8. Emilia
That was awkward and almost scary.
I should be thrilled. Over the moon. Relieved that I remembered something as small as a shopping trip. It should give me hope and strength. I should be celebrating because, for the first time in days, it feels like there’s a reason to celebrate.
So why am I so goddamn miserable as I sit here alone in this beautiful, unfamiliar house?
It was obvious Luca was glad to see me go from the main house. He didn’t try to convince me to stick around or offer to walk me down here. He was relieved, and I think I know why. I’m sorry for it and not trying to hurt him, no matter what he’s done or how many people he’s hurt—or worse.
I have to give him credit. There was clear, blazing anger sizzling through him after that pivotal moment when it was clear he wanted to kiss me, and I stopped him before he had the chance. I turned him down. Rejected him. He was enraged by that and maybe embarrassed since it happened in front of his family. I’m not sure whether any of them noticed. I hope they didn’t, and not only for his sake. He doesn’t strike me as a guy who lets go of grudges easily.
He has this dangerous edge to him.
That’s not even the worst part.
I wish it was.
A sick chill runs through me and leaves me reaching for a throw pillow on the sofa, where I’m sitting in front of the television, paying no attention to the movie I switched on when I got here—anything to fill the silence. The pillow provides no comfort, no matter how tightly I clutch it.
I wanted him to kiss me.
I wanted to kiss him.
For a split second, it felt inevitable. An inhale following an exhale. The sort of thing you do without thinking, like a habit. He leaned in, and I was going to lean in to meet his mouth with mine. I wanted nothing more than to melt into his arms.
I wanted him to hold me.
I wanted him to do a lot more than that, in fact. An hour later, I can almost feel the furious buzzing that exploded in my core and radiated outward. The heavy veil hanging between us lifted for that split second and revealed something that might still exist deep down in my consciousness.
And I don’t know how to feel about it.
How to feel about me.
I should not want him.
I can’t want him.
Yet I do.
It sickens me.
I sicken me.
My heart lurches when my cell rings, though it startles me out of my self-loathing for a moment. Normally, I’d be glad to get a call from Mom at a time like this. I’m feeling about as low as I ever have, questioning everything about myself and what might have led me to this place.
It’s not like I can tell her anything about what’s going on. I should answer, though. I’ve kept her waiting long enough. I’ll have to fumble my way through it. And who knows? I might hear her voice and remember something important.
“Will wonders never cease?” she asks when I answer the phone. “I was starting to think I would never hear your voice again! Are you feeling better?”
She’s ever the pro when it comes to bombarding me with questions. Some things haven’t changed. It would be comforting if I weren’t so completely confused. “Feeling better?” I question. What a weird thing to say.
“Your friend told me you had a migraine when I called yesterday. I must’ve called six or seven times before he finally answered,” she informs me accusingly.
It’s like the floor shifts with her admission, leaving me fighting to keep my footing. “Oh. I didn’t know he answered. I must’ve been asleep,” I murmur. Do I sound like myself? I can’t let her know there’s a problem when I don’t have the first clue how I’d explain the situation.
“Who is he?” It’s obvious she’s been driving herself nuts since their conversation, dying to find out about him. I can almost see her pacing the house, wondering why I never told her about him, salivating as she anticipated this interrogation.
And here I am, wondering why he didn’t tell me he spoke with her. It might have been nice to get a heads-up.
“A friend.” She used that word, right? “He’s a friend of mine.”
“A friend who said he knew we were planning on having dinner together… whoops,” she adds with a light giggle. “I wasn’t supposed to mention that, though he said he’s looking forward to it. He sounds very cute, sweetheart. I want details.” Her voice practically drips with excitement.
Now, I wholeheartedly wish he had told me about their little chat. This is like one of those dreams where you find yourself in a final exam for a class you didn’t attend all semester. Only it’s genuine. “There isn’t very much to tell. You’ll meet him when we have dinner.” I could kill him for putting me on the spot like this.
“What’s his name?” she demands. It’s amazing how suddenly she switches from excitement to brittle irritation. “I don’t like this whole secretive thing you have going on lately. First, you can’t tell me what you’re doing at work. You make it sound like you’re on some undercover mission or whatever it’s called.”
I did? Maybe I was. I figured it had to be something like that, right?
“Then… you tell me you’re going away and we’ll get together when you’re back. Only you vanish off the face of the Earth for two weeks without a hint of your plans or even a quick text to let me know you’re still alive. You know your father and I have had our reservations in the past over your work and how much time you devote to it. I’m starting to think it’s becoming a real problem, Emilia.” Finally, she stops to take a breath after her tirade.
Laughing would be the worst possible reaction, which is the only reason I’m able to contain myself. Imagine complaining about me working too hard when, according to Luca, I no longer have a job. Or do I? Was I telling the truth about my undercover work? I find it hard to believe I would ever confide something like that, but I don’t know the first damn thing anymore. What’s harder to believe? Would I admit to an undercover assignment or fall in love with a mob man?
“Honey?” Mom’s voice is noticeably softer after several silent moments pass. “Are you there? I didn’t mean to upset you. I worry, is all, and you aren’t helping things by avoiding me.”
As it turns out, a head injury isn’t enough to help me avoid feeling like a terrible, negligent daughter. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, falling back against the sofa cushions with the throw pillow still clutched tight to my chest. “It’s all been so complicated. And I’m still feeling wrung-out and shaky after the migraine.”
“You didn’t sound so wrung out until this very second, young lady, so don’t think you’re going to hand me an excuse.” Of all times for her to pull the angry mom act on me, refusing to accept a weak excuse for the sake of keeping the peace.
