Chapter 13 #2
Sweet desires gnaw at my edges, a deep longing stronger than a shot of hard liquor floods my veins, and my brain buzzes with images of us as if we’ve always meant to be together.
Perhaps it hasn’t been the best story so far. For me. For him.
Perhaps his entering my family wasn’t the most elegant way of getting to know me.
But looking back, everything makes sense now. Even my waiting for him, the things I had to go through, the dark times where I had no hope that something better would happen to me.
All that waiting finally makes sense.
Here I am with him, both dancing on the edge of some horrible events that might change or even end our lives, but so far, it’s been all worth it.
Even if this is all we have.He seems like a different man now, with his eyes full of life, the generosity of his smile giving me the tenderness I have craved my entire life.
I’ve never felt safer, more in my element than I feel with him.He is amused, enthralled, relaxed, and present in the moment. Such a different man from the one who had delivered the news that I’d be sent into exile after my mother's death.
My fingers itch to move through his hair, to trail down his cheek, his neck. To feel the pulsing blood right below his jawline.
I still have sexual fantasies about him, but above all, my heart is full with someone real, for the first time in my life.
He helps me clean my chin with a napkin, his eyes lingering on my lips for far too long not to feel a pulse of desire between my legs.
I’m like a firecracker these days, flooded with a need to connect, to feel someone physically inside me.And not anyone.
I have the man I want right in front of me.
A small struggle ensues in his mind, and I notice its effect on his face.
He seems so tempted to lower his mouth and remove the last drop of chocolate sauce from my lips with his.
We’d probably cut our shopping spree short and head home if that happened.
It’s just a guess, but I’m sure I’m right.
Eventually, he pays, and we leave.
Later, we walk into several shops.
A showroom in an old house where we admire bronze jewelry and sculptures.
A store where we find shelves lined with natural soap, candles, and body products, and I pick my favorites, the ones that smell like jasmine and pomegranate.
He picks a few colorful scarves for me, in a mix of coral and turquoise tones, and we both settle on hand-painted glass plates.
An hour later, we discover a world of ceramics that perfectly capture the bright sun, the sparkling sea, and everything that nature has to offer.
If things can heal a broken heart, this is the place to be.
Toward the end of the afternoon, we stroll into a bookstore, where we leaf through the pages of rare books and collectible magazines. We also check a collection of vinyl and vintage postcards.
We end our stroll at a chocolate shop.
How else?
Here, I have a unique experience tasting different flavors of chocolate and can’t help but joke that I won’t be able to eat anything else for a week. And I’ve probably picked the right dress from this trip.
Smiling, he gives me a side-eyed glance.
“You truly did,” he says, commenting on my dress, and I have a feeling that he would like nothing better than to feel me up through the soft fabric, get a feel of my body, touch my breasts, and then lower his hands below my waist.
I smile at that thought as we head back to our car.
Most of the things we bought are already with his men.
“I know it’s early, but where would you like to have dinner?” he asks in the careful tone of a man who has been entrusted with someone precious and wants to make them happy.
The realization that it was probably the first time someone had asked me what I wanted to do, rather than simply ordering me what to do, or telling me what I was expected to do or needed to do, gives me pause.
For the first time, someone wants my opinion on things related to me instead of forcing me to do them against my will and telling me to just get over myself––in case I protested––and simply get used to it.
The thought that I’ve lived most of my life entrapped makes me drown in grief and regret.
“Is everything all right?” he asks, noticing the change on my face.
“Yes, everything’s fine,” I say, my voice heavy with resentment.
We’re just about to climb into our ride when he gives me a second look, makes note of my dull eyes, and instructs one of his men to take the things we bought home before he makes new plans for the evening.
We’ll be strolling down the streets of Syracuse for a little longer before I make up my mind about what I want to do tonight.
My hand slides to his arm.
“Don’t change everything because of me,” I say, still in a bad mood, still processing the new take on my life.
He studies my face before he speaks.
“What about we do this? We stay in town for as long as you’d like, and then we head home and have dinner.”
I look at him, grateful that he has offered me such an elegant way out.
“We can order food from a nice restaurant in town and take our time enjoying ourselves on the terrace without the crowd’s clamor in the background.”
“Sounds good,” I say softly, and with that, we turn around and keep strolling.