Chapter 18 #2
My aunts clap as someone shouts encouragement, and in no time she is dancing with half the family, twirling and spinning with such joyful abandon that she looks like she was made for this.
As if pulled by an invisible cord, I go to her.
My eyes follow every laugh that escapes her, tracking the beautiful movement of her body as she gives herself completely to the moment. Cecilia looks so light like this. So beautiful. Bellissima.
When I reach her, I spin her twice before Pietro steals her from me.
I smile as I watch her, happy and free... A part of my life and, without even trying, already part of my family.
When she finally turns back to me, laughing and glowing, I let her see in my smile everything she makes me feel. And when she doesn’t look away, I see no fear in her eyes. No dread waiting in the shadows. There is only happiness.
Cecily
We got home half an hour ago, and once again Alexander kissed me breathless before whispering goodnight and disappearing into his own room.
I wish I’d had the courage to pull him inside with me. Or to ask him to take me to his. All I have to do is say the word. ‘I’m following your lead, Cecilia. You set the pace.’
Taking a deep breath, I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
I’ve never thought of myself as plain or uninteresting.
I’ve always been... fine with my body. Comfortable in it, even, the way you learn to be as you get older.
Of course, I have the same insecurities every woman carries.
Small battles with parts of myself I wish I could change or smooth out.
My hand lifts to cup my breast. They’ve never been large. And isn’t that what they always say? That men prefer them that way. Fuller. Heavier.
That cold thought that’s been haunting me whispers in my mind.
Am I bad in bed?
Alexander certainly isn’t a monk. We’ve never talked specifics, but I know he’s more experienced than me.
I’ve only ever been with one man. The same man who, after nearly nineteen years, replaced me like I was something outdated. And worse, he did it while still coming home to our bed.
I swallow hard, gripping the edge of the sink. If I was any good between the sheets... he wouldn’t have gone looking elsewhere for what I wasn’t giving him. Or what he didn’t want from me. Right?
I sigh.
This isn’t the first time I spiral like this before bed. Maybe it would be easier to let it go. Tomorrow, I could talk to Alexander. Tell him I got carried away. That we should just stay friends. I’m not even sure I have the courage to say the words out loud.
But as the reasons for keeping things “just friendly” parade through my mind, one by one, I start to see them for what they really are.
Irrational fears. Insecurities that are a reminder of what the betrayal did to me. All baseless what-ifs that come with self-doubt. Every single one of them.
And if I’m honest with myself... I don’t want things to go back to the way they were. I stopped seeing him as just a friend a while ago. I want more.
So I close my eyes and think of what Caroline told me: to go deeper and ask myself why instead of hiding behind excuses.
When I open my eyes again, there’s a new resolve in me.
I look at my reflection one last time and let my hair fall loose around my shoulders.
I’m wearing a delicate two-piece in deep emerald green.
A silk camisole with thin straps and matching shorts, both trimmed in dark, romantic lace.
It’s a piece you wear not for anyone else.
.. but because you want to feel beautiful alone in your own skin.
Should I change? Wear something sexier?
No.
What about underwear? I never wear any to bed.
Should I put some on? Maybe something lace-trimmed?
But if what I want is to end up naked in his arms, adding another layer just to take it off again feels pointless.
I shake my head, a nervous smile on my lips. I’m stalling.
Without giving myself time to panic or retreat, I open my bedroom door, already moving toward Alexander’s room.
I don’t even make it two steps before his door opens.
And I’m not ready for the vision that is Alexander, shirtless.
The way he stands, so relaxed and at the same time commanding, pulls me toward him.
Every line of his body tells a story of control and discipline.
Strong arms, a broad chest, and hard lines shaped by daily effort and a strong will.
My gaze slides helplessly along his shoulders and stops at the ink on his upper arm.
A shield. Stars etched in a diamond frame.
A sun burning boldly at the center. I catch myself wondering what it means.
A faint trail of dark hair dusts his chest, drawing my eyes downward to the way his sweatpants hang low on his hips, revealing that tempting V-line. My mouth goes dry.
I raise my eyes to see his chest rise and fall in quick movements. His abs catch the light in a way that makes my pulse trip over itself... and then his eyes meet mine.
