14. Lucia
Chapter fourteen
Lucia
H e’s avoiding me, and that’s not easy to do when we’re back in our hotel suite. We were barely through the door before Antonio was mumbling about needing to do some work and took himself off to his bedroom, closing the door on any possibility of a discussion about the kiss in the loggia.
But what he doesn’t realize is that it’s not the kiss I want to talk about. It’s Bruno. A conversation that’s long overdue and hopefully will put that day behind me forever.
We’ve shared many parts of our lives; he knows me better than any other person. Yet the most traumatic experience I’ve faced is the one thing we’ve never discussed. He basically knows what happened; after all, he witnessed some of it before stepping in and punching Bruno.
A resounding crack, along with Bruno’s high-pitched squeal of pain, barely registered as I ran.
My only thought at the time was escape. Not only from Bruno, who still makes my skin crawl, but also from my rescuer and friend.
The shame chased me to my room, where I hid, refusing to see anyone until I was summoned by my father.
Memories of that day come flooding back, resurrected by the sight of Bruno.
He may be barely recognizable as the eighteen-year-old who assaulted me, but after one look into his dull stare, a chill ran down my spine.
It felt like another attack, emotional this time, not physical, though the tightening in my chest was painful.
I hate that I froze like I was one of the ice sculptures decorating the dessert table.
I hate that I cried, more tears to add to the river I’ve already shed over that horrible moment.
But most of all, I hate that Antonio had to see me fall apart again. I don’t want him to think of me as anything but the strong, independent woman I’ve struggled to become.
A shudder runs through my body, and as I walk into my bedroom, I try to block it out.
The door closes with a snick behind me, and with shaky limbs, I put on my favorite flannel pajamas.
It’s not cold tonight, but the cozy softness of the fabric against my skin gives me the comfort I desperately need.
In the bathroom, I sweep my hair back off my face and try to stop the uncontrollable trembling of my hand long enough to brush my teeth and remove my makeup.
A light tap on my bedroom door makes me jump, and the brush in my hand clatters into the sink.
“Luce? Can I come in?” Ant asks, and my racing heart slows from a sprint to a jog.
“Sì.” And not even waiting for him to open the door fully, I run into his arms. The tears I’ve been desperately holding back silently falling to soak into the blue linen shirt he’s still wearing from the reception.
Ant sweeps me up into his arms before sitting on the end of the bed and tucking me onto his lap.
“I’ve got you.” He whispers so many more things, but honestly, the words don’t matter. It’s the way he holds me, like his life depends on keeping me safe. And he doesn’t let go until the tears quiet to soft hiccups.
“I’m sorry. Today has been a lot,” I whisper by way of excuse for the sudden outburst.
“It was, and you were amazing, handling the demands of the media, organizing the reception, and all while dealing with your father.”
“Thanks.” I burrow my face deeper into his chest.
“And then Bruno showing up like that,” he says, and it doesn’t surprise me that he’s touched on the real reason I’m upset without me even saying. Ant has the uncanny knack of knowing what’s bothering me before I’ve even uttered a word.
“I wondered what it would be like if I saw him again. I hate him for what he did and feel sick to my stomach when I think of what could have happened.”
“Please don’t think about that. I got there in time to stop him. That’s what’s important.”
“I never thanked you properly for saving me that day.” I peer up at him through damp lashes. “And I’m glad you punched him.”
“I’m glad I did too. Sometimes I wish I’d done more, like telling my father. But I figured if you didn’t want to mention it, then it wasn’t my place to say anything.”
“Thank you for keeping my secret. I don’t think I was strong enough back then to speak out.”
He tucks my hair behind my ear, and I snuggle closer. “And now?”
I’d never really thought about Bruno being held accountable for his actions.
“Maybe. I’d have to think about that. Seeing him today was a shock, and I guess if he ever spoke to me, I’d certainly do something then.”
“I won’t let him near you,” he promises. “Bruno might be my cousin, but that’s just an unfortunate circumstance of birth. If you ever want justice, I’ll support you.”
I’m so lucky to call Antonio Barbieri my husband.
“Will you stay with me tonight?” My voice is thready as I look up at him.
“Of course.” He drops a light kiss on my lips. “Hop into bed, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
It’s probably less than five before he’s walking back into my room, wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants that fit snug over his sexy muscled thighs. I wiggle farther down under the covers, and he climbs in beside me, wasting no time in pulling me back into his arms.
“Better?” he asks.
“Hmm.” I cuddle into his chest, the comforting beat of his heart against my cheek calming the rhythm of my own. And soon I’m falling into an exhausted sleep.
***
Bruno’s hands paw at my breasts. My bikini top is no barrier to his rough, bruising grasp.
His hot, heavy breath makes my stomach churn.
And when his tongue licks a slimy path along the side of my neck, bile rises into my throat, freezing my cry for help.
I push as hard as I can against his chest, and he grabs both of my wrists so tightly that my fingers lose all feeling.
His hips pin me against the wall, with a knee wedged between my legs, and his dick jabbing me in the belly makes me want to vomit.
I’ve never had a boyfriend, never even been kissed by a boy, and I swing my head from side to side so he can’t reach my mouth.
But when one of his hands releases mine to grope between my thighs, I panic. No, no, stop. The unspoken words build into a ball of fear as I struggle against his touch.
“Stop!” I finally scream.
***
“Lucia. It’s me, Ant. You’re having a nightmare.” The gentle words seep through the fuzziness of sleep.
Ant? That’s who’s beside me, propped onto one elbow, concern furrowing his brow.
