Chapter Thirty-Two
GIO
We slip into a routine.
After dinner, Lucy follows us into the living room.
Angela clears the table despite Lucy’s attempt to help. Marco brings in a file. I pour myself a drink I’ll forget to finish.
Lucy settles between us on the sofa.
The old clock ticks on the mantel. Pages turn. Angela sings under her breath in the kitchen, her voice drifting through the open doors along with the sound of dishes being put away.
It shouldn’t feel remarkable.
Three people sitting together after dinner.
But I remember how the house felt without her. Angela stopped singing. Marco worked until morning. I found reasons not to come home.
Now Lucy is curled beside me with a book in her lap.
Everything feels right again.
Or close enough.
She shifts, stretching her legs across the sofa. Her feet land in Marco’s lap.
“Sorry.”
“You’re fine.”
She starts to pull them away, but he catches one ankle and returns his attention to his file.
Lucy stares at his hand.
Then at him.
Something passes between them.
It might be small and quiet, but to me it’s as obvious as a neon sign.
“You kissed him,” I say.
Lucy’s head comes up.
Marco closes his eyes briefly.
That’s answer enough.
“When?” I ask.
“Yesterday,” she admits.
I look at my brother.
He meets my gaze without apology.
He doesn’t owe me one.
We’ve shared women before, although Lucy isn’t anything like those women. This matters in a way none of them did.
But I don’t want to take her from Marco.
I understand why he can’t stay away from her.
“Was it good?” I ask.
Lucy stares at me.
“I’m not discussing your brother’s kissing abilities with you.”
“That sounds like a yes.”
“Gio.”
She hits me in the stomach with her book.
I catch it.
“Violence isn’t the answer, Lucy.”
“It is when you’re the question.”
Marco makes a sound suspiciously close to a laugh.
Coward.
Lucy takes her book back, but the tension has left her shoulders.
I rest my arm along the sofa behind her.
“Are you happy?” I ask.
Her smile fades.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you unhappy?” Marco asks.
She thinks about it.
“No.”
His thumb brushes the inside of her ankle.
“Then that will do for tonight.”
No one asks what the kiss means.
No one asks her to choose.
For now, she is here.
Her shoulder rests against mine. Her feet remain in Marco’s lap.
Eventually, her book slips sideways as she falls asleep between us.
#
I wake sometime after midnight.
The house is quiet.
I lie in bed for nearly twenty minutes before accepting that sleep isn’t coming back.
The light beneath Marco’s office door tells me he’s awake too, but I leave him to whatever numbers he’s using to punish himself tonight.
I change into swim trunks and head downstairs.
The pool lies on the east side of the house, beyond the rose garden. The air outside is warm, heavy with the scent of damp earth and flowers. Lights beneath the water cast shifting blue patterns across the stone terrace.
I dive in and start swimming.
One end to the other.
Turn.
Push.
Breathe.
My muscles settle into the rhythm until there is nothing left but water, movement, and the burn in my lungs.
I don’t notice Lucy until I reach the shallow end and find her sitting on the edge.
I stop with both hands against the wall.
She’s wearing a dark one-piece swimsuit and a thin robe she hasn’t bothered to close. Her hair is pulled over one shoulder, and her bare feet skim the surface of the water.
“You’re staring,” I tell her.
“So were you.”
“I was swimming.”
“You stopped.”
“I found something worth looking at.”
She rolls her eyes, but her toes curl over the edge of the tile.
“What are you doing awake?” I ask.
“Thinking.”
“Dangerous habit.”
“That’s what Marco says.”
“Marco thinks everything is dangerous.”
“Marco thinks everything is his responsibility.”
“That too.”
She looks toward the house. Most of the windows are dark, except for the rectangle of light belonging to Marco’s office.
“Is he working?”
“His light was on.”
“It’s always on.”
She falls quiet.
Then she says, “You don’t have to worry about the kiss.”
“I’m not worried.”
Her attention returns to me.
“You aren’t?”
“No.”
She searches my face.