And everything in me stills.
Alexander is the first to speak. “Can’t sleep?”
His gaze travels over me, and it feels like a touch all its own.
“Cecilia?”
“No... yes.” I take a shaky breath. “No. That’s not it.”
He steps closer. “Then what is it?”
I draw in a deep breath.
You can do this. You want him. And he wants you. There’s no reason to lie awake wondering what if... when he’s right here.
“I want more, Alexander,” I whisper.
He comes closer. “More?”
“Yes.” My voice doesn’t waver now. “Not just kisses. I want all of you... take me to your bed.”
He takes one last step, and I’m pinned against the wall beside my door. Heat pours from him, his scent wrapping around my senses and sending a shiver through me.
“All of me...” he murmurs, roughly.
Then his mouth is on mine. The kiss is deep and urgent, full of want.
His hands come to my waist, pulling me closer.
Every touch of his lips, every intense sweep of his tongue against mine leaves me dizzy.
A rough sound escapes him, like he’s holding himself back with everything he has, and that only makes me want him more.
But then he breaks the kiss abruptly, pressing his forehead to mine. He mutters something under his breath. “I don’t have protection with me.”
A rapid stream of Italian follows and judging by the tone alone, I’m fairly sure it’s not poetry.
I blink at him, my mind stuck on everywhere our bodies still touch.
He cups my cheek, his thumb stroking gently.
“I don’t bring women to my family’s villa,” he says, tone even. “It’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone. And I’ve wanted you from the start… I want you right now in ways you don’t even imagine. But I never wanted to assume anything.”
He keeps his eyes fixed on mine. “When I said you set the pace, I meant it,” he says, exhaling. “I was going to buy condoms tomorrow when we go into town... just in case. But apparently not fast enough.”
He gives an apologetic shrug, and something melts in my chest.
“I... I have some,” I blurt out.
He looks at me, his gaze too intense.
“Felicity. My friend. She put them in my suitcase, and I...”
“Your suitcase,” he repeats gently, pulling me out of my spiral. “Is it in the closet?”
I nod. He doesn’t hesitate. Alexander turns and disappears into my room, leaving me standing there in the hallway with my heart thudding wildly.
Less than a minute later, he’s back, the small box in his hand.
He stops in front of me, bends, and lifts me into his arms. I gasp, instinct taking over as I wrap my legs around his waist. He presses me back against the wall and captures my mouth in a kiss that steals the air from my lungs.
My hands roam over his chest and bare back, tangling in his hair to pull him closer.
When he finally breaks the kiss, he’s smiling. He brushes his nose over mine, his voice thick with amusement. “Remind me to buy your friend the best gift I can find.”
I start to laugh, but the sound dies in my throat as his grip tightens on my ass and his lips crush mine with a desperate need that matches my own.
Then, we’re moving.
It takes me a second to realize he’s carrying me straight to his room. I cling to him, my hands gripping his broad shoulders as my heart races.
He sinks onto the mattress with me still gathered in his arms, discarding the box behind him. I barely register the pale blue duvet. I don’t see the room.
All I see is him. The hard line of his jaw, the dark intensity of his eyes. All I feel is him.
His hand slides up to cup my nape in a possessive grip. He draws me in, and I go willingly. My breath hitches, trapped by the heat of his gaze as I lean into his palm, letting the rough touch of his skin hold me together.
He kisses me with a ravenous hunger. A desperate, consuming thing. His arm bands around my waist, hauling me flush into him, and I hold on tight, our tongues tangling in a frantic rhythm.
I shift restlessly in his lap, utterly lost in everything his mouth on mine makes me feel. His grip tightens on my waist to the point of pain, and then, with straining effort, he breaks the kiss.
I stare at him, my chest heaving, skin on fire.
“Tell me to stop.” His voice is rough, a command that sounds like a plea.
I open my mouth, but he places two fingers over my lips. “You set the pace, remember? Tell me to stop at any moment, and I will. Without hesitation.”
I nod into his touch, my eyes locked on his.
“If you aren’t enjoying something, or don’t want to continue... tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.”