65 | Is this real?
The bedroom is cloaked in darkness.
It's deep into the night, when the world outside the Costa mansion falls silent, leaving only the faint creak of the house and the rhythm of our breathing.
I'm lying on my side, the bed sheets cool against my skin, and Luciano's beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him.
We're facing each other, our eyes locked, and the space between us is charged, like the air before a storm.
His hand rests on my cheek, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles, and every so often, his fingers drift to my wrist, brushing my pulse, or to my neck, lingering where my heartbeat thrums.
Each touch is a claim, gentle but possessive, and it sends a shiver through me, a mix of warmth and unease I can't untangle.
Is this real?I wonder, my mind hazy, caught in the surreal glow of his gaze.
Is this a dream, some cruel trick my heart's conjured to torture me? Or have I started hallucinating, weaving a fantasy where Luciano Costa looks at me like I'm his entire world?
The thought makes my chest ache, because I've never seen him like this, not in all the months of our complicated marriage.
His dark brown eyes are soft, unguarded, stripped of the hardness he wears like armor.
They follow me, every shift, every breath, like he's memorizing me, like I'm something precious he's terrified to lose.
When I move, just a slight tilt of my head, he mirrors it, his body attuned to mine. When I exhale, he inhales, a silent dance that feels too intimate, too raw to be anything but real.
I search his face, looking for the catch, the crack that'll shatter this moment.
But there's nothing, just him, his features softened in the moonlight spilling through the window, his scars faint silver lines that only make him more human.
His hand on my cheek is steady, warm, and when his fingers graze my neck again, I feel my pulse jump, a traitor to the walls I've tried to build around myself.
He notices and his lips curve, not quite a smile, but something deeper, something that says he feels it too, this pull between us.
I'm scared to believe it, scared to let myself fall into this, because what if it's a lie? What if I wake up and he's gone again, leaving me with nothing but the echo of his touch? What if he fucks me over?
But then I look into his eyes, and I see the care, the devotion, the way he's drinking me in like I'm the only thing keeping him tethered.
I move closer, just an inch, and he follows, his body shifting to keep the distance between us nonexistent.
My breath catches, and his does too, a soft echo that makes my heart stutter.
I can't help it as I reach out, my hand trembling as I place it on his cheek, my fingers brushing the rough stubble, the warmth of his skin.
He melts into my touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment, a low, almost inaudible sigh escaping him.
It's like he's surrendering, giving himself over to me.
"Aurelia..." he murmurs, my name a prayer on his lips, and his eyes open, locking on mine again.
His hand tightens on my wrist, not hard, but enough to feel my pulse, to remind me he's here, that this is real.
My thumb traces his jaw, slow, tentative, and he leans into it, his breath hitching, his body molding to every move I make.
It's intoxicating, terrifying, the power I have over him, the way he bends to me like I'm the sun and he's starved for light.
I wonder again if I'm dreaming, if this is some fevered vision born from too many sleepless nights, too many years of wanting him.
But his touch is too solid, his gaze too piercing.
When I shift, pulling my hand back to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, he moves with me, his fingers trailing to my elbow, keeping us connected.
It's like he can't bear to let go, like any distance would unravel him.
My heart pounds, a steady drum that he must feel, because his thumb brushes my neck again, lingering, counting my heartbeat.
He's always counting, my breaths, my pulse, my existence, and it should scare me, this intensity, but it doesn't.
"Luciano..." I whisper, testing the weight of his name, and his eyes soften, a flicker of something raw and unguarded.
I touch his cheek again, bolder now, my fingers spreading to cradle his face, and he melts again, his head tilting into my palm like it's where he belongs.
It's too much and yet not enough, because I want more, want to crawl inside him and know he's mine, that this isn't fleeting.
His hand mirrors mine, cupping my cheek, and we're locked there, side by side, breathing each other's air, moving as one.
I don't know if this is love or madness.