My jaw is starting to ache from grinding my teeth. “I’m serious. I don’t feel well, and this isn’t helping.” It isn’t a lie, either. There’s a storm building in my head, one fueled by my mother’s incessant bitching and confusion over whether this whole thing with Luca was real or not. Closing my eyes doesn’t help. Neither does taking slow, deep breaths to calm my blood pressure before it soars to the point of no return.
“I haven’t felt well in weeks, thanks to my daughter treating me like a stranger,” she retorts. “We’re going to dinner this Saturday night. No excuses, no talking your way out of it. Your father will make a reservation at Luigi’s for the four of us.”
Her announcement makes me sit straight up. “I have a better idea. Luca will make the reservation for Saturday night.” Because I have no idea where we’ll be safe if there’s any such place in existence. “He’s, like, that sort of guy. I’m sure he’ll want to pay for everything too. Warn Dad in advance.”
She snickers, and I can tell she’s starting to come around a little. “That’s all we need. The two of them arguing over the check and causing a scene.”
I don’t want to underestimate him, but I would put nothing past somebody who looked like he wanted to kill me for refusing his kiss earlier. What a fun little surprise Dad would get if Luca pulled a gun. “It’ll be nice,” I tell her, though I fear it will be anything but.
Saturday.That’s four days from now. What do I do if my memory is still gone? How do I get through it?
“We’re looking forward to meeting him,” she tells me with excitement in her voice. “Now, don’t think you can get away with conveniently forgetting to tell me where we’re having dinner. We’ll set up a tent outside your front door if that’s what it takes. You are not going to avoid us forever.”
No. God forbid. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you know as soon as Luca makes the reservation. I’d better go take something for my head before it gets bad again.” Before ending the call, I add, “I love you.”
I can barely wait long enough to make sure the call is disconnected before throwing the phone to the floor, then pressing the pillow to my face and screaming my heart out. All the confusion, the dread, the frustration. The loneliness. Fear.
By the time my voice gives out, I’m empty and weak. Not weak enough to stop the tears flowing freely down my cheeks. What am I doing here? What do I believe? Who can I trust? I’ve always been able to rely on myself. How do I navigate this when I’m the least reliable person in this entire fucked-up situation?
I’m curled in a ball, lying on the sofa and weeping when the front door opens without warning. It’s bizarre, the brief flash of relief at the sight of Luca as he steps into the house. It dies a quick death, especially when I remind myself he’s a big part of why I’m in this terrible, confusing place in my life.
He knows nothing of this. He only sees me crying, and it brings him to his knees beside the sofa. “What is it?” he whispers in that soft, warm, intimate voice that I wish didn’t touch some hidden part of me that craves it.
No. I crave comfort and safety. That does not mean I crave Luca Santoro.
“What is it?” I echo and sit up, throwing the pillow aside and making him grunt in surprise. “Let’s see. I don’t know who to believe. I don’t know who I am, why I can’t go home, and why I didn’t just say to hell with it and confess everything to my mom so I can go back to my old life, goddammit!”
Something darkens his eyes until they look nearly black. “You were on the phone with your mother?” he asks, only it sounds like he’s confirming I stole his wallet or murdered his dog.
I blink hard in disbelief. “That’s what you took from everything I said? Yes, I was on the phone. Sorry if that hurts your plan in some way.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” He barks out a humorless laugh. “My plan? What plan is that?”
His derision only intensifies my outrage, turning my blood to lava. “Your plan to keep me all to yourself,” I snap. “You’re cutting me off from the entire world. You can’t blame me for not trusting you because of that. I just… I just…” My lungs can’t pull in enough air for me to continue. I just want to go home. I just want to remember my life. I want everything to go back to normal.
I want it not to feel so right when Luca enfolds me in his arms and pulls me close after I burst into tears again. A part of me demands I push him away, but right now, that voice is small, far beneath the surface. The rest of me wants very much to be held and comforted, even if it means by him.
“All I want is to keep you safe,” he insists, murmuring into my ear while I weep on his shoulder, wondering which of us I hate more. “That’s all. I’m here for you. Let me be here for you.”
Sadly, I want to let him. It’s because I’m lonely, confused, and scared of the unknown that I lean into his embrace, my arms snaking around his neck so I can hold on tight. Like I’ll fly away if there’s nothing keeping me on the ground.
Something takes over. Instinct, maybe. Something that makes it possible to turn my face toward his neck or inhale his spicy cologne and the unique scent of his skin. It stirs something in me— memory? Or am I so hard up for comfort that being this close to him feels like a good thing?
He pulls back far enough to look into my eyes. “Let me protect you,” he whispers, undoing me a little bit at a time with every word that tumbles from his generous mouth. “Let me love you. It’s all I ever want to do. That’s all I ask.”
It can’t be.
I can’t allow it.
No matter how right it feels when his gaze lowers to my lips, revealing his thoughts. No matter how easy it is for me to close my eyes the instant after he leans in, almost lunging, like he can’t wait another second before crushing his lips to mine. The instant our mouths touch, an explosion erupts in my core. Shock waves roll through me, sending sizzles of pleasure radiating from head to toe. I’m alive. I’m really alive, and something close to joy replaces all the pain and the fear as the kiss deepens, his tongue stroking mine, his arms tightening possessively.
And I love it.
Deep down, so deep there’s no room for a conscious thought, I love this. I want it. I want him. My fingers run through his thick, silky hair until he growls into my mouth, his hands running up and down my back. All at once, I want to take off my clothes so he can touch my skin. So he can mark it and make me his.
This is why I have no choice but to shove him away as hard as I can before I make the sort of mistake there’s no coming back from. It doesn’t matter that he somehow reaches some deep, dark part of me I didn’t know existed. My aching nipples and throbbing pussy don’t mean a thing. I’m not an animal.
I have a choice.
He is not my choice.
“No,” I gasp, fighting for breath. “No, Luca. It’s not going to be that easy.”