"You should." But she hadn't tried to push me off of her. "I'm complicated. My life is complicated. I come with baggage and trust issues and a business that requires me to travel constantly."
"So?"
"So you deserve someone easier. Someone who doesn't come with all this," she'd gestured at herself, "mess."
"I don't want easy." I'd cupped her face. "I want you. Mess and all."
She'd kissed me again then. Softer. Sweeter.
"I'm going to hurt you," she'd whispered against my lips.
"Probably."
"And you're still interested?"
"Absolutely."
She'd laughed, the sound shaky. "You're insane."
"About you? Yes."
We'd stayed like that until 3 AM, talking and kissing and slowly learning each other. And when I'd finally left, she'd stood in the doorway.
"Text me when you get home."
And I'd known I was in trouble. Nobody ever made sure that I was safe. Nobody looked after me. There was an assumption that everything was fine with me, but nobody actually took the extra step to find out. She had and I couldn’t stop looking at her for that reason.
She didn’t have to care, but she did, because she was naturally kind.
"That night," I said now, pulling myself back to the present, "you told me you were going to hurt me. And I said I didn't care. That hasn't changed, Imani."
"It should." She was crying now, frustrated tears that she tried to wipe away with her good hand. "You should care. You should protect yourself."
"From what? From someone who's smart, strong, and scared of getting hurt again? That's not something to protect myself from. That's something worth fighting for. Because you care about people? That definitely isn’t going to make me go anywhere."
"Marco!"
"No. Listen to me." I took both her hands now, careful of her injuries. "I'm not your ex-husband. I'm not going to leave when things get hard. I'm not intimidated by your success or your strength. I think it's fucking hot that you run a multimillion-dollar consulting firm. I love that you're smarter than me. And yeah, you're complicated and difficult and you push me away when you're scared. But guess what? So am I. So do I."
"You're not difficult."
"I'm a Moretti, Imani. I come with the kind of baggage that requires security clearances and burner phones." I squeezed her hands. "So if you're worried about being too much for me, don't. I can handle you. The question is whether you can handle me."
She stared at me, her dark eyes wide and shimmering with tears.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
"I know."
"What if this doesn't work? What if we try, it's terrible and I lose you completely?"
"What if we try and it's amazing?" I countered. "What if you're exactly what I've been looking for and I'm exactly what you need? What if we're both just scared enough to almost fuck this up but brave enough to try anyway?"
"That's a lot of what-ifs."
"Life's a lot of what-ifs." I wiped a tear from her cheek with my thumb. "But I'd rather try and fail than spend the rest of my life wondering what might have been."
She closed her eyes, more tears spilling down her cheeks.
