“There,” I whisper. “I think I got it all.”
I start to stand, desperate for distance before I do something stupid but his good hand closes around my wrist, stopping me.
“Why are you trying to leave me?”
His voice is raw, scraped down to the bone.
I force myself to meet his eyes. They’re glossy, not just from alcohol but from something far more dangerous. Emotion.
“This was never supposed to be permanent,” I say softly. “In fact, I wasn’t even supposed to be here in the first place.”
His brows draw together, like the words wound him.
“It’s okay to let me go,” I add, voice barely above a whisper. “I promise I’ll be fine.”
He exhales, shakily.
“I won’t be.”
The ache in my chest is instant and crushing.
“You will,” I say, forcing a smile I don’t feel. “You won’t even remember me after a while.”
His fingers tighten just slightly on my wrist.
“I already know," he murmurs, eyes locked on mine, "that forgetting you is the one thing I’ll never be able to do.”
I swallow hard, because I already know I never stood a chance of forgetting him.
“Lorenzo, I?—”
His eyes lift to mine, unguarded, glassy with exhaustion and whatever he’s been drowning himself in. “Will you stay with me? Just for tonight. I don’t want to be alone.”
It hits me like a blow. Lorenzo Conti doesn’t admit weakness. He doesn’t ask. He takes. But right now, he’s just a man sitting in the wreckage of too many unspoken things.
I know I should say no. I should walk away before I become something harder to leave behind.
But I can’t.
I nod. “Just for tonight.”
He releases my wrist and pulls back the bedding, a silent invitation. I slip beneath the covers, and the sheets are cool, unfamiliar. He stretches out beside me. I can feel the heat from his body, radiating like a furnace. I try to stay on my side. I try to keep space.
I fail.
The mattress shifts and then his arm slides around my waist, taut and certain, drawing me into the curve of his body. My back fits to his chest like we were carved from the same shape. His exhale ghosts across my neck, warm and unsteady.
Neither of us speaks.
The silence presses like a confession.
Sometime during the night, exhaustion finally drags me under. When I wake, the light is soft and pale, filtering through the curtains. The first thing I feel is warmth. The second is the steady, slow rise and fall beneath my cheek.
I blink awake.
Lorenzo is watching me.
At some point during the night he shed his shirt, leaving smooth, warm skin beneath my palm and my face resting against his bare chest just like we’ve slept for the past week. His arm is still around me, hand resting on my hip like letting go might hurt.
