Shock.
Hunger.
Elation.
Then something like reverence.
“Lucia,” he says, voice hoarse, as if my name costs him. His throat works. “What is this?” he asks, almost harshly, as if tenderness offends him.
I take another step forward and I feel my uncles step away, giving us… giving this love that has felt explosive right from the very start, room to breathe. To grow. “It’s exactly what you think it is,caro. It’s me, showing you that I did not run,” I tell him, because of course that is the first thing between us, the old ghost that always hovers.
His mouth tightens. “I know.”
“And I am not leaving,” I continue, each word steadying me. “Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever again in the waysthat matter. This,” I say softly, “is me coming back to you on purpose.”
Silence stretches.
Then he moves, closing the distance in three strides, stopping in front of me as if he’s afraid to breathe too hard. His hands hover, then settle at my waist.
“Amuri,” he murmurs, the word rougher than prayer. “What are you doing to me? It should be me, doing this. I planned… I planned a night for us. To show you how much I love you. How much I regret?—”
I place my fingers on his mouth as I lift my chin.
“The moment I saw you,” I begin, voice trembling, “I thought you were danger wrapped in a beautiful suit. I thought you were the kind of man my father warned me about.”
His eyes flicker, burn and possess.
“And you were.”
A sharp inhale.
“But you were also the first man who looked at me like I was not something to be handled,” I continue. “You looked at me like I was inevitable. Like I mattered. Like I was worth the risk of wanting.”
His jaw tightens. “I wanted you,” he admits, quiet and brutal. “So fucking much it terrified me. It still does.”
“I know,” I whisper. “And I was terrified of it, too. Terrified of you. Terrified of what loving you would cost.”
“And now?” he croaks carefully.
My hands rise, trembling as they cup his face. “Now, I’m done being terrified.”
His breath shudders. “Amuri mia, I did wrong by you,” he says, the words scraped out of somewhere deep. “I thought silence was protection. I thought I could give you carefully selected pieces of myself and call it love. But I was wrong. Sowrong. I pushed you away, then called you out for running. For that, I’m sorry. So very sorry.”
I hear sniffles behind me, quickly stifled, but I’m not even concerned by our audience. My choice to live our love and flaws in the open starts tonight. Or not at all.
“And I thought running would save me,” I reply, tears burning. “But all it did was leave us bleeding in different places. I’m sorry, Giovanni.”
His eyes close briefly. “I cannot promise you peace,” he says.
“I don’t want peace,” I tell him, fierce. “Well, I want it occasionally. But I want you. All of you. The man, the monster, the husband, the bastard who would burn the world before he lets me go.”
His eyes snap open, dark and stunned. “You are mine,” he whispers.
“And you are mine,” I return, smiling through tears. “So let us stop pretending we are anything less than ruined and real.”
For a moment, he simply stares. Then he bows his head and presses his forehead to mine.
“My wife,” he murmurs, as if tasting it anew. “Fuck, I love you, Lucia. I’m insanely, hopelessly and hopefully in love with you.”
