Chapter Twenty-Six #2
“It could be apartments,” she says. “Or offices.”
“Exciting.”
“You own restaurants.”
“Restaurants have food.”
She walks toward the far windows, testing each floorboard before placing her full weight on it.
“I thought about a reading room.”
“A library?”
“Not exactly. A place where people can sit. Maybe classes for children. Help with identification and job applications.”
I understand before she explains.
The library computer.
All those searches she made after escaping.
How to get identification.
How to find work.
How to disappear.
“For people starting over,” I say.
She looks at me.
“Yes.”
“People like you.”
Her gaze returns to the windows.
“Maybe.”
The word is quiet, but the idea has already changed the room.
It isn’t difficult to imagine the dust gone. Tables beneath the windows. Shelves along the walls. Children occupying a space once used to store imported crates. Women sitting with someone who knows how to replace a missing birth certificate or open a bank account no one else can access.
Lucy saw an abandoned room and imagined doors opening inside it.
Marco would calculate costs and security requirements.
I see people.
That may be why she asked me to come.
“That sounds like you already know what you want to do.”
“Maybe,” she says again.
She returns her attention to the notebook.
“It would cost a fortune.”
“You have a fortune.”
“That doesn’t mean I should waste it.”
“Helping people isn’t waste.”
Her gaze returns to mine.
“You sound like Marco.”
“That was cruel.”
“I meant it as a compliment.”
“Even worse.”
She laughs again.
We order lunch and eat in Maria’s office because Lucy isn’t ready to leave.
Dario brings up the bags, checks the hallway, and disappears downstairs. He closes the door only partway, leaving enough of an opening to hear us without pretending he isn’t listening.
We sit on the floor with our backs against the front of the desk. The wood presses into my shoulder blades, and dust clings to the dark fabric of my trousers.
Lucy ordered soup.
I ordered enough sandwiches for four people because I know Dario and Bruno will claim they aren’t hungry before eating most of them.
The office is warmer now that the sun has crossed the windows. Traffic moves below us, muffled by old glass. Every few minutes, the bells above Enzo’s shop door jingle faintly through the floor. The child downstairs has abandoned the piano, leaving the building almost quiet.
Lucy balances the soup container on one knee.
She has dust on her face.
“You’ve got something on your cheek,” I tell her.
“Where?”
I point to my own.
She wipes the wrong side.
“Other one.”
Her hand moves again.
“Did I get it?”
“No.”
I reach toward her.
Then stop.
“May I?”
Lucy becomes still.
Her gaze moves from my hand to my face.
“Yes.”
I brush my thumb over her cheek.
The dust comes away easily.
I should lower my hand.
Instead, my fingers remain against her skin.
Her cheek is warm. A loose strand of hair catches against my knuckle. I can feel the delicate movement of her breath beneath my palm.
Her eyes lift to mine.
Everything inside me quiets.
“Gio.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you remember what you said in the gaming room?”
I remember every word.
I pretend to think.
“That you cheat at pool?”
“No.”
“That you have terrible taste in books?”
“I never asked your opinion about my books.”
“Then I’m not sure.”
She catches my wrist before I can withdraw my hand.
Her fingers circle it loosely.
“You said if I wanted you to kiss me, I should ask again.”
My heart begins pounding hard enough that she may be able to hear it.
“I remember.”
“You said to ask when I wasn’t frightened or trying not to be alone.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not frightened.”
“No.”
“And we aren’t alone.”
Dario is downstairs.
Bruno is parked half a block away.
Enzo and his wife are arguing cheerfully beneath us in Italian.
The city moves beyond the windows.
“No,” I agree.
Lucy looks at my mouth.
“Would you kiss me today?”
Every reason not to passes through my mind.
She’s married—to my brother.
She has been home less than a week.
She is still grieving what Marco did.
Then I remember the point.
Her choice.
“Yes.”
I don’t move.
Lucy’s brow furrows.
“Well?”
“You asked if I would.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Gio.”
I smile.
“What?”
“Kiss me.”
The smile disappears.
I lean toward her slowly.
Enough time to change her mind.
Enough time to move away.
She doesn’t.
My lips touch hers.
Softly.
Nothing like the furious kiss she gave Marco at the church.
I don’t touch her anywhere except the cheek beneath my hand.
For one brief second, Lucy holds completely still.
Then she kisses me back.
Her fingers tighten around my wrist.
The world narrows to the warmth of her mouth and the quiet breath she releases against me.
I want more.
I want to pull her into my lap, bury one hand in her hair, and kiss her until neither of us remembers why this is complicated.
I don’t.
I draw back.
Lucy opens her eyes.
“That’s it?”
I laugh softly.
“That seemed respectable.”
“I didn’t ask for respectable.”
Before I can respond, she grips the front of my shirt and pulls me back.
