9. Adriana #3
The question is so normal and domestic, so completely at odds with everything else that I almost laugh.
But there's something genuine in his expression that makes the laughter die in my throat.
He seems like he actually cares about the answer—actually wants to know if we were okay today, if we were happy. It softens me.
"He liked the pool." I swallow hard, licking my lips nervously, and I see his gaze drop to my mouth. "Thank you for... for having that. For letting us use it."
"You don't have to thank me." He takes a step closer, and suddenly I can smell the warm, masculine scent of sweat on his skin.
My entire body tightens, my blood rushing in my veins.
"This is your home, Adriana. Yours and Matteo's.
You can use anything you want, go anywhere you want. I want you to be comfortable here."
"It's not my home." The words come out edged with all the fear and anger and confusion I've been holding back all day. "It's your home. I'm just... I'm just here because you brought me here and didn't give me a choice."
A flicker of hurt flashes across his face, but he doesn't argue or try to justify what he's done. He just nods slowly, his jaw tight.
"I should shower," he says finally, and his voice is strained. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... I'll let you get to your room."
He moves past me, and as he does, his arm brushes against mine—just the barest touch of skin against skin, but it feels like fire.
The contact is brief and accidental, but it sends a jolt through my entire body and makes every nerve ending come alive.
I'm suddenly viscerally aware of how close he is, how easy it would be to reach out and touch him, and close the distance between us.
I freeze.
He freezes.
For a heartbeat, we're both perfectly still, and I can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.
I can feel the restraint it's taking for him not to reach for me and pull me against him, to not do all the things I can see in his eyes that he wants to.
His hands are clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw tight, his whole body rigid with the effort of holding himself back, and I realize that he's giving me a choice.
He's waiting for me to make the first move, and he won't touch me unless I want him to.
And God help me, part of me wants him to.
Part of me wants to close the distance and press myself against him. I want to feel his hands on my body and his mouth on mine, and lose myself in the kind of mindless pleasure that would let me forget, just for a moment, everything that's happened and everything that's wrong with this situation.
But I can't. I can't let myself want him or forget what he's done. I can't let myself fall back into the trap of thinking that desire is the same as love, or that love is enough to save us.
He steps back, putting distance between us. "Goodnight, Adriana." His voice is strained, rough with something that sounds like pain and longing and frustration all mixed together.
"Goodnight," I whisper. The word comes out barely audible, choked with all the things I can't say, all the feelings I can't acknowledge.
He walks away, and I stand there in the hallway, my heart racing and my skin still burning where he touched me.
I don't know whether I'm relieved or disappointed that he left, whether I wanted him to stay or go.
I don't know anything except that my body is aching with a need I don't want to feel, and my mind is spinning with confusion and fear.
I make it to my room and close the door behind me, leaning against it and trying to catch my breath, calm the racing of my heart.
My whole body is trembling, alive with sensation and need that I don't want to acknowledge but can't ignore.
I should sleep, try to recover from the past couple of days, and prepare for whatever comes next.
But I don't know how I'll be able to. Right now it feels like I can't do anything except stand here with my body aching, my mind racing, and my skin still burning from that brief touch.
I push away from the door and move to the bed, sitting on the edge of it with my hands shaking as I press them against my thighs.
I close my eyes and let myself remember the boy he used to be, the way he looked at me in the garden ten years ago like I was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, like he would die if he couldn't have me.
The way his hands felt on my skin, gentle and trembling slightly with desire and nervousness.
The way he kissed me, like he was drowning and I was air, like he couldn't get enough, like he would die if he had to stop.
The way he felt inside me, that first time, the only time, when we were young and stupid and thought love was enough to save us. When we didn't know that the world would tear us apart and turn us into strangers.