Elena #2
"Did you know? Did you help perpetuate the lie that I betrayed your father?" His eyes narrow. "Was it easier to let everyone believe I was guilty than to admit you just didn't want me anymore?"
"How dare you." My voice comes out in a dangerous whisper.
"Then what is it about? Because from where I'm standing, you seem perfectly content with letting me continue to be the villain in this story."
"It's about keeping three innocent children alive!" I slam a plate down so hard I'm surprised it doesn't shatter. "Everything I've done, every lie, every evasion, has been to protect them."
Something in my voice must reach him because his expression shifts, anger giving way to something softer.
"I want to protect them too, Elena." He steps closer, his voice gentling. "Let me help you. Let me be part of the solution."
"You don't understand what you're asking." I shake my head, refusing to let the tears that threaten fall. "The life we have now is stable. Safe. If you start digging—”
“I’ll be the target, as usual. I’m not asking you to help me. There’s no reason for anyone to think you are involved or use the kids… unless I’m missing something.”
Dammit. Do I tell him the truth, or will that just make it worse?
"I know it's scary." He reaches for my hand, and I don't pull away even though I know I should. "I had plans for us. Dreams. I believed in our future together."
“That was a long time ago.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. "I had a ring. That day, I was to meet your father. I was going to ask his permission that weekend."
My head jerks up in shock. "You never told me that."
"How could I? By the time I saw you again, your father was in prison and you wouldn't even look at me." His eyes hold raw pain that’s unbearable to witness because I’m the source of it. "I had our whole life planned. A home. A family. Everything."
I close my eyes, imagining the alternate universe where we got that life. Where Luca proposed.
Where my father walked me down the aisle. Where our children were born into a family that knew them, loved them, protected them together.
"I still want that," he says softly. "Not exactly the same, but… I want to be part of your life. Part of your children's lives."
My throat tightens. "Luca—"
"I know they're not mine. I understand that. But I could be there for all of you."
I want to tell him they are his. I want to fall into his arms and confess everything. I want to erase seven years of separation with the truth. They're your children.
Instead, I say, "You don't know what you're asking for."
"I'm asking for a chance." He moves closer, his warmth radiating around me, lulling me. "Whatever you're afraid of, whatever you're protecting them from, let me help."
I shake my head, desperate to maintain distance. "It's been too long. Too much has happened. We're different people now."
"Are we?" His fingers brush my cheek, and I can't help leaning into his touch. "Because every time I look at you, I still see the woman I fell in love with. The one who laughed at my terrible jokes and argued with me about books and fell asleep on my shoulder during movies."
“Things have changed.” But God, how I ache to take what he’s offering.
He presses his hand over his heart. “For me, in here, nothing has changed.”
I’m drawn in to the comfort he’s offering even as I know it’s too dangerous for us all.
I should step back. I should remind him of all the reasons this can't happen.
Instead, I stand frozen as he leans closer.
"Tell me you don't feel it too," he whispers, his breath warm against my skin.
"It doesn't matter what I feel." I do my best to stay strong knowing that I’m failing. "Feelings don't change reality."
"They are reality." His hand slides to the nape of my neck. "Seven years, Elena, and I've never stopped wanting you. Never stopped loving you."
My breath catches. "Luca—"
"I tried. God knows, I tried to forget you." His forehead touches mine, and I close my eyes against the intimacy of it. "But it's always been you."
The kitchen fades away. There's only his hands, his scent, the impossible heat between us.
"We can't go back," I say, even as my body betrays me, leaning into his touch.
"I don't want to go back. I want to go forward. Together."
When his lips finally meet mine, it's like coming home, soft at first, questioning, giving me space to pull away.
But I don't.
I can't.
Seven years of longing rush through me, breaking down every barrier I've constructed to keep him at a distance.
I press my hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat racing beneath my palms.
His arms encircle me, pulling me flush against him as the kiss deepens, grows hungry.
"Elena," he breathes against my mouth.
I answer by pulling him closer, my fingers tangling in his hair, drawing him back to me.
His hands slide under my sweater, warm against my bare skin, and I gasp at the contact.
Need floods my body.
The need to touch him, to be touched by him.
We move together like no time has passed. Each touch erases a day of separation. Each kiss heals another wound.
In this moment, there are no secrets between us. No past to reckon with, no future to fear. Just Luca and Elena, finding each other again in the quiet of my kitchen.
His fingers brush over my nipples then pinch them. I moan as sensations course through my veins.
"God, I've missed touching you," he says.
My head falls back, exposing my throat to his hungry mouth, succumbing to his touch.
“I want to see you come.” His dark eyes lock on mine as his fingers unfasten the button of my jeans. His hand slides under my panties. “You’re so wet.” He removes his hand and sucks his fingers coated with my essence. He groans, closing his eyes like he’s savoring the taste of me.
Then his fingers are on me again, circling my clit. It feels so good and it’s been so long that I’m almost immediately on the edge of coming.
The pressure builds, coiling tight at my center. I bite my lip to keep from crying out, though I don’t know why. It’s not like anyone can hear us.
He shakes his head. "I want to hear you." His fingers work their magic as his other hand kneads my breast, his thumb brushing across my aching nipple.
That’s all it takes.
Pleasure rocks through me.
My body trembles against his, held upright only by his strength and the counter at my back.
“So fucking beautiful,” he says, his voice rough with need.
His lips find mine again, gentle now. "That's just the beginning.” It sounds like a promise, not just for more pleasure but for us. If only it were true.