“What you have with Marco doesn’t take anything away from what you have with me.”
Her expression softens.
“We haven’t established what I have with you.”
“We have an understanding.”
“Do we?”
“I irritate you. You threaten me with books. It’s practically a courtship.”
Her mouth curves.
She slips off the robe and places it beside her.
I forget what I was going to say.
Lucy notices.
“Are you coming in?” I ask.
“That was the idea.”
She lowers herself into the water and gasps.
“Cold?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
She pushes away from the side before I can splash her.
Her stroke is competent, if a little rusty. She swims toward the deep end, turns, and comes back. Water shines along her shoulders beneath the pool lights.
She once told me her mother took her to the shore when she was young.
When she reaches me, I’m still watching her.
“What?” she asks.
“I’m impressed.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I assumed you came out here to admire me.”
“I can do two things.”
She moves closer.
“Can you?”
The teasing leaves her voice.
There are only a few inches between us now. Water moves softly against the side of the pool.
Her hair has begun escaping its knot. Damp strands cling to her neck.
I reach up and free one from the corner of her mouth.
Her eyes meet mine.
I should let her go.
Instead, I trace the curve of her cheek with the pad of my thumb.
“Gio.”
I kiss her.
She rises onto her toes to meet me, water shifting between us.
The kiss starts slowly.
It doesn’t remain that way.
Her fingers slide around my neck. I catch her at the waist and draw her closer.
She makes a soft sound against my mouth.
It goes through me.
Her body fits against mine, warm despite the water. She presses closer, moving instinctively, and every thought in my head disappears.
I turn us until her back meets the side of the pool.
She kisses me harder.
There is nothing hesitant about her now.
Her hands move over my shoulders.
My back.
Into my hair.
I grip the edge behind her because the alternative is touching her everywhere.
“Lucy.”
She kisses the corner of my mouth.
Then my jaw.
“I want this.”
Her words are breathless.
I close my eyes.
“You don’t know what this is yet.”
“I know enough.”
She moves against me again.
My control nearly breaks.
I catch her hips, holding her still.
She looks up at me.
Desire is there.
So is trust.
That frightens me more.
“Have you done this before?”
Her breathing changes.
“No.”
I go still.
“I’ve kissed men,” she says defensively. “Before Viktor took me. I’m not completely—”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“But nothing beyond that,” she finishes. “There was never anyone I wanted to.”
My hands loosen around her.
She feels it.
The distance I’m trying to put between us.
Her expression changes.
“Gio?”
“We should stop.”
A moment ago, she was flushed and open beneath my hands.
Now her body goes rigid.
“Why?”
“Because we should.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
I step back.
Cool water fills the space between us.
She catches my wrist.
“Is it because I’m married to Marco?”
“No.”
“I can sign the papers.”
I stare at her.
“I’ll divorce him,” she says.
“This has nothing to do with Marco.”
“Then what does it have to do with?”
I look away.
The truth lodges in my throat.
Women who were curious until curiosity became fear.
Women who treated me like a dare.
One who swore she was ready and cried afterward.
Since then, I’ve chosen women who expected nothing. Women who wouldn’t stay long enough to matter.
But Lucy matters.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I admit.
“You’re hurting me now.”
The look in her eyes is heartbreaking.
She climbs out of the pool and pulls on her robe. Water runs from her legs onto the pale stone.
“Lucy.”
She turns.
“I told you I wanted you. If you don’t want me, respect me enough to say it.”
“That isn’t what this is.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
I can’t.
Her mouth tightens.
“Good night, Gio.”
She walks toward the house.
The terrace door closes behind her.
I remain in the pool until the water stops moving.
A few minutes later, the door opens again.
Marco steps outside.
He has removed his jacket, but his sleeves remain buttoned at the wrists. He looks from the abandoned robe’s damp mark on the stone to me.
“What did you do?”
“Good evening to you too.”
“Lucia was crying.”
The humor dies.
“We were kissing. She wanted to go further. I stopped her.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
His expression shifts.
“Did you tell her?”
“No.”
