Julia
Chapter Thirty Nine
I stand at Ricardo’s bedroom window even though there is nothing to see.
The glass holds more of the room than his backyard. A dark reflection of the room behind me, the lamp on the nightstand. The line of my own body swallowed in one of Ricardo’s shirts, bare legs, damp hair brushed away from my face, hands moving because I cannot seem to make them stop.
The lotion smells faintly of almond. Victoria handed it to me earlier with the kind of practicality that nearly made me cry.
I swear there's nothing she hasn't thought about. Something as simple as moisturizer when I don’t have the comforts of my own stuff can make all the difference
My hands are better now. Still strange to look at, as if the blood should have left some mark soap and water could not remove.
I rub lotion into my knuckles, then along my fingers, then along the backs of my hands again.
Behind me, the bathroom door opens.
I hear Ricardo before I see him in the reflection. The ordinary movements of a bedtime routine. Then the slight pause when he sees me.
He comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, drawing me back against him carefully. He’s always careful now. Since the pregnancy entered the picture and changed everything. I remind myself this might as well be the first time for him too.
His experience with Dante’s mother was nothing like this.
His lips brush the side of my head.
“What are you thinking about, cuore mio?”
I look at our reflection in the dark glass. Him behind me, broad and tired and still so impossibly handsome. Me in his oversized shirt, held against him.
“Dante,” I say.
His arms tighten a little.
I keep rubbing lotion into my thumb. “He woke up a couple more times today.”
“Yes.”
“Only for a couple of minutes.”
“Still,” Ricardo says, his voice next to my ear. “A couple of minutes is better than seconds.”
My throat tightens. “It is.”
“He knew where he was the last time.”
A small breath leaves me. “He complained about the IV.”
Ricardo’s chest moves against my back. “It's a good sign that there isn’t any brain damage.”
I nod, unable to speak.
Ricardo turns me gently in his arms. My hands settle against his chest.
“The doctors said they will try lowering his medication tomorrow,” he says. “If he tolerates it, he will be awake for longer.”
“I know.” I look up at him. “I can’t wait.”
His eyes move over my face, and whatever he sees there makes his expression soften.
“What is wrong?”
I try to shake my head, but the worry has already reached my mouth. “How do you think he’ll take it?”
“The medication?”
“The baby.”
Ricardo looks down at me for a moment without answering.
I slide my hands higher on his chest. “I know we don’t have to tell him right away. I know he’s recovering, and he needs rest, and this can wait. But everyone else knows. He’ll have to know soon. He’ll be upset if he doesn’t.”
“Yes.”
“And after everything with us, after how hurt he was…” I swallow. “Do you think this will make him angry all over again?”
Ricardo’s hands move along my back, offering comfort and taking it. He is choosing his words carefully.
“I think we have a couple more days before we need to worry about that.”
“That is a cop-out answer.”
His mouth twitches.
I narrow my eyes. “Ricardo.”
“Well,” he says carefully, “I do not think Dante will be angry at the baby.”
For a second, I only stare at him.
Then I smack his chest with the back of my hand.
He laughs.
A real laugh. It’s low and, yes, tired, but there. I feel it beneath my palm.
“Don’t do that,” I say, but I am smiling now too.
His eyes are warm. “It was an honest answer.”
I should ask him about Harrison.
The thought comes up, sharp and unwelcome.
There is a plan. I know there is. I know there are people here from Atlantic City, and they're working on something. I know Ricardo is being smart about it, just like I asked.
Even though all he wanted to do was tear through everything in his path on the way to Harrison.
I should ask.
I should know what is happening, because it is my life. My past. My apartment.
But Ricardo’s laugh still echoes in my mind.
His hands are on my back, his body warm against mine. Dante woke up today and complained, and for the first time since the gunshots, Ricardo doesn't look like a man ravaged.
I cannot break this yet. I just can't make myself do it.
Tomorrow is soon enough.
So I press my palm flat over his heart and say something else in my heart.
“I missed that laugh.”
The amusement fades from his face, but the warmth remains.
He lifts one hand to my cheek. “You will hear it again.”
“I want to.”
“You will.”
I lean into his hand. “Promise?”
His thumb brushes beneath my eye. “Yes.”
Then he bends and kisses me.
It is gentle at first. Careful in the way everything about him has been careful with me for days. But I am tired of careful. I am tired of blood and fear and waiting rooms and men discussing how to dismantle another man without bringing our world down around us.
I rise onto my toes and kiss him back harder.
Ricardo’s breath quickens.
His hand slides into my hair, and his other arm tightens around my waist, pulling me against him until there is no space left between us. The kiss deepens, slow and aching, and some of the shaking inside me finally quiets.
But something else starts shaking. My body trembles with need against his.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine.
“You need sleep,” he says.
I shake my head and pull him back down to me.
“I need you,” I whisper against his lips.
He stills.
Not with surprise. With hesitation.
My eyes open.
“What is it?”
He studies my face. His thumb traces my jawline.
“I don't want to hurt you,” he says.
“You won't.”
“Julia.”
“I’m pregnant,” I say, my voice soft but firm. “Not made of glass.”
A muscle works in his jaw. “The doctor said to rest.”
“I will rest after,” I say. “Right now, I want this. I want you.”
I see the battle in his eyes.
The part of him that wants me, that has always wanted me, is warring with the part of him that is terrified.
"I miss you," I say softly.
We've been at each other's sides for days, but he knows what I mean.
"I want to be close to you. Awful things are happening, but this baby deserves to be celebrated. Celebrate with me." I slide my hand into his hair and rise up onto my toes.
He makes a low growl in his chest, and I feel the shift in him. The restraint gives way. He lifts me into his arms with ease.
He carries me to the bed and lays me down as if I am precious. Delicate and irreplaceable. He follows me down, stretching out beside me, propped on an elbow.
He studies me in the dim light of the room.
I feel exposed. Not just physically. Emotionally. I am giving him all of me right now. My fear. My hope. My desire.
I wait for him to speak.
He reaches out and traces the line of my collarbone with his finger.
“You are certain?” he asks, his voice rough.
I reach up and cover his hand with mine, guiding it down, over my stomach, to the hem of his shirt I’m wearing. I push his hand underneath the fabric, letting his palm rest against my skin.
“Absolutely,” I whisper.
His eyes meet mine, and for a long moment, we just look at each other. The world outside this room, with all its violence and uncertainty, fades away. There is only the two of us. And the new life growing inside me.
His hand is warm against my skin, a pressure that both calms and excites me. He leans down, and I think he's going to kiss me again, but he doesn't. Instead, he presses his lips to my stomach, right above where our child is.
It's such a simple gesture, but it leaves me speechless with emotion.
It's a promise to protect us. To love us. To be the father our child deserves, and the partner I need.
Tears prickle at the back of my eyes again, but this time, they aren't tears of fear or grief. They're tears of love. Of overwhelming, soul-deep love.
I close my eyes and just feel.
His lips on my skin as he moves up my body, easing my shirt off as he goes.
I feel safe.
I feel home.
I feel cherished.
When he finally reaches my lips again, his eyes are dark with an emotion so powerful it takes my breath away.
“Amore mio,” he says and captures my lips.
His hands move over my body, relearning every curve, every dip, every inch of me. My own hands roam the hard planes of his back, the taut muscles of his shoulders, the soft hair at the nape of his neck.
We move together in a dance of rediscovery. A rhythm that speaks of more than just physical desire. It's a reconnection of souls. A reaffirmation of the bond that holds us together, even in the darkest of times.
This is what Harrison could never understand. This is what he tried to destroy.
But he failed.
Ricardo's hands roam my body, cupping my breast, thumbing my nipple, making me arch against him. His name is a breathy sigh on my lips as I wrap my leg around his waist, pulling him closer.
I want him inside me. I want him as close as he can be.
But he's not ready to end this just yet. He has other plans. Plans to make me fall apart in his arms.
He kisses his way down my body, his lips and tongue tracing a path of fire. He lingers at my breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth and teasing, nipping and sucking, then soothing with his tongue. I moan, my hands tangling in his hair, holding him to me as he pleasures me.
He doesn't neglect my other breast, giving it the same attention, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me.
Then he moves lower, pressing a kiss to my stomach again, right above our baby.
A sob of pure pleasure escapes me as he spreads my legs and settles between them.
He looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire. “I want to taste you.”
I can only nod, my breath hitching in anticipation.
He lowers his head, and his tongue finds my pussy, swirling, tasting, exploring. He's a master of my body, and he knows exactly how to drive me wild.
My hips buck against his mouth, seeking more. He gives it to me, licking and sucking my clit with maddening patience.
I'm so close. So close to the edge.
“Ricardo,” I gasp.