The second kiss isn’t cautious.
Her mouth opens beneath mine. My hand slides from her cheek to the back of her neck.
She shifts closer.
My other hand settles at her waist.
Every boundary I’ve carefully maintained begins collapsing.
Then the wedding ring presses against my chest.
Reality returns.
I slow the kiss.
Lucy feels the change.
She pulls away first.
Her cheeks are flushed. Her lips are parted, and the loose strand of hair I touched now rests against the corner of her mouth.
“Sorry.”
“I’m not.”
“You stopped.”
“Eventually.”
“Why?”
She follows my gaze to the ring on her hand.
“This isn’t about Marco.”
“I know it isn’t about him.”
“Do you?”
“I believe you.”
She releases my shirt.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s clearly a lie.”
I lean back against the desk.
“You’re married to my brother.”
“A marriage he arranged with Mikhailov.”
“You’re still married.”
“Does that matter to you?”
“Yes.”
Her expression closes.
“Not because I think he owns you,” I say. “He doesn’t.”
“Then why?”
“Because I won’t turn you into something hidden between us.”
She looks toward the open office door.
“Are you going to tell him?”
“I’m not running home to make a report, if that’s what you’re asking.”
A trace of humor returns to her eyes.
“Good.”
“But I’m not going to lie about it.”
Her expression becomes cautious.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not hiding how I feel about you. I’m not sneaking into rooms or pretending this didn’t happen if he asks.”
“You think he’ll ask?”
“Marco notices everything.”
“As everyone keeps telling me.”
“He may already know.”
“How?”
“I tried on four suits for our last outing.”
“That only proves you’re vain.”
Lucy smiles.
Then she looks at her wedding ring.
“What if he’s angry?”
“He won’t be angry that you kissed me.”
“How can you know?”
“He’s my brother.”
“What if he tells you to stop?”
“He won’t.”
The answer comes easily.
“He may want to know what this means. So do I. But he doesn’t get to decide who you kiss.”
“Neither do you.”
“No.”
I look at her.
“You do.”
Something in her expression softens.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Neither do I.”
“You’ve kissed women before.”
“A few.”
She gives me a look.
“Fine. More than a few.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“I know that.”
She pulls her knees toward her chest.
“I’m married to Marco. I’m angry with him. I don’t know whether I’ll stay married to him.”
“And you kissed me.”
“Yes.”
“Do you regret it?”
She thinks.
“No.”
“Then we know one thing.”
“That doesn’t feel like enough.”
“It’s more than we knew this morning.”
Lucy rests her head against my shoulder.
The movement is simple.
More intimate than the kiss.
I place my cheek against her hair.
Her shampoo smells faintly of roses—the kind Angela leaves in every upstairs bathroom.
“Gio?”
“Yeah?”
“I did miss you.”
My chest tightens.
“I missed you too.”
“When I was at Viktor’s, I used to imagine you showing up.”
“I wanted to.”
She considers that.
“I would have come if Marco hadn’t stopped me.”
She lifts her head.
“Would you?”
“Yes.”
“What would have happened?”
“I probably would’ve been shot before I reached the second floor.”
“That isn’t very comforting.”
“You didn’t ask whether it was a good plan.”
She laughs softly and settles against me again.
We sit there until Dario calls from downstairs to remind us we have a meeting with a contractor.
Lucy stands first.
She brushes dust from her jeans, then offers me a hand.
I take it.
She pulls.
I barely move.
“You’re supposed to help.”
“You’re very heavy,” she complains.
“I’m offended.”
“Then be lighter.”
I let her struggle for several seconds before standing on my own.
She glares.
“You’re insufferable.”
“So I’m told.”
She reaches for the glass horse and wraps it carefully before placing it inside her bag.
At the door, she stops.
“Gio.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t tell Marco because you feel guilty.”
“I don’t feel guilty.”
That isn’t entirely true.
But guilt isn’t the reason I won’t hide.
“Then why be honest?”
“Because if this becomes something, I want it to exist in daylight.”
Lucy studies me.
“Something?”
“I’m trying not to frighten you.”
“You’re failing.”
“I learned from Marco.”
She smiles.
Then she holds out her hand.
I take it.
We walk downstairs together.
The narrow staircase forces us close. Lucy goes first, her hand still in mine, while I follow one step behind. Her thumb moves once across my knuckles, whether deliberately or not, and I feel it all the way up my arm.
Dario waits on the third-floor landing.
His gaze drops to our joined hands.
Then to my mouth.
His eyebrows rise.
I point at him.
“Not a word.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“Probably.”
Lucy laughs.
She doesn’t release my hand.
Neither do I.
I’m in love with my brother’s wife.
This morning, that was merely a problem.
Now that I know what she tastes like, the problem has become significantly worse.