He drives deep one final time, his whole body going rigid as he comes, filling me with heat. “Mine,” he growls against my neck. “Mine, mine, mine—”
We collapse together, breathing hard, slick with sweat and thoroughly spent. For long moments, neither of us moves. We just breathe in the afterglow.
And the wet patch.
I bury my face in his shoulder, laughing silently, my body shaking.
“What’s funny?” he asks, a smile in his voice as he presses kisses to my shoulder, my neck, my jaw.
I just made a mess of silk sheets and my own body and screamed loud enough to shake the chandeliers. I was reckless and wild and so full of feeling and I couldn’t contain it. It spilled out of me, literally, embarrassingly, and gloriously, and Vincenzo loved it. He wanted more of it. Called me beautiful while I lost every shred of control I’d spent a lifetime perfecting.
“Better than okay,” I whisper against his skin. “That was perfect.”
We lie there for long minutes, just breathing, just being. His weight on me is comforting rather than crushing. Real. Solid. Here.
Eventually he rolls to the side, pulling me with him so I’m tucked against his chest.
“How do you feel?”
I trace lazy patterns on his skin. “I’m happy. Is that allowed? Am I allowed to be happy after what I did tonight?”
“You’re allowed to feel however you feel.” His fingers comb through my hair. “There’s no rule book for this, doe. You did what you had to do. And now you get to live with the consequences, which include being happy, being free, being loved.”
“I like those consequences.”
“Good. Because they’re permanent.” He tilts my face up to kiss me softly. “You’re stuck with me, remember? For better or worse.”
“I remember.” I smile against his lips. “I was there when we made the vows.”
He laughs, and the sound is warm and genuine and perfect. “My wife. My doe. Mine.”
“Yours,” I whisper.
And for the first time in my life, belonging to someone doesn’t feel like a cage. It feels like freedom.
We lie in comfortable silence for a while, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my shoulder.
Then he shifts slightly, careful not to dislodge me. “There’s something I want to show you.”
“Now?” I lift my head to look at him, smiling. “I thought you’d be exhausted.”
“Not that.” His lips quirk, but there’s something more serious in his eyes. “Something Sofia gave me today.”
He slides out of bed and crosses to where his suit jacket hangs on the back of a chair. From the inside pocket, he pulls out something small that catches the lamplight.
A ring.
My breath catches as he comes back to bed, sitting on the edge beside me. I push myself up, pulling the sheet with me, suddenly understanding this is important.
“Is that…?”
“My father’s ring.” His voice is quiet, reverent. He holds it out so I can see it properly. The Vici crest, a raven with its wings spread. “She thought today was the right time. My family would be proud. That I’d honored them. That it was time to stop living for the dead and start living for us.”
Tears prick my eyes. “She’s right.”
“I couldn’t wear it before.” He looks down at the ring in his palm. “But tonight, marrying you, having you in my arms, I realize this is how my family rests. Not through death, but through me finally living.”
“This is the future they wanted for you,” I whisper, understanding flooding through me.
