“Is it okay if I touch you?”
Oh, fuck.
Oh, I should not feel those words all over my skin like a fucking caress.
“Of course.”
“Please don’t move,” she repeats, voice small and almost scared.
I don’t move.
Hell, I don’t even breathe.
Slowly, like I might detonate if she moves too quickly, Anya closes the distance between us. Her arms surround the outside of my biceps to wrap around my back, and her head soon after presses against my chest.
She’shuggingme.
Not just a quick little side hug either, no. It’s tight and doesn’t end as soon as it begins. Anya is holding on to me like she might die if she lets me go, and it’s taking every ounce of willpower I have not to hug her back. I feel so fucking warm, having her small, soft frame crushing into mine.
When it’s over, and she’s untangling herself, her gentle eyes meet mine. I’d do anything to keep her this close. Anything.
“Thank you, Matteo.”
Thank you?
Goddamn, my heart aches hearing it.
“Anytime, Anya.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Anya
Iexpected hugging Matteo to send me into a small panic, if I’m being honest. I did it knowing the possibility that it could have a detrimental effect on me. I couldn’t help it. The need to touch him—to embrace the friend who’s come to mean so much to me—was impossible to ignore.
I needed to trust him, and more importantly, trust myself. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, but I needed toseeit for myself. I needed to know that I wasn’t crazy for seeing something in him. I had to show my mind that there’s a reason I feel safe with him. I held his shoulders at the wedding to dance, and he didn’t once move to cross my boundaries.
But that was different. The wedding venue was full of people, full of witnesses who were watching us closely. When I chose to hug him for the first time, we were completely alone. Not only were we alone, but I’d only recently began physical contact with my own father. And I knew that hugging my dad was different than trying the same with Matteo.
My father is a man, yes. But he’s the man who created me. The man who taught me how to ride a bike and wiped my tears when I would cry. I might have been able to embrace him sooner, if I wasn’t so scared to be reminded of hands all over my body. Terrified that I might be thrown back in time to when unwelcome bodies smashed into mine and burned my skin with the memory of their touch.
Hugging Matteo was a leap of faith, one that could have made me crash and burn—but ended up making me soar instead. I wasn’t scared when I put my head on his chest and my arms around his back; I was surrounded by warmth and peace for those few minutes instead.
I felt a strange sort of pride in my success but almost cried when he had to leave so soon after. The only thing that kept me from shedding tears was the knowledge that he would be back.
“Oooo, don’t you look cute for your Matteo,” my aunt says, sauntering into the living room with clicking heels and a smile. Her voice isn’t even laced with teasing as she calls him that. She means it, and I don’t have the heart to correct her again. Or maybe I don’t want to.
“It’s the makeup,” I tell her, trying not to frown. “I didn’t sleep very well. My eyes don’t look tired to you, do they?”
My night’s sleep was fitful at best. I kept rolling around trying to get cozy and clear my mind, but it was impossible. Not only was I thinking about leaving the house for my impending trip with Matteo, I was constantly replaying the events of the evening. When I would eventually doze off, I found myself waking up from vivid dreams and repeating the whole process again.
No white noise, meditation, or mental exercise could help me.
I wasn’t anxious, I wasconsumed.
“You look wonderful,” she replies, sounding surprised by my question. “You look well rested, honestly,solnyshka. If you hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have guessed that you struggled at all.”
Well, that’s good at least.
