
I grip her waist and flip us, pressing her back into the mattress as I take control of the kiss. My tongue slides against hers, and she makes a soft sound that shoots straight through me. Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer, and I lose myself in the taste of her. Sweet and innocent and everything I shouldn't touch.
My hand slides up her ribcage, feeling her arch beneath me. She kisses like she's drowning and I'm air. Like she's been waiting for this as long as I've been fighting it.
Her legs part, letting me settle between them, and the friction makes us both gasp. I kiss down her jaw to her neck.
"Lorenzo," she breathes, and my name on her lips nearly breaks what's left of my restraint.
I kiss her again, deeper this time, my hand sliding under her sweater to find warm skin. She responds eagerly, her hips rolling up against mine.
But when her hands move to my belt, reality crashes back.
I catch her wrists, pulling back despite every cell in my body screaming in protest. We're both breathing hard, her lips swollen from my kisses, her eyes dark with want.
If I don't stop now, I won't stop at all. And once I start, I'll fuck her all night. I'll claim every inch of her until she can't remember a world where she wasn't mine.
"I want you," she whispers, and those three words nearly destroy me.
"We were just practicing." My voice sounds wrecked even to my own ears.
She looks up at me through her lashes. "Then I want to practice more."
Despite everything, I laugh. "We're done practicing for tonight, piccola."
Her face scrunches into the most adorable grumpy expression I've ever seen. She flops onto her stomach with a huff, burying her face in the pillow.
Andfuck me,the way her ass looks in those pajamas, the curve of it making my hands itch to grab, to pull her back against me, to?—
