13. Luca
“I’m taking Vinny and Bruce with us up to the house. We’ll be gone today and tomorrow. My idea was to return tomorrow night after dinner.” It’s unusual for me to drop spur-of-the-moment plans in my father’s lap, but it only occurred to me last night while Emilia slept in my arms that going back to the Hamptons might be what it takes to bring back the rest of what’s been lost. To call it a calculated risk would be putting it mildly, but it’s either taking the risk of existing in public or waiting for Emilia’s memory to return.
My father eyes me from behind his desk, his fingers tented under his chin. “So long as you know what you’re doing,” he reminds me in a quiet but heavy voice. “I would hate to see her lose ground when she remembers what happened the night she was taken.”
He isn’t advising me against anything I haven’t already considered. “I know it could backfire,” I admit. “But it might help bring everything else back. Besides, it would be nice to be in new surroundings for a while now that things are going well with us again.”
He holds up a hand, chuckling softly, and while I didn’t need to be reminded of why it was important to have this conversation one-on-one rather than involving anyone else in the family—meaning Dante—I’m comforted by his understanding. “Say no more. The things we do to keep our women happy.”
I would tell him it’s not like that, that she hasn’t demanded or asked anything from me beyond honesty, but the clock is ticking. It would be a good idea to get the hell out of here sooner rather than later. Especially since Papa is the only person I’ve discussed this with, and I would rather not be around for Dante’s inevitable temper tantrum when he learns I’ve ducked out for the day.
He wouldn’t understand. He’s never had a woman of his own for longer than a night or two. He wears it like a badge of honor, which baffles me. It was one thing when I didn’t have time to bother with women, though I didn’t brag about it. It wasn’t a point of pride. For someone like my brother, whose entire identity is wrapped up in what he can do for the family, it’s a welcome sacrifice. It makes him look dedicated. Obsessed, if you ask me, but then he knows better than to ask for my opinion on the way he chooses to live.
“How are you feeling?” I ask before leaving.
Emilia is waiting for me, both excited and a little apprehensive about our sudden trip, and I don’t want to run into Dante. Yet I can’t leave without making sure there’s nothing I need to know.
He shrugs, scowling a little at the question. “Fine. What’s with you hovering over me like this?” he grumbles. I can’t say I love the irritation I hear, though it does mean he’s feeling like himself again. I don’t have time to respond before he checks his watch and continues, “I have a phone call in a few minutes. Is there anything else you want to talk about?”
I have officially been dismissed. “No, that’s it. I wanted to let you know where we’d be.” Before I’m out the door, I turn to look at him over my shoulder. “Would you do me a favor?”
He lifts his brows in silent interest. After taking a quick look out into the hall to ensure no one will overhear, I murmur, “Keep this between us.”
His scowl is as familiar as the room itself. “Since when do we keep secrets like that?”
Since my reason for living was abducted and nearly murdered, and I still don’t know who to blame. “Please. That’s all I ask,” I reply before setting out. I’m not in the mood to get into it since I know he’ll scoff if I share my suspicions. He wouldn’t believe anything I had to say about Dante, anyway. I’m not even sure my brother is the one to blame for someone informing Alessandro of our plans. I want to believe he wouldn’t betray me that way, but there’s never any telling when someone’s self-image is based on their job. That’s all there is for him.
It”s impossible for me not to reflect on some of the choices I’ve made in the past as I step outside. We’re due for an unusually warm spell coming up, and I feel it in the air. It’s about time—I’m getting sick of the cold. It’s the perfect weather for a trip to the Hamptons.
Emilia is waiting in the car, smiling brilliantly when I join her. “Everything okay?” she asks, and I love the chipper sound of her voice, like a kid who was promised a trip to the toy store.
“Everything’s perfect, including you.” She smirks and rolls her eyes, though I would expect nothing less. She is perfect and always has been, and she’s the last person who’d ever believe it.
Once we get on the road, she leans against me, fitting her body to mine. I drape an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in close. She’s back. She is mine again. As Vinny drives and she hums along to the oldies I asked him to play for her sake, I find myself envisioning the future. The possibilities that faded after she was hurt come roaring to new life.
However, my joy is tempered when we arrive at the house. I can’t take my eyes off her as she drinks it all in, gasping at the size of the place and its nearness to the beach while the guys bring our bags in, then retreat to the guest house. There’s no moment of recognition, no sudden flash of memory. I don’t know how to feel about it. Whether I should want it or not.
I told myself not to look at the stairs, so naturally, that’s where my gaze falls as soon as we walk through the front door. They’ve been scoured since that night when I came in to find a trickle of blood drying on the riser. I’ll never forget the way the red stood out against the stark white paint or the heart-stopping shock of realizing what I was looking at. The implications. That terrible, sick feeling that flooded my body and left me unable to process anything in the wake of terror.
