Not taking.
This kiss is slow.
Careful.
Almost timid, like he’s afraid the wrong pressure will shatter whatever fragile truce exists between us.
My hands lift, trembling. They rest against his chest, and I feel his heart beneath my touch. Steady. Strong.
He deepens the kiss gradually, mouth warm, breath steady, and I respond.
And for a second, it feels like we’re back in the summer when everything still felt possible. When we were stupid enough to believe we could outrun our families.
He pulls back slightly, forehead resting against mine, breath mingling with mine.
“It was always you.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Always.”
56
Lorenzo
Victoria’s handis in mine, and the surprising part . . .
Is this an accident? No, this is deliberate. She’s already decided where this is going.
Thank fuck.
Because I don’t know what I’d do if it doesn’t.
I need this fucking woman so much I can barely breathe.
Her thumb brushes the inside of my palm, an unconscious motion that hits me harder than it should. Muscle memory. Or maybe it’s proof that some things never change.
We walk back toward the house together in silence.
The only sound is the gravel crunching beneath our feet. My large estate looms ahead, almost taunting me with the distance.
“I used to think,” she says, voice low and measured, “that loving you was something I could outgrow.”
I glance at her, but she’s staring straight ahead.
“And now?” I ask.
Her fingers tighten around mine. “You can’t outgrow something engraved in your soul.”
That lands deep, the kind of deep men like me pretend doesn’t exist because it would make us weak.
“I never stopped loving you,” I admit, because there’s no point lying now. Not when she’s still here. Not when she hasn’t let me go either. “I just got better at pretending I had.”
She looks at me then, her eyes shining in the low light with the look she used to give me all those years ago.
“You were everywhere,” she whispers. “Every version of my life still had you in it. I just . . . hated myself for that.”
I stop walking. She does too, turning toward me automatically.
“You don’t get to hate yourself for loving me,” I say quietly. “That’s my job.”
Her lips tremble, but it’s not a smile. Something softer. “I don’t want to fight it anymore, Lorenzo.”