“Breathe, sweetheart. Slow and long, deep breaths.” Ant’s voice is a calming salve. “You were having a nightmare.”
Tears leak from the corners of my eyes as I lie inert, staring up at the ceiling. The lamp beside Ant casts a pool of dim light over the bed while leaving the outer edges of the room still in shadows.
“Was it about that day?” he asks, dropping onto his back like me. His hand reaches for mine where I’m still white-knuckle clinging to the sheet.
I release my grip to link my fingers through his. “It was like he was touching me all over again. The images so vivid. The bile in my throat so real I couldn’t shout for help. I haven’t thought about that day for years.”
“And nightmares?”
“The same. Though they were a regular occurrence for nearly a year after.” I swallow deeply before admitting my truth for the first time.
“I thought he was going to rape me.” Ant’s grip tightens against mine, but not to the point of pain.
I turn my head to the side to face him. “It wasn’t until I was at college in Paris that I went to see somebody to help me cope with the trauma. ”
Storm clouds swirl in his gaze when he tilts his head to look at me. “I’m sorry it took me so long to find you again after.” Three years passed before we saw each other again.
“It wasn’t your fault. You had college. I’d been sent to the boarding school in Switzerland to finish high school, then to Paris. We were both still kids.”
“There’s something I’ve never told you.” He swallows deeply, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Your father called me when I was back in New York. He said I was to stay away from you, that I’d caused you enough trouble.”
“That doesn’t make sense. You weren’t the one who needed to be threatened. You saved me.” I shudder at the thought of what might have been if Ant hadn’t found us on the terrace.
“Did anyone else know what happened?”
I turn completely on my side before answering. “No. But it was obvious to my mother that something was wrong. I was distraught.” With a squeeze of his hand, I continue. “When he told me I was going to Switzerland the next day, I was glad to be leaving the island, because I never wanted to return.”
His brow rises. “You’ve never told me that. Not even that first time I suggested we meet there … What was it, nearly eight years ago?”
“Sì. And I didn’t say anything because you really wanted to go back. I’m glad we did, because every time we visit Capri, I fall back in love with the island again.”
“I feel the same.” And when I stifle a yawn with my hand, he adds, “Now, it looks like you need more sleep. Come here.”
I scooch closer to him. This is what being cared for and protected feels like—amazing.
***
Shards of sunlight streak through the curtains, illuminating the room, the pristine whiteness of the empty bedding beside me more painful than the light hitting my grainy vision. He’s gone, and it hurts more today than it has every other time I’ve slept alone since my wedding.
Last night was a lot, and true to his vows, Antonio was there to hold me when I needed him, but now I want more.
I don’t just want him to be there when I need him, I want him to be my lover.
A husband in every way. Untucking a hand from under my cheek, I reach across the sheet to touch the indent in the pillow where he slept last night.
It’s cold, and I swallow down the lump in my throat.
Did he even stay the rest of the night like he promised?
No more tears; I shed enough of those yesterday to last me a whole year. Finally sharing with Ant what happened that day has put it back in the past where it belongs. And wallowing in my bed because he wasn’t beside me when I woke this morning won’t change how good it felt to unburden myself.
I throw back the covers, scoot into the bathroom, then go in search of my cell. I think I left it on the counter in the kitchen.
But it’s not only my cell I find when I open the bedroom door.
Ant is standing right there, working on his laptop.
Damn, he looks good, dressed in navy pants and a white button-down shirt, his hair still damp from a recent shower, and a tilted grin stretching his lips as he glances up to see me. I stutter to a stop.
“Morning, beautiful,” he says cheerfully, like he greets me in the same way every morning. He doesn’t. Normally, he would have left for the office by now.
“Hi.” I wander closer. “What are you doing?”
His grin grows wider, and my suspicions deepen. Pushing off from the counter, he crosses the distance between us in two easy strides and wraps his arms around me. I’m not sure if I’m still dreaming or if this is real, because this hug could actually be better than waking up next to him.
“Mmm,” he murmurs, burying his nose in the curve of my neck.
It tickles, and I giggle as he nuzzles deeper. “Are you sniffing me?”
My hair muffles his reply, but not enough that I can’t make out the words.
“Yep, and I’m not going to apologize for it.
You smell good. Like sunshine, flowers, and a hint of cinnamon sugar.
” His shoulders rise on another inhale and drop on the exhale.
“Eau de Lucia is better than anything the French fragrance houses could create.”
I throw my head back, laughing loudly, giving him unfettered access to the soft skin on my neck. He peppers light kisses along the column. I’ve no idea what brought about this change, and honestly, I don’t care because it feels wonderful.
“Well, that was a strangely specific description,” I whisper, melting beneath the onslaught of kisses.
When he’s finished ravaging my neck to his satisfaction—and mine—he raises his head, grinning again.
“To answer your earlier question.” What question?
My brain turns to mush when he kisses me.
“I was booking us flights to Capri.” He stops kissing me long enough to say, “I think it’s time I took my wife on a honeymoon. ”
One of his eyebrows rises in question, like I might disagree. Not a chance.
“Really? We’re going to Capri? When?”
“As soon as you can get yourself dressed and packed.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “And after my meeting with Gio, which I’m going to be late for”—he lifts his arm high behind my head to check his TAG Heuer—“in six minutes.”
“I love—” I stop myself before I blurt out something that could ruin the moment. “—love this idea.”
“Great. Now move it.” He releases me, turns to collect his laptop, and walks to the door, stopping as he adds, “I’ll ask them to send up a coffee and croissant. And I’ll see you in about an hour.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m left to catch my breath.
Wow, a honeymoon on Capri.