“Yes,” I whisper.
He approaches slowly, arms sliding around me with careful restraint. He doesn’t pull me tight. Doesn’t crush me against him. He lets me choose the pressure.
I close the space myself, press my cheek against his chest, and relish the feel of his arms around me again. The steady beat of his heart beneath my ear unties something inside me and sends it floating away. Perhaps I also hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been holding myself together until this moment.
“I missed you,” he murmurs into my hair, kissing my temple, his warm breath against my ear making me shiver.
“I know.” We stand like that for a long time, the wind tugging at us, the sea roaring in the distance, and I realize I’m trembling, not from fear, but from feeling.
Safe…
He draws back enough to look at me. His gaze traces my face carefully, cataloging each of my features. The bruises are long gone, the cuts have healed, the memory too, when I fight hard enough to push it down where it can’t control me.
I pray that too dissipates in time.
“You look stronger,” he says. “Beautiful as ever.”
“I am stronger.” It surprises me how easily that truth comes, but it’s true.
“Come, we’ll sit out the front. There’s a beautiful view of the sea that you’ll love.”
I follow, knowing I’m already in love with Ireland, this house…him.
We move around to the terrace that overlooks the cliffs. The stone beneath our feet is cool. The horizon stretches so far it feels like the world could drop away, and it wouldn’t matter. New York sits somewhere over that ocean, and for the first time in my life, I wouldn’t care if I never saw it again.
We sit side by side. Not touching, just being at first. “I’ve been in therapy,” I tell him. “It’s helped me a lot.”
He nods. “Your father mentioned it in his last email.” He pauses. “I’m glad it’s helped. I wanted to be there for you, but I know you needed me to leave. I want you to know that I understand that choice.”
“I didn’t want to be defined by that night,” I continue, my eyes fixed on the waves. “I didn’t want to flinch every time someone raised their voice. I didn’t want to hate myself for not being stronger. I didn’t want to resent you for not listening to me like Elio wouldn’t.” My throat tightens, and I swallow the lump that’s lodged there. “I still have nightmares. Some nights are worse than others. But they’re becoming less frequent. I’m back at work three days a week. I walk past that spot on the floor, and I don’t see only what happened there. I see that I’m still here andhe isn’t. I see you, saving me, and it’s a comfort I didn’t know I needed.”
His hand shifts, hovering near mine, but he doesn’t reach out. I look at his tattooed hand, so large and strong, heavy with ink, and yet, he’s so careful with me. Never punishing, never cruel.
He’s the kindest man I know.
“I would kill again to save you,” he says quietly.
The bluntness of his words doesn’t shock me. Not anymore. There was a time those words would have sent ice through my veins. Now they land differently. He isn’t bragging. He isn’t threatening. He is stating a fact.
He would protect his own—those he loved.
“I know,” I say. He looks at me then, searching my features, for what I do not know. A lie? Fear? Hesitation?
“I don’t admit that lightly,” he continues. “I nearly lost myself that night. When I saw him on top of you…” His jaw tightens. “There was a part of me that didn’t want to stop. Even after he ceased moving. I wanted to rip his organs from his body. I wanted to throw his worthless carcass from the window and watch it land on the pavement below. I wanted to see his whole family dead.”
I remember that look in his eyes. Not just fury. Something darker. Older. “But you did stop,” I say gently.
“Barely.”
We fall into silence, the wind carrying away the weight of his words. “I’ve thought about what you did,” I admit. “About what it means that you would do that for me.”
“And?”
“And I realize something.” I draw in a slow breath. “That I’m happy that you killed Elio. I know now that, should I ever be in the situation you were in that night, I too would act the same. Iwould do anything to protect those I love, no matter the cost. I can’t judge you for that.”
I turn to face him and clasp his hand. “What happened to me wasn’t because of your temper, your family, or your past. It was Elio’s choice. His family is seeking revenge on a person who had nothing to do with Matteo Romero's death. They are the cruel ones in all of this. They are the ones who should carry the shame of such actions.”
Relief crosses Stephen’s face.