“Then she thinks you don’t want her.”
“She thinks it’s because she’s married to you.”
“Is it?”
“No.”
I pull myself from the pool and reach for my towel.
“She’s never been with anyone.”
“That explains why you stopped. Not why you hurt her.”
“I could hurt her.”
“Being afraid doesn’t give you the right to decide that for her.”
The words land harder coming from him.
He knows something about taking away Lucy’s choices.
“You know she isn’t them,” he says.
I drag the towel over my hair and look toward the house.
“She kissed you.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
I shake my head.
Marco studies me.
There’s no jealousy between us.
There never has been.
What Lucy feels for him has nothing to do with what she feels for me.
But this is the first time either of us has had something real to lose.
I meet his eyes.
“She’s your wife.”
“Because I arranged it. She didn’t choose the marriage.”
“She chose the kiss.”
“Yes.”
I’m glad she did.
Marco makes her feel safe.
I make her remember what it is to have fun.
She needs both.
“Talk to her tomorrow,” he says.
“What if she won’t listen?”
“She may not.”
I look at him.
That isn’t the answer I expected.
“Then what?”
“You respect her decision.”
He turns toward the house.
“Marco.”
He looks back.
“Are you all right with this?”
“I love both of you. I’m not going to make either of you miserable to simplify my life.”
Then he goes inside.
I find Lucy in the library the next morning.
She sits by the window with a book open in her lap. Sunlight reaches the page, but she hasn’t turned it since I entered.
“Can we talk?”
“That depends. Are you going to say something this time?”
“I’m going to try.”
I sit across from her.
The distance between the chairs feels considerably larger than it did yesterday.
“I want you, Lucy.”
“Then why did you stop?”
“Because you told me you’d never done it before.”
Her chin rises.
“You think I don’t know what I want?”
“No. I think I might hurt you.”
“You don’t get to decide what I can endure.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
I look down at my hands.
“Women have wanted me because they were curious. Because they thought I would make a good story.”
She waits.
“My body can make certain things difficult.”
Understanding dawns.
“Oh.”
“Yes. Oh.”
Color touches her cheeks, but she doesn’t look away.
“One woman told me she was ready. I believed her. And then I hurt her.”
“Did you mean to?”
“No. But that didn’t make it any better.”
I force myself to meet her eyes.
“I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
“You think I’ll leave.”
“Yes.”
She closes her book.
“You decided for me.”
“I was afraid.”
“You’re allowed to be afraid, Gio. You’re not allowed to use it to take away my choice.”
“You’re right.”
“If something hurts, I’ll tell you. If I want to stop, we stop.”
“Immediately.”
“And if I want to continue, you believe me.”
I hesitate.
Her eyebrow rises.
“I’ll try.”
She considers that before setting aside her book.
Then she comes to me.
Her hand settles against my cheek.
“We can go slowly.”
“I’d like that.”
“I’m still angry with you.”
“You should be.”
She kisses me.
There is no urgency this time.
Only warmth.
When she pulls back, she rests her forehead against mine.
“But I’m not leaving.”
The tightness in my chest eases.
Not completely.
Enough.
A floorboard creaks in the hall.
Marco stands in the doorway.
His gaze moves from Lucy’s hand on my face to me.
No anger.
No surprise.
“I was looking for Lucia.”
“You found her.”
“So it appears.”
Lucy lowers her hand but stays beside me.
“What happened?”
“Moretti’s office called. He wants you to visit his home.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
She looks between us.
“What do you think?”
Marco’s jaw tightens.
“I think you should decide.”
He doesn’t want her to go.
Neither do I.
But neither of us will close another door around her.
Lucy picks up her book.
“I’ll speak to him.”
She leaves the library.
Marco and I watch her go.
“He wants her inside his protection,” I say.
“Yes.”
Matteo Moretti spent twenty-four years without knowing he had a daughter.
Now that he knows he has one, occasional phone calls and lunches won’t be enough.
He wants her in his home.
And men like Moretti rarely understand the difference between protecting someone and possessing them.