Elena #2
I shouldn’t be engaging in conversations.
I set the lights aside and open a box of ornaments to keep busy.
"Some days are better than others." He moves toward me.
My breath holds, wondering what he’s planning. The closer he gets, the more charged the air around us becomes.
“Let me help.”
We both reach for the same box, our fingers brush, and electricity shoots up my arm. For one breathless moment, we're connected. His skin is warm against mine.
I jerk back as if burned. "Sorry," I mutter, cradling my hand against my chest.
Luca's expression darkens, hurt flashing across his face before hardening into something colder. "Still can't stand me, I see."
"That's not—" I stop, because what can I say?
That every time we're near each other, I feel like I'm drowning in memories?
That I'm terrified one touch might crumble the protective walls I've built?
"It's fine, Elena." His voice is flat. "Message received. Again."
Something in me cracks. The guilt suddenly feels unbearable. Am I doing the right thing?
"You don't understand," I whisper.
“What’s to understand?” His eyes bore into mine. “You blame me for your father.”
I'm transported back seven years.
I was pregnant.
Alone.
With a father in prison and a boyfriend an ocean away who I believed had put him there.
I was young and na?ve.
I made decisions I felt I needed to keep us all safe.
Now, facing him, I wonder if my fear has cost us all too much.
We stand staring at each other for long moments.
In my mind, I’m telling him all the things he deserves to know, but outwardly, I stay silent.
The hurt and anger in his features lessen, and I wonder what he’s seeing in my expression that is causing that.
Can he read my mind?
Finally, he picks up an ornament and hangs it on the tree. I haven’t put the lights on yet, but I don’t tell him that.
Instead, I hang an ornament as well.
We work in silence, hanging ornaments on opposite sides of the massive tree.
The tree is enormous, at least twelve feet tall, but somehow not big enough to keep us apart.
Our hands occasionally reach for the same branch, causing one of us to quickly retreat.
"Remember that time in the mountains, right after Christmas?" Luca asks suddenly. "When we snuck out at midnight to go skating?"
The memory is bittersweet.
Moonlight on ice.
His hands steady on my waist.
The way he'd kissed me, cold lips warming against mine.
"You fell through the thin spot," I say. "I thought you were going to drown."
His laugh is soft. "You pulled me out, then wrapped me in every blanket in the cabin."
"You had hypothermia."
"Worth it." His eyes find mine through the branches. "Best winter I ever had."
I turn away, struggling to manage the sweetness of the memory with the guilt and regret.
When I finally glance at him to see what he’s doing, he’s holding a silver frame that sits on Dom's mantel.
My heart stops.
It's a photo from last Christmas of me with the triplets in matching pajamas, sitting by Dom's fireplace.
Rocco's smile, so much like his father's. Elio's dark eyes, identical to the ones studying the picture now.
My hands turn clammy.
Can he see it?
The resemblance is unmistakable to me, but would he recognize himself in their features?
"Your children are beautiful, Elena," Luca says softly, his finger tracing the edge of the frame.
There's genuine warmth in his voice, tinged with something that sounds almost like longing.
"Thank you," I manage, my throat tight.
"The little girl… she has your smile." He studies the photo more closely. "But her eyes…"
I hold my breath, waiting for the recognition, the accusation.
"They're extraordinary," he finishes. "All of them are."
I want to cry out at the injustice of it all.
An injustice that I’m complicit in.
Luca's eyes don't leave mine, and the intensity of his gaze makes me feel exposed, like he can see right through me.
"How long are we going to keep pretending we don't know each other?" His voice is quiet but firm.
I swallow hard, retreating behind the Christmas tree. "We're not pretending anything. We're just… coexisting."
"Coexisting?" He scoffs. "Is that what you call running out of rooms when I enter? Declining invitations to family events when you know I'll be there? Having Dom run interference for you? Fucking hell, even now you’re trying to hide behind the tree. Am I so repulsive—”
"I don't know what you want from me, Luca." I focus on straightening an ornament that doesn't need straightening.
