Chapter 29 Luca
The moment we get home, exhaustion slaps us both directly in the face. But when Emery goes for her bundle of pillows and blankets for the couch, I feel the words rise up and rocket out of me: “Sleep in the bed. With me.”
Best friend or not, she’s still hot as sin.
She stares at me, eyes a little glassy from her drinks, weighing this.
“You won’t sleep well out here,” I say quietly.
Em pulls her lips between her teeth, sucking in a deep breath. “Yeah, I know.” She holds my gaze, confessing, “It’s hard to sleep alone.”
Oh.
Heat spreads from my gut up into my chest and down to my groin. We’ve felt the chemistry between us, and of course we’ve talked about what our sex life looked like before. Now the idea of sharing a bed is planted in my mind and sending my pulse thundering.
“We’ve talked about this, Luca,” she says.
“It’s time to renegotiate.”
“I don’t want you to feel pressured to—”
“I don’t.” I smile, suddenly not sure either of us will get better sleep with this arrangement.
We look at each other, tension building. Emery searches my eyes, seeming to be weighing whether it’s really okay to do this. I give her a tiny nod, a smile. “Please?”
Her entire body sags in relief. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
I have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into here.
Emery emerges from the bathroom wearing nothing but soft shorts, a tank top, and an unsure smile.
She looks glowy, and I assume she’s washed her face and moisturized using one or more of the many fancy bottles on the bathroom counter—something I probably knew about her nighttime routine before.
Her hair is up in a messy bun, and she pats it, grinning. “Glam, I know.”
“Gorgeous,” I say on an exhale, without thinking, and her gaze shifts to mine.
Flushed, I blink away, smiling at the floor as I slip past her and out to the hallway to use the bathroom.
When I return—teeth brushed, firm lecture on self-control delivered—she’s under the covers, staring at the ceiling, with her hands tightly gripping the sheet at her chest.
“Is this how you sleep?” I ask, laughing. “Like a corpse?”
Emery turns her head, watching me round the end of the bed to what I suppose is my side. Her grin is sardonic. “I don’t know, Luca. How do corpses sleep?”
“Oh, shots fired,” I say, laughing harder until I realize I’m still dressed.
All the humor drains from the moment, leaving only a fog of hyperawareness and tension.
I don’t feel an ounce of self-consciousness, but I do feel the reality of what’s about to happen.
I’m about to take off my clothes before purposely getting into bed, with her.
Not by accident, not two people unwittingly winding up in the same small space, but with premeditation and intent.
Emery has caught on, too, eyes now fixed very pointedly on the ceiling.
No big. Just an average night in the Martín house.
Clearing my throat, I turn off the overhead light, leaving the room illuminated only by the shaded lamp on her nightstand, and then tug my shirt over my head before dropping it into the hamper.
My hands move to my pants. The button is easy enough, but the sound of my zipper lowering is like an obscene siren screaming through our comically silent room.
Deciding to fast-track this and put us both out of our misery, I shove my pants down my hips and take refuge under the covers.
I don’t often have a sense of being a big person, but getting into bed beside Emery makes me feel like an absolute giant.
She scoots away, presumably to give me more space, but she can’t go that far.
It doesn’t help when Honey bounds into the room and up onto the bed, aggressively rustling and nesting and forcing me toward the middle so she and her stuffed koala have room to curl up behind me.
“Sorry,” I say.
“It’s okay.” Emery smiles as Honey huffs out a contented sigh. “The baby gets what the baby wants.”
She rolls onto her left side to face me, tucking her hands beneath her cheek.
The room is awash in the dim, golden lamplight, but this close I could count her freckles, can see the lighter ends of her lashes.
She’s so pretty it makes it a little hard to breathe.
I’m not surprised I wanted to look at her for the rest of my life.
“You were always really good at that.”
“Good at what?” I ask softly. Honey gets up to circle around and adjust her position, forcing me over even more.
Emery smiles. “Making me feel comfortable.”
“I’m glad. I want you to be comfortable with me.”
A tiny furrow bunches between her brows. “Why?”
“What do you mean?” I roll to face her, stretching out my legs. Emery is right there, and I trap her cold feet with mine.
“I mean…” She shrugs, adjusting her head on the pillow. “You could very easily say, ‘I don’t want to continue on in this marriage with a stranger.’ Or even something as simple as, ‘I need some time to myself to figure things out.’ ”
I can’t help laughing. “So soon? Are you saying I was a quitter?”
“No. I think, I just…” She trails off, frowning.