This isn’t the time to stand around and dwell like a little bitch. My attention turns to Emilia, who is walking slowly through the living room, admiring everything the way she did when we were first here. There’s a faraway look on her face. She moves slowly, taking her time as she runs a hand over the mantle, then turns toward the windows overlooking the beach without saying a word.
What a bizarre time for me to remember what’s usually said about sleepwalkers. How you’re not supposed to wake them up. She’s not sleepwalking, but she is deep in thought just the same. I don’t want to interrupt, though everything in me wants to know what she’s thinking and feeling. Remembering, if anything. What is she going through? She knows I’m here for her, doesn’t she? I haven’t left any room for doubt.
“This is all so beautiful,” she eventually murmurs, and it’s a relief when she turns my way wearing a smile. I can breathe. Tension I didn’t know I was holding in my shoulders and neck eases. “Just beautiful. So peaceful.”
Yes, and what a shame that peace was ruined. “I’m glad you like it. It sits here empty so much of the time.”
“That’s a shame.” She looks up at the ceiling high above her head before turning in a slow circle, then shifts her focus toward the beach again. “Somebody should be admiring this all the time. Every day.”
“You mean the way I admire you every day?” I ask.
She turns to me as I approach, smirking over her shoulder. Her blue eyes sparkle like the rippling water beyond the windows when she asks, “How do you do that?”
“Do what?” I ask as I unbutton my coat, draping it across the back of the sofa on my way across the room.
She follows suit, leaving her coat on a chair near the window. Her white sweater glows in the abundant sunshine pouring in, and between it and her golden locks, she could easily be an angel. “You turn the most casual observation into a chance to compliment me.”
“It’s not so hard to do when there’s so much to compliment,” I point out, brushing aside the hair closest to her neck so my lips can touch her soft skin. It might be sacrilege, touching this precious angel. I am not a holy man. I’ve done terrible things and will do so in the future. I don’t deserve this.
Yet I can’t resist, especially when she giggles and wriggles against me so temptingly. “You are a smooth talker,” she whispers as I continue teasing us both. I can’t help it.
“You don’t seem to mind.” With my arms around her waist, I pull her against me so she can feel the erection stirring in my pants.
“Why don’t you ask the question I know is on your mind?” She’s not giggling or squirming anymore when she pulls back to look me in the eye. Her gaze has an almost weary awareness as it travels over my face.
“What do you think that is?” I ask, trying to keep a straight face to disguise the uncertainty still bubbling in my gut. Is she going to suddenly freak out? Was this the right decision? I can’t distract her with sex for the next thirty-six hours, no matter how much I’d like to.
This was going to come up eventually.
“Don’t bullshit me,” she whispers, both loving and defiant. “You want to know if I remember the attack.”
How can she talk about it so casually? She’s so matter-of-fact that I can only study her closely at first, wondering if she’s putting on a brave face for my sake. Then again, what am I worrying about? This is Emilia, my Emilia, and while I can’t go for very long without needing to touch her, that’s not what lies at the heart of us. She is not only the hottest but also the most desirable woman I’ve ever set eyes on. She’s brave, tough, and made for me.
That doesn’t make me want to protect her any less. If anything, it heightens my protective instincts. I want to protect her from the memories. I want to spare her even a moment’s pain.
Her penetrating stare won’t let me shrug off the subject. “Do you remember?” I venture, stroking her cheek with my thumb while my eyes move over her face, searching for any sign of emotion.
She slowly shakes her head, her brow furrowed like she’s thinking hard. “I do have these little flashes of memory,” she explains, looking over my shoulder, taking in our surroundings. “There’s a pool past the kitchen, isn’t there?”
“A pool we swam naked in,” I confirm with a grin. “Before doing other things.” It’s amazing that my heart can beat, and I can breathe. I get the pleasure of watching a miracle unfold every time she brings up another scrap of the past.
“I remember being happy here.” She’s radiant when she smiles, standing on her tiptoes and brushing her lips against mine. How is it that every kiss is still as exciting as the first time? It seems like the thrill has to wear off eventually, right? But here I am, already lost in her, with everything else falling away so I can concentrate on the feel of her body and her soft sighs as I kiss her slowly, deliberately, like a man with nowhere to be and nothing better to do.
“Remember this?” I ask between kisses as I pull her down along with me until we’re on our knees in front of the fireplace. It’s cold now, dark, but the heat between our bodies is more than enough.
“I’m not sure.” She wears a knowing grin when she pulls back long enough to lift her sweater over her head. “You’ll have to remind me.”