Page 38 of The Ruin I Chose

I lifted my visor and turned to her. She was already watching me—breathing heavily, smiling like she knew exactly what she was doing. I reached back and gripped her thigh hard. Claiming. Like I was holding onto the last piece of my restraint.

“If you keep doing that, I’ll bend you over this bike.”

And God, part of me wanted to. The other part held back—barely. She leaned in and bit my shoulder—through the jacket. Not hard. Just enough to say: I dare you. I’m not afraid. And fuck, I loved her for that.

We got off and collided into one another. She kissed me—wild, breathless, full of fire. I kissed her neck, her jaw, her mouth.

I wanted to fuck her there—in the open. I didn’t care if anyone caught us, saw us; they’d be dead by the next turn for watching her bare. In that moment, it was just us and the sun kissing the horizon.

I grabbed her ass and spoke against her lips.

“Mine.”

I didn’t think she heard it. But I felt it. Like a rupture in my chest. That word—’Mine’—it wasn’t possession. It wasn’t control. It was a confession. A word torn from the part of me that never begged, never asked. It carried no promise. Only pressure. Only need.

I wanted to know her. Not just the curves of her body or the taste of her mouth—I wanted to know what made her flinch. What she feared in silence. What she hid beneath her smile. The shadows in her eyes.

And maybe, just maybe, if she heard that word, she’d feel safe enough to let me in. Not because she belonged to me. Not because she was mine. But because I wanted to be the one she chose to show the wreckage to.

I’d never said that to anyone before. Not to the women who came and went. Not to the ones who fit the mould, the polished, predictable, forgettable ones.

Roxanne wasn’t any of that. She was unruly and, as I discovered today—a wild child. Unapologetic. Unfiltered. And I wanted to be the man who didn’t tame her, but stood beside her while she let out the beast.

Somehow, she’d slipped past every wall I never let anyone touch. I didn’t recognise the man who whispered mine. But I knew he wasn’t lying.

I pulled back, looking into her eyes as the sun turned her dark brown irises to molten amber.

“There’s a town I want to show you,” I said.

“It’s quiet. Old. The kind of place that doesn’t forget.”

She tilted her head, still high from the ride, the kiss, the rush. Then smiled and pecked my lips.

“Okay. Let’s go, biker boy. Surprise me.”

She hopped on, hands rubbing my thighs again. Then held on tight as I roared the beast to its full potential.

I didn’t know why I was taking her there. To Palma. To my family. But something overcame me—maybe the part of me that only decades of life, loss, and triumph could summon: the part that wanted to share the places that made me who I am.

Maybe it was the way she looked at me after the alcove, like she saw a part of me she wasn’t sure she could handle. Or maybe it was the way she stood in my favourite spot at the resort—still, quiet, carrying something heavy. I’d felt it. That weight. She hadn’t said a word, but it clung to her like perfume.

And yet, on the bike—she was wild. Prompt. Fearless. At the overlook, I watched her relax. Watched the tension melt from her shoulders, and I was spellbound. She wasn’t just beautiful. She was unpredictable. And I wanted more.

The wild, untamed nature I saw in her today made me want to show her the side of me I never let anyone see. Not because I trusted her. But because I wanted her to feel it too.

CHAPTER 17

MARCELLO

Palma di Montechiaro was quiet this time of year.

The ride had been thrilling—exhilarating.

The cypress trees swayed gently as the Ducati pulled into the gravel driveway of the Leopardi Estate.

Roxanne slid off the bike, her dress riding up just enough to make my jaw tighten—a reaction I didn’t bother hiding. She didn’t notice. Or maybe she did. Either way, I felt the shift. Like something between us was about to break open. Two children came running, arms wide.

“Uncle Marcello!”