28. Bianca
Bianca
I wake up on my back in Marco’s bed, his body curled around me like a question mark among the dark red of his Egyptian cotton sheets. Biting my lip, I stare up at the ceiling and brush my fingers across the puckered pink skin of his gunshot wound.
He grumbles in his sleep and pulls me closer.
I should move his arm and get out of here before he comes to, but even as I tell myself that, I don’t budge.
The boundaries between us are disappearing faster than I can track.
I’ve glimpsed how much his pain resembles what’s hidden under my own mask, and the hatred and disdain have transformed in ways still foreign to me.
The fact that Marco feels like safety instead of a trap should terrify me.
He snores softly, spooning me tighter as if he’s afraid I’ll try to abandon him. His dark hair spills onto my chest, and I hesitate before I tangle my fingers in the curls.
I hate that he looks like an angel when he sleeps. Well, if angels got wasted and passed out.
Knowing we’re so alike has guilt assailing me.
I’m lying to him about too much. My hunt for the book, the real reason I need to get into the library, the threat against Livia.
The desire to confess the truth bears down like a physical weight, but if I give in, if I crumple beneath that pressure, I worry I’ll lose myself in him in the process.
Between father’s twisted possessiveness and my mother’s selfish passion, what do I even know about love? If that’s what giving your heart to someone means, then I don’t want any part of it.
Besides, how can I expect Marco to love me when my family’s caused so much of his torment? Father’s and Uncle Enzo’s unchecked violence have ruined his life in ways I can’t even comprehend, and the idea that he would look past that and see me for who I am despite my family’s cruelty is absurd.
I can relate to losing a parent. While my mother is still alive, the ache of never being able to go back to who I was before she disappeared from my life won’t ever leave me. Just by listening to Marco last night, I know that the same is true for him as well, only tenfold.
He wakes slowly, awareness coming in stages with every gentle inhale and exhale. His thick lashes frame his green eyes, and I sink into the drowsy arousal he stirs within me as his hands travel up my body to cup my breasts.
I twist in his arms to face him, my laughter breathless. “Is sex all you think about?”
His eyes find mine before dipping to my lips. “You’re all I think about.”
He can’t mean that. He’s just lathering on the charm like usual.
Still, barring the night we bonded over MDMA, I’m not used to him aiming that charm at me. No wonder he has women falling all over him. “You’re pretty smooth when you want to be.”
His lips graze the top of my head as he presses his body against mine.
Before anything can happen, the alarm on my phone cuts through the moment. He flops back on the mattress with a belabored groan. “Shit.”
I clear my throat and sit up, reaching over to silence the incessant buzzing. “We’re supposed to meet with Zanni, remember?”
After Marco left last night, Leandro texted me an address and a time. Why he sent that info to me instead of Marco is as much of a mystery as how he even got my number in the first place.
Marco scrubs a hand down his face, scratching the stubble on his chin and sighing. “Right. Zanni. The library.” He blows out a tight breath. “How much time do we have?”
Pursing my lips, I roll my wrist to consult my watch. “Can you be ready in twenty?”
Marco gives me a lazy salute and edges off the bed for his bathroom.
My eyes linger on his backside as he goes. For the briefest second, I envision him under the hot water, soap suds cascading down his tight muscles in rivulets while I run my hands over the hard planes of his—
Snap.
I blink, the sharp crack of Marco’s fingers yanking me from my fantasy as he pokes his head out of the door to the en suite.
Oh god, after just six weeks together, I’m transforming into him.
“Bianca, get ready. We can’t keep Zanni waiting.”
My cheeks warm as I nod and jump up to get dressed. “Right. Zanni. Twenty minutes.”
Since when is he the one keeping me in line?