"I want you to look at me." His voice drops lower. "I've respected your space for a year, Elena. Even though it pisses me off that you think I would betray you or your father."
The raw hurt beneath the anger makes me meet his eyes. For a moment, I see the boy I fell in love with, not the hardened man who returned from Italy.
"I know you didn't—" My throat tightens around the confession.
I know you didn't betray us. I know you're innocent.
But then I think of Gio and the others who are looking for any reason to kill Luca.
Who I wouldn’t put past hurting me or the children if they knew about us.
His eyebrows lift slightly, sensing my hesitation. "You know I didn't what?"
The truth presses against my chest, making it hard to breathe. One truth would lead to another, and another.
The dam would break, and I'd drown us both in years of secrets and regret.
"Elena?" He steps closer, concern replacing anger. His hand lifts, hovering near my cheek but not touching. "What is it?"
I imagine telling him about the kids.
The hope lighting his face.
The joy.
Then the inevitable fury when he realizes how long I've kept them from him.
The war that could break out between the families.
I step back. "Nothing. It's nothing."
His face hardens again, the vulnerability vanishing. "Right. Nothing. Just like always."
I’m a coward. “I should go.” I hurry to leave, but Luca catches me in the living room entryway.
“Dammit, Elena.” He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. I can see the frustration emanating from his expression. “Tell me you believe me.”
“Why? It won’t change anything.”
I think I could have stabbed him in the chest and it wouldn’t have hurt as much as the words I just hurled at him did.
I hate that I have to cause him this pain.
“Why? Did you really say that? Because I’m not guilty and I’m sick and tired of walking around like a condemned man around you.” He shakes his head. “Then again, maybe it won’t matter. I wonder if you ever did love me.”
My breath hitches that he’d question my love for him.
“How else could you believe I’d hurt you?” He reaches up, his finger and thumb gently holding my chin as he studies my face. “Why do you really hate me so much?”
“I don’t hate you.” The words are out instantly. Automatically.
“Then why can’t you give me this one thing? Why can’t you see that I never betrayed you?”
No. I’ve betrayed him.
I let him down.
But there’s no going back.
Not when the world around us is willing to kill.
The intensity of his gaze is about to make me wither.
I turn away, and something catches my eye above me.
A small cluster of green leaves and red berries dangle from the archway where we're standing.
Mistletoe.
Luca follows my gaze upward.
His expression shifts from frustration to something more dangerous.
A flash of heat.
Luca's eyes lock with mine, dark and intense.
The air between us ramps up again with electricity.
I can't breathe.
Can't move.
Can't think beyond the memory of his lips on mine, how perfectly we fit together, how completely I once gave myself to him.
Only him.
His gaze drops to my mouth, and I feel it like a physical touch.
My lips part involuntarily, my body remembering what my mind has tried to forget.
"Luca…" His name escapes as a plea, though I'm not sure what I'm asking for.
Mercy? Distance? Or something I can't allow myself to want?
He doesn't move closer, but he doesn't step away, either.
I see the question in his eyes, the silent request for permission.
One kiss.
One moment to remember what we were.
What we could have been.
“Say it.” His voice is a whisper, but firm, demanding.
“I believe you.”
His lips crush down on mine.
Rockets fire, just like they had the first time he kissed me.
For a moment, I go with it.
How can I not?
I’ve missed him. Longed for him. Needed to feel wanted by him.
But reality quickly follows. It kills me, but I break the kiss and step back. I keep my head down, unable to look him in the eyes. “I have to go. The kids…”
It's a lie.
I have another hour before school is out, but I need to escape before I do something I'll regret.
Before I tell him everything.
"Of course." His voice is rough, his eyes never leaving mine as I back away. "Your children come first."
I nod, gathering my purse and hurrying out of the room toward the front door.
"Elena."
My name on his lips stops me at the doorway.
I turn to see him standing beneath the mistletoe, tall and proud and heartbreakingly familiar.
"This conversation isn't over. Not by a long shot."
I don't respond.
I can't.
But as I hurry to my car, I know with bone-deep certainty that he's right.