Chapter 22 #2
Car stopped. Driver opened the door. Leo hopped out, craning up at the house, mouth an O.
"So big," he said.
I got out too, shot Ezio a look. "You didn't say it was here."
He shrugged. "This is home, too."
I knew better than to argue.
Juliet burst from the door in a pink dress, hair in pigtails, clutching her plush rabbit. She spotted Leo, squealed, ran over, and grabbed his hand.
"You're here! You brought Giraffe! What's its name?"
"Giraffe," Leo said.
"Just Giraffe?"
"Yeah."
"Then my rabbit's named Rabbit." Juliet held it up. "They're best friends!"
Kids ran inside hand in hand. Laughter echoed from the hall.
I stood by the car, watching their backs. Sun hit the steps, the doorframe, spilling into the open doorway. Ezio stood beside me, silent. Breeze from the lawn carried flower scent and his presence.
"Let's go in," he said.
I nodded and followed.
Dinner was in the manor's dining room, long table shortened to one end, making it cozy.
Juliet chattered nonstop today, probably thanks to Leo. They bounced words back and forth, filling the table. She told him about kindergarten, ballet class, the little woods behind the manor she sneaked to without her nanny. Leo gawked, fired off questions, both getting more hyped.
I sipped half a glass of red wine, cheeks warming, picked at food, said little.
Ezio sat across, mostly quiet too, chiming in for Juliet now and then or picking up her dropped fork. He downed nearly a full glass, cup in hand, fingers tapping the stem idly.
He looked at me more than he thought I noticed.
After dinner, the nanny took the kids. Juliet ran back with Leo's hand, tilting up to ask Ezio if she could show him her room. He said yes, and they bolted off thrilled.
Room went quiet, just us.
"Want to sit outside?" he asked.
I wanted to say no, gotta go, got stuff to do.
"Okay," I said.
Garden lights were warm, low, embedded along the stone path, lighting it like a thin fire line. We walked along it in silence. Evening breeze cooled, carrying grass and wood scents, a hint of distant flower sweetness.
Table and chairs under the arbor. He poured two glasses of wine and handed me one. I took it, sipped a tiny bit.
"It's changed a bit here," I said, "like two new trees."
"Planted two years ago," he said, "you haven't seen, so it feels new."
Something in that, I didn't bite.
We sat side by side, vines twisting on the arbor, leaves rustling in the wind.
Good wine, smooth down the throat, but I knew my limit was low. Two glasses in, my face burned.
"Juliet likes Leo," he started, "she doesn't warm up to strangers easily."
"Leo likes her too," I said, "he's been talking about her since."
"Yeah?"
He loaded that word, I heard it, but ignored it.
Breeze again. His shirt collar still open, white fabric framing his collarbone. I glanced, pulled my eyes away.
"Olivia."
"Yeah."
"I want to ask something."
I gripped my glass tighter. "What?"
He didn't jump right in. Set down his glass, turned to me, profile to the arbor light, something in his eyes clear—suppressed, heavy, not new, surfaced after long storage.
"In France," he said, "how was it?"
I blinked. Not what I expected.
"Fine," I said, "Leo kept it full."
"Full," he echoed, like weighing it, "just full."
"Yeah."
He picked up his glass, sipped, set it down, fingers still on the stem, no more tapping.
"I regret it," he said, "Olivia."
My fingers froze.
"That day," he went on, voice low, careful like he might break something, "in the hospital room, what I said. The kid thing, I... I had no right to decide. I know. I've known for a long time."
I stared at the row of lights ahead, silent.
"After you left," he said, "Juliet cried forever. Holding her, I kept thinking it was my fault."
"Ezio—"
"I know sorry doesn't cut it," he said, "I'm not here to apologize. I just," he paused, "I just want you to know I'm sorry."
Night wind rustled the arbor leaves, soft shushing.
I turned my face away, sucked in a breath, pushed down the sting in my nose.
Then his hand covered mine. Really covered, fingers lacing through, holding tight.
My heart skipped.
I should pull away.
I didn't.
"Olivia," he said.
I turned, he was close.
His eyes dark in the light, that long-suppressed thing fully up, no mask, no hard shell, exposed for me to see.
He leaned in, kiss landing on my lips.
Light, slow, like asking a question, waiting for my answer.
I closed my eyes.
Wine swirled in my head, leaves whispering on the arbor, his fingers locked with mine, warm, tight.
I kissed back.
For a moment, the world shrank to this arbor, to the space between chairs, to his hand holding mine and that soft, weighted kiss on my lips.
His hand slid from my back, up my arm, around my waist, pulling me closer. Lips left mine, brushed my ear, breath heavy, low whisper: "I missed you."
Those words, like a needle, piercing straight in.
His fingers traced up my skirt hem, my breath hitched. Lips grazed my earlobe, murmuring, "These years, always."
"Ezio..."
His name slipped from my throat, not rejection, more like an answer. His hand tightened on my waist, my fingers dug into his shirt, knuckles white.
"Olivia," his voice low, with a lightness I'd never heard from him, "let's start over, okay?"
His fingers paused at my skirt's edge, pressing against my inner thigh, light, slow, restrained, waiting for me to speak. He pushed in a bit, my breath caught, I grabbed his wrist, that heat surging up my palm, burning to my ears, leaving me speechless.