“Can I say something?”
Emery nods.
“It seems like you’re surprised I stayed married to you.”
She nods, eyes wide, but doesn’t look away. “We’ve talked about this, but I’m realizing how hard I probably was to be married to.”
“How so?”
“I think even despite your childhood you were lonely here, with me.”
Smiling at her, I say, “I’m not lonely lately.
” The truth of this rings through my head long after the words are out.
I should feel lonely; after all, I don’t remember anyone in my life.
But Emery, despite what she’s told me about her workaholic tendencies, has been nothing but a constant for me the past few days.
Even working on her laptop, she checks in and gives me a time she’ll be done and sticks to it. I don’t imagine she did that before.
“I guess we have two options here.” I reach out, trapping a strand of hair that’s escaped the bun and running my fingers down the length of it. “Either you continue to berate yourself and feel guilty, or we move forward, with a pledge to do better this time.”
Emery’s eyes melt into relief. “I’m good with that.”
“With feeling guilty indefinitely?” I ask, teasing.
She laughs, and it sounds thick, like she’s fighting tears. “With moving forward. With doing better this time.”
“Good.” I want to lean forward. I want to kiss her so bad it feels like desire is a foreign body lodged in my throat.
In a move I’m beginning to recognize, her eyes dip down to my mouth, breath hitching.
Slowly, I lean in, setting my mouth on hers.
She sighs, sending her hand up the back of my neck and into my hair, parting her lips to slot with mine.
It’s slow and lush, this kiss. It’s different from the one on the beach, where I felt fevered and famished.
Here, I’m desperate for her, but this is a kiss of agreement, of commitment, of burgeoning intimacy.
I want her with a heat that makes my head spin, but this slower pace we’re taking this time… somehow I know it’s important for us.
This time, it’s a series of smaller kisses forming a larger one. We come together and close off in soft, rhythmic unison. Our tongues barely touch; the graze of her teeth on my lower lip is gentle. This is a conversation, one between our bodies alone.
I want this.
Let’s try.
It matters.
This is too good to throw away.
Slowly, the kiss tapers off, and her eyes flutter open. Her fingers scratch gently against my scalp. “I really love kissing you.”
I smile at her, nodding. “Big same.”
She takes a deep breath and carefully shifts back slightly.
“How are you feeling about your job lately?” I ask.
“My job?” she asks distractedly, foot brushing against my calf.
I hum. “You haven’t been able to work much, but I know you’ll have to at some point. Your douche coworker will be there; you’ll be going back with the knowledge that the compound worked but you won’t be able to tell anyone. Seems pretty heavy, no?”
This seems to pull her out of her daze, and she blinks, her eyes clearing.
With a wry laugh, Emery admits, “Well, let’s see.
I worry constantly that I’m going to get busted and end up in some supersecret government prison underground with a bunch of evil scientists with no social skills.
” She smiles at me to take the weight out of this worry, but I see real concern lingering in her eyes.
“I worry, too, that I won’t get busted, and they’ll want me to come back and prove that I’m not really Dr. Frankenstein and work harder than ever. ”
Pulling back a little, I study her. “Why does that worry you? Do you not want to go back?”
“I don’t want to go back to who I was before.”
I reach forward, running my thumb along her jaw. She closes her eyes, leaning into the contact like she needs it. And maybe she does.
A thought lands like a brick. “Emery, you can’t blame yourself for what happened to me.”
“You can say that a million times and I probably won’t ever be able to take it to heart.” She reaches up, placing her hand on mine. “And I’m sorry I didn’t let Annie call the police. She wanted us to stop when we were at the lab, and I wouldn’t let her. It was such a selfish decision.”
“For the record, I’m not sorry.”
She exhales, and I wonder how heavy a weight that was to carry around. “I wonder how Betty reacted when the police told her you’re not dead,” she says with a giggle. “Thrilled you’re alive but mad she’s not getting rid of me.”
“Ugh, Betty.” I smile at Emery, exhaling a long breath. “She’s a piece of work.”
“I don’t know. She just really adores you.”
“That’s very sweet,” I say. “But unfortunately, I’m already spoken for.”
Emery smiles, the apples of her cheeks rounding sweetly as she looks at me. “You’re still you.”
“That’s good, I hope?”
“Very good.” She reaches forward, pressing her palm to my cheek. “Luca?”
I hum, staring at her mouth.
“You don’t have to say it back, but I want you to know: I love you very much.”
Happiness blooms behind my breastbone, and I lean into her this time, kissing her palm.