16. Marco
CHAPTER 16
Marco
“ W hat’s wrong?” I asked as soon as she opened her door. I could feel it. When I called her to tell her that I’d pick up groceries, she sounded distant.
Now, I could see she was upset. I’d learned enough about Leah by now to know that when she withdrew, it wasn’t because she wanted to be alone, it was because she thought she was.
I stepped inside and set the bag on her kitchen counter. Her place was small, with an open-plan kitchen, dining and living areas, one bedroom, and a bath. She’d made it hers, but I knew that she didn’t feel at home here. It was a place to lay her head. No more.
“Thanks for getting that.” She jutted her chin toward the groceries as she stood, her arms crossed, as if she were protecting herself.
She looked beautiful as she always did, but there was sadness in her eyes.
I walked up to her, put my hands on her arms, and rubbed gently. “What’s wrong?” I asked again.
“Nothing.” She turned away, walked to the living room, and sat on the couch. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
I followed her, sat down beside her, picked her up, and hauled her onto my lap. She squealed.
“Okay, carino , you want to tell me why you look like your puppy died?”
Her shoulders slumped. “You’ll think I’m being stupid.”
“Probably. It’s what I do best. But tell me anyway.”
She smiled at that, but her eyes filled with tears, and I squeezed her to comfort her. She was in real pain, and I hated that. Camille cried easily. An advertisement. A book. A TV show. Leah didn’t, so when she did, it meant something had hurt her profoundly.
“I ran into Kevin today,” she revealed, her breath shaky.
The mention of his name made my jaw tighten, but I didn’t say anything. I waited. I could guess what happened. He probably said things to debase her, and she was back in the space she used to be when she was married. When he made her feel small. Emotional abuse was its own trigger, and I wanted to bolster her self-esteem so he couldn’t get to her the way he did. But it would take time. I was here for the long haul, I thought then and felt the band around my heart loosen. I’d take care of Leah. I wanted to.
“He said some things. About me. About us.”
“What kind of things?”
She hesitated, then looked up at me, her blue eyes shimmering with moisture and sadness. “He said I wasn’t good enough for you. That I’m too old, too...damaged, that someone like you wouldn’t want someone like me…not for long.”
My chest burned with anger. The asshole.
“Leah, listen to me. He’s wrong. He’s so wrong it’s almost laughable.”
She blinked, tears spilling over despite her best efforts to hold them back.
“I don’t care what Kevin thinks; you shouldn’t either.” I rocked her gently, kissing her cheek, her lips—whichever part of her face I could reach. “He doesn’t get to define you. You are one of the strongest, kindest, most incredible women I’ve ever met.”
She looked at me, vulnerable, fragile. “But how can you want someone like me?”
“Someone smart, kind, generous, and amazing in bed?”
She sniffled.
I tightened my grip on her and met her gaze head-on. “Because you make me happy. Because you make me think. Because you have this fire inside you that makes me want to be a better man. Leah, I’m not with you because I feel sorry for you or because I need someone to spend time with. I’m with you because I want to be with you . You’re special.”
Kevin was a fool. I was glad I wasn’t.
Her lip trembled, and she let out a shaky laugh. “You’re really good at this whole pep talk thing.”
“Only because I mean every word.” I brushed tears from her cheek with my thumb.
She smiled, the sadness in her eyes softening just a little.
“Now, we have an important decision to make?” I said seriously.
“What?”
“Should I cook or order pizza?”
She laughed this time. “You can’t cook.”
I wasn’t the best at it. We all had our abilities, and whipping up meals wasn’t one of mine. I could make a mean, soft-boiled egg, though. But that was where it ended!
“True. But you’ve had a hard day, and I want to take care of you.”
“You’ll burn down the kitchen.”
I kissed her nose. “No, just the food.”
“I like anchovies on my pizza.”
“Atta girl!”
I Doordashed pizza and then opened a bottle of the Chianti I’d picked up at The Fresh Market.
I set the table, lighting the tea lamps she had in a kitchen drawer in smallholders.
“I thought we were going to eat from the cardboard box,” Leah teased, taking a seat.
“We absolutely will, but it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have a bottle of wine and some romantic lighting.”
“You are sometimes so sweet it gives me a toothache.”
My Leah was back. She’d shed the sadness, showing anyone who had eyes how resilient she was.
“It’s my Latin charm.” I winked at her and sat across from her.
We ate pizza and talked about work. I’d started telling her more about my company, and she was sharing more about her cases. We were like a normal couple. This is how Camille and I used to talk at the end of the day after the kids were in bed. The conversation was different because we were both in the same field—and Camille had a different, more exuberant energy. Leah was quieter. She was a listener.
I used to feel guilty that I kept comparing Leah with Camille, but lately, I’d gotten comfortable with it. It was what it was. I had two women in my life, and I’d compare them—it was natural. As long as it didn’t lead me down a path of losing the woman I had over the one who was gone, it was alright. At least, that’s what my mother told me when I talked to her and mentioned Leah.
By the time we finished our meal, Leah was laughing at one of my terrible dad jokes, her eyes shining with a warmth that made my chest ache in the best way.
“Did you hear about the salsa dancer who went to therapy?” I asked when we were back on her couch, cuddling. Yeah, I was a man who liked to cuddle. So, shoot me.
“Oh, God,” Leah groaned. “No, Marco, I didn’t.”
“Well, would you like to know what happened?”
She smirked. “Sure.”
“He couldn’t handle the emotional…twists and turns.” I looked at her expectantly, and when she rolled her eyes, I feigned hurt. “You got the joke, right?”
She chuckled. “How do Isabella and Sofia feel about your sense of humor?”
“They love it.”
Much later, we went to bed.
I liked her room. It was pleasantly feminine without being overly so. It smelled like her, and her sheets were better than mine.
“I got them from Brooklinen,” she informed me when I complimented her. “It’s my one indulgence. I love nice gazillion-thread cotton sheets.”
We made love because we’d already started making out on the couch, so it was inevitable.
I caught my breath, and she caught hers as we lay against each other. I kissed her neck and nuzzled her, soaking her in. I was still inside her. I loved being inside her. She was wet and soft. We stayed like that until we both had to clean up.