He took my hand gently, guiding it down between us, his eyes locked on mine with that intense, magnetic pull that made my pulse race. The night air cool against my flushed skin, heightening every sensation. But it only made the thrill sharper, my body more attuned to his touch.
He pressed my hand against the heat between my legs, over the thin fabric of my panties, his fingers overlapping mine, directing the pressure.
"Feel that?" he murmured, voice rough with desire, his green eyes darkening as he watched my reaction.
I bit my lip, nodding, the outdoor breeze whispering across my bare arms, making goosebumps rise and my nipples harden under the champagne dress.
Slowly, he moved our joined hands in circles, rubbing firmly against my clit through the lace, the friction building fast. The fabric dampened under the pressure, clinging to my folds, and he pushed harder, using my own fingers to tease the entrance, almost shoving the material inside me.
"God, you're soaking already," he growled low, his free hand sliding up my thigh, spreading my legs wider on the chair.
Out here, with the risk of someone wandering by—the nanny, a guard—the exposure amplified everything, my breath coming shallow, body trembling as he worked me.
He leaned in, capturing my mouth in a deeper kiss, tongue delving in possessively while our hands kept up the rhythm. The lace stretched and poked at my entrance, not quite penetrating but teasing relentlessly, the sensation maddening. I moaned into his mouth, hips bucking instinctively.
"Let's get this out of the way," he whispered against my lips, finally slipping his hand away from mine to hook fingers under the waistband of my panties.
He tugged them down slowly, deliberately, the fabric sliding over my hips, down my thighs, pooling at my ankles.
I kicked them off, the cool night air now directly on my bare pussy, making me gasp.
Ezio's eyes gleamed with hunger as he looked down, his fingers tracing back up my inner thigh, parting my legs further.
"So beautiful," he said, voice thick, before dipping two fingers into my slick heat, curling them just right to hit that spot inside.
I arched, a whimper escaping. He pumped slowly at first, thumb circling my clit, building the pressure, his other hand gripping my waist to hold me steady.
He added a third finger, stretching me deliciously, thrusting deeper, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet garden, mingling with my ragged breaths.
The cool air kissed my exposed core each time he withdrew, only for him to plunge back in, the contrast driving me wild, my sensitivity skyrocketing.
"You feel so fucking good," he murmured, leaning down to nip at my neck, his stubble grazing my skin, adding another layer of sensation.
I clutched his shirt, nails digging in, leaves brushing like whispers, making my body tense and release in waves.
He sped up, fingers fucking me harder, curling to rub my G-spot relentlessly, thumb pressing firm circles on my clit. The exposure pushed me closer, my thighs quivering, heat coiling tight in my belly.
Pressure built, unbearable, my hips grinding against his hand, chasing release.
"Come for me, Olivia," he urged, voice gravelly, fingers thrusting deep and fast, thumb flicking my clit with precision.
I shattered, crying out softly, walls clenching around his fingers in spasms, waves crashing through me, amplified by the breeze on my flushed body, the stars blurring above.
He didn't stop, easing me through it with slower pumps, drawing out the aftershocks until I slumped against him, breathless.
"Give those two kids a home," he said softly, gently pressing against my still-spasming walls, "give us a chance."
That did it.
Like a bucket of ice water, dousing me head to toe.
I yanked my hand back, shoved away a step, chair legs scraping shrill on the stone.
He froze. "Olivia."
"I'm heading back," I said, voice steadier than I expected, but I felt it tremble. "Leo's got class early tomorrow."
"Olivia." He stood. "You're running."
I tugged my panties back on, bent to grab my jacket from the table corner, not looking at him.
"You still hung up on that ex-husband," his voice cooled, "that's why—"
"Ezio," I cut him off, "thanks for dinner."
I turned and walked inside.
Hall lights stretched my shadow long. I walked steady, surprising even myself.
That "us" he mentioned.
I knew deep down I wanted it more than anyone.
Carmen had brought Leo over, him clutching Giraffe, eyes shining, saying reluctant goodbyes to Juliet.
"Mom, when can we come back?"
"Next time."
"Juliet will miss me."
"She will." I took his hand, pulled open the door.
Night wind rushed in, cool with flower scent. I stepped down, no glance back. But I knew he stood at the door, watching. That gaze heavy on my back, scorching.
As the car pulled out the gates, Leo dozed in the back. I turned, peering through the window as the house shrank, faded. Porch light still on, him under it, shadow stretched long.
My tears finally fell.
Not from fear. Not hate. Because he said he loved me, and I—I loved him too. But I couldn't. Not now. I couldn't start over on a lie. Leo was his son, the day he found out, how would he see me? Would he think I hid it for five years on purpose? Think I used Juliet to get close? Think...
I buried my face in my hands, cried silently for ages.
Leo shifted in sleep, arm flopping onto mine, mumbling, "Mom."
I wiped my tears, held his hand in mine.
Not yet. But it wasn't time. I needed time. Needed to think. Needed—
Car pulled up to the apartment. I lifted my head, checked my face in the rearview. Eyes red, makeup smeared, lips still warm from him.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath.
Then pushed open the door, scooped up Leo, and walked into that lit doorway.