Tutto.The pressure behind my sternum breaks, and I sob.
"Cole."
"It has always been true." His voice is rough. "I just couldn't say it. Not until you let me show it."
I twist in his lap until I can see his face. The lamp paints him in gold, his dark eyes on mine, his mouth soft with no tension at the corners.
"I'm yours."
"I know." There isn't a second of hesitation.
My throat closes. I swallow past it.
"And you're mine."
"Always."
The word sinks into my chest like a hand pressing flat against my sternum.
I kiss him, soft.
When I pull back, the corner of his mouth twitches.
"Was that—" I bite my lip. "Did I do okay?"
He laughs, and the sound is low and warm and rare.
"You're asking me for a performance review."
"I'm a professional." I poke his chest. "Constructive criticism welcome."
"Angelina." He catches my hand, presses his lips to my knuckles. "You were perfect."
"Even the crying?"
"Especially the crying." His thumb strokes across my palm. "It means you let go."
"I drooled on the comforter."
"I'll wash it." His thumb is still tracing circles on my palm, absent and constant.
"Very practical."
"I'm a practical man." But he's smiling now, actually smiling, soft and unguarded. "Who happens to be in love with a woman who researches Japanese rope bondage like she's preparing for oral arguments."
"I wanted to know what I was asking for."
"You wanted to impress me."
"Did it work?"
He pulls me closer, tucks my head under his chin. "I've been impressed by you since the day you corrected my Italian in the university library."
I tuck into him. My hand finds the place over his heart where the firefly lives beneath his skin.
He's permanent now. Under my skin the way I'm under his.
The lamplight catches on the rope pooled at the foot of the bed, red silk coiled like